"Ah…" Bill was in a state of petrification.

Literally.

His mind had paused mid-movement as he decided where best to hide his precious possessions from his dinner guest.

His right arm, it seemed, was set on the draw beneath the bookshelf whilst his left foot wanted to walk toward the space under his rack. Both options had their merits. The draw boasted a lock, presenting it proudly as it gleamed in the lamplight, hanging in a solid fashion. Sadly, Bill doubted that such an item would stop her.

Meanwhile, his rack benefited from the 'sacred space' title, presumably due to some ancient link between racks and frakking. Again, that was more likely to insight her rather than protect his stuff. Indeed, now that he thought about it, he wondered if there was a way to hide his rack from view.

The Admiral's body now attempted to split into three as his neck craned toward his rack and the curtain that was tied at the edge of the room – an item he had never given thought to until this moment.

Knock. Knock.

"I –" Bill panicked, falling over as his chest spun to face the door. "Just a minute…"

The Corridor Outside the Admiral's Quarters

Laura frowned. Something had just thumped to the ground on the other side of the Admiral's door. Shrugging, she flicked her hair to the side and checked her watch.

It was hard to see anything in the awkward hue of the hallway, especially the impossibly small numbers circling two needlelike hands. Frustrated, and determined not to use her glasses which she kept insisting to the universe were for 'show' not 'use', she stretched her wrist high up toward the only light.

Just beyond the nearest curve in the corridor, Billy sat crosslegged with a fire extinguisher protectively clutched to his chest. Beside him, an airmen lay in weight – armed with an excessively large machine gun common to Cylon wars the worlds over.

Dualla turned a corner and stopped abruptly, staring at the President's aid sandwiched between an airman and a priest.

"What are you doing here?"

"The Admiral and the President have a meeting," replied Billy flatly.

Was he shaking? "Can I help you?" she started carefully, observing the fire extinguisher, escort, and handcuffs.

Billy looked up, a little dazed. The priest beside swayed, apparently occupied in some state of deep prayer.

"That depends on whether you know how to do CPR."

"Why?"

Billy was worried, Dualla could see it in the way his seated figure rocked backwards and forward, slamming his head against the corridor wall with each movement. "Because I don't fancy my chances performing it on the Admiral."

Inside the Admiral's Quarters

The Admiral of the fleet crawled across the floor in a most undistinguished manner.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered, as the knocking continued.

"Frak-it." Bill threw his underpants as far as he could into the bedroom and shoved a pile of books under the couch in front of him. "In a minute!" he growled, using the table to help lift himself from the floor.

Snap.

Shock.

Crash.

"Ow…" The remnants of the Admiral's coffee table littered the floor. The combined weight of the stray books, left over coffee mugs, and a panicked 'Bill' had been too much for it. As an object, it had survived tremendous battles with the Cylons. It had served its various masters well, always there as a support for them. Alas, it was not to survive Laura's war.

A murmur of pain escaped the space between his lips. He blinked several times as his room came back into focus.

"I – stop knocking on the frakking door!"

The knocking stopped – for a brief second and then continued more voraciously than before.

"Gods damn impatient dictator…"

As he stumbled across his room, he tried to recollect his honour by channeling his childhood heroes. Would Shadowman stumble about? Straighten yourself up! Why don't you own a cape!

"Because I am the Admiral of the last human fleet. I have replaced my cape with a Battlestar."

"What did you say?"

Adama stopped short of the door, startled by the female voice beyond. He much preferred it when she was knocking.

Somehow he managed to open it. It swung open to reveal the President of the Colonies standing godly, one arm leaning against his doorway. Her burgundy hair slipped over her shoulder in a loose curl while the hem of her silken skirt ended an inch too high up her thigh.

His mouth must have been hanging open because the President subtly pointed to the corner of his mouth where he found a trickle of moisture.

Several minutes passed.

"Do you want me?" she said finally, shifting her weight off the door frame.

"Uh…" Was that a trick question? Adama's mind seemed to be having trouble working its cogs as Laura re-adjusted the bag over her shoulder. He'd almost forgotten what she was doing standing at his door in the first place.

"To come…" Laura spoke again, this time more forcefully. It was more of an order really.

Adama's mind still thought that this felt like a trap, and so chose not comment.

Her eyes flicked between the Admiral and the interior of his quarters. "To come in," she completed. "Do you want me to come in Admiral Adama or shall we get down to business in the corridor?"

"Ah…" his mind continued to struggle.

"Frakking fantastic…" she muttered, stepping around him. "Four hours alone and he becomes a tabula rasa. Oh gods –" she stopped, staring at the moss covered fish tank at the end of the room, "you ate them."

"Ate what?" said the Admiral, finally managing to speak as he followed her into his room. He watched as she stepped over his belongings, delicately avoiding the broken shards of table without so much as an eyebrow raise.

"Poor little things." Laura slid her hand over the glass, watching the innocent fish sulk in lonely corners. They looked up at her with sorrowful eyes, pleading their horrific stories. "Last carnivorous tropical fish in the universe. I actually feel guilty."

"I – " stuttered Bill. "They ate themselves!" he proclaimed defensively, pointing at them.

"Sure."

"No," Adama stepped aside as Laura roamed away from the tank, upset. "But really…" Bill leant forward to the tank and looked upon the pitiful fish. The one nearest flashed its serrated teeth and then zoomed across the tank – devouring one of its siblings.

Bill backed away.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" said the Admiral, tripping over a mug. "I feel strangely dizzy…"

Laura bent down, her shoulder bag falling in front of her. She extended her arm beneath the chair she was about to sit on and retrieved a book. "Thought you might," she said, opening the book, flicking through it, and then returning it to the floor as the table was currently unavailable.

"I fell, earlier and … pardon?"

"I thought you might feel dizzy." President Laura Roslin sat down calmly. "It's a side effect, along with paranoia, loss of motor skills – chronic indecision."

Adama went to speak – then sit down – then speak –

"I love apples, don't you?" Laura almost hissed. "They're just so temptingly red."

His mouth hung agape. He never should have devoured that pack lunch. The room blurred slightly, and Adama had to steady himself on the couch. Unable to decide on an action, he chose to watch Laura suspiciously fumble through her bag.

"Do you mind if I drink?" she said, producing a bottle of sticky Ambrosia from within the leather.

"Can I?"

"Probably not – because of the…"

"Drugging. Because of you drugging me."

She nodded. Finally, the Admiral lowered himself to the couch opposite her. She placed her bag on her lap, then reached for one of the glasses on the little tea-table beside her. Laura sniffed the tainted glass before deciding that its previous contents would be dissolved the second she poured the alcohol anyway.

"So," she began. "I have items to trade, and you're going to convince me to give them back to you. There are no rules – only the guidelines of the boundaries. Questions? No – let's begin."

Bill glanced nervously from side to side. "What particular items did you have in mind?"

Laura's voice flowed with more fluid danger than the liquor swirling in her glass. "Your most precious possessions."

"Okay…"

"Item one." Laura, Madame President of the universe, reached into her bag once more and procured a CD case. William Adama, Admiral of the Human Fleet followed her delicate fingers as they unhitched the clear case and removed the silver disc. She disposed of the case, throwing it over her shoulder into the room. "Disc containing agenda 1823."

The photos of his red boxers…

"I want," was all he managed, as the disc caught a stray beam of lamp light.

"Apologise."

The Admiral shook his head a little as the world blurred again. His limbs felt distinctly heavier while the barriers between his thoughts broke down, intertwining the fabric of his mind.

"Apologise," she repeated, "for this stupid war, the notes in your journal and the death of your fish."

"I'm – sorry?"

"Mean it."

Bill shook off the languid feeling trying to take hold and sat up straight, looking deep into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his speech unintentionally slurring.

Satisfied, Laura brought the disc in front of her and then –

Snap.

It snapped as easily as a pencil. The broken pieces joined the rest of the litter on the floor.

"What about the hard copies," said the Admiral, remembering a torturous file.

Laura lifted one of her infinitely long legs up, and crossed it over the other. Her hem rode up to the point where the Admiral could see her stockings end, held up by silken straps. To his horror, inside the seam of one was a small wad of photographs.

His mouth was definitely agape now.

"Can I help you with something?"

He was not staring at her thigh. He was not staring at her…

"Um – no."

"Too bad," she replied, hitching her skirt up a little as her fingers slipped under the silken edge of the stockings and retrieved the photos. She held them up for his inspection, spreading them as a magician would cards. Next there was a 'click' and a flame sprang to life from a lighter in her hand. She held the photos beside it, watching with curiosity as the ink began to burn. Laura let go as the pile caught alight. It fell to the floor where Bill suddenly sprang into action, stomping out the fire.

"Gods woman!" he muttered.

Laura ran her thumb over the lighter, snapping it shut. It was only then, as her delicate fingers traced over the engraving in the side of it that he realised that it was his lighter.

She flicked it open once more and began to play with the flame. "Item number two."

It was pointless to ask how she had obtained it. "What do you want?" he said, watching her features flicker in the light. Her smile was sinister, but strangely alluring as she transferred one of his most precious possessions from hand to hand.

"Your signature – in blood," she laughed, then shook her head. "Ink will do fine."

"It's not my death warrant, is it?"

"I'd need three signatures for that."

Adama was never really sure what he signed. The print was impossibly small and comprised of words with far too many syllables.

"Cute signature," she remarked as they exchanged items.

It wasn't the look he had been going for, but at least it wasn't in blood.

She slipped the document back inside her bag and then –

Then the Admiral's breath caught in a mixture of fury and fright.

Laura waved his diary temptingly before his eyes. "You want?" she said.

Bill nodded quickly, reaching out for it.

"Take it from me."

She can't be serious.

She was deadly – serious.

Bill reached forward, hesitantly, but it was all too easy for her to clutch the book closer. He shifted forward in his seat causing her to stand. As she did, her skirt slipped back down. Adama wasn't sure what was more distracting, seeing the edges of her stockings or knowing that they were there – hidden.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Admiral," she teased, skirting behind the chair as he advanced.

"Stop frakking around, Roslin."

Adama knelt on the chair and reached over it towards her. Laura shook her head, inching backwards so that the tips of his fingers could only brush over her suit. "No."

Bill leant against the back of the chair, stretching as far as he could towards the President. Oddly, she chose not to move, as if this act of torture amused her greatly.

He was about to reach the waistband of her skirt so that he could pull her closer and claim his journal when the ground beneath him shifted.

More correctly, the chair beneath him tilted.

Laura let out a yelp as she leapt out of the way. Adama and the chair crashed to the floor. This action threw the Admiral onto the ground in a roll. He finished, sprawled, facing the ceiling.

Ow, again…

His vision was consumed by light. It was death, it was life – it was the light fixture on his ceiling… Everything went black and he thought he could smell the musky cover of his - journal.

The object was right in front of his nose for a fraction of a second before she snatched it away. The Admiral rolled over, bruised and dizzy. Laura was standing near the still open hatch, his book clasped in front of her.

"Right," he muttered, willing himself to his feet. He took a couple of uncertain steps forward, she mimicked him until she felt the cold surface of the wall on her back.

Laura let out an inaudible gasp as the Admiral approached faster than she expected. In truth, she hadn't really thought this plan out that well. With no other option, she raised the book childishly above her head. Even in heels though, she could not top the Admiral's height.

"Game over, Madame President," he said, reaching past her.

Laura held the journal higher. His hand followed until he realized that he had her trapped against the wall. Bill's face brushed against her hair and for a second he thought that he could feel the warmth of her skin on his.

She held tightly to the book as he wrapped his fingers around hers, pulling her arm down.

"Let go, Laura," he said, trying to pry the object from her grasp while at the same time doing his best to ignore the scent of her. He could feel her pulse through her hand and the quick exhales of her breath – so close to his ear.

"Make me…"

Bill tugged harder on the book, but her fingers did not loosen so he took his other hand and ran it from her shoulder, down along her arm until he located her other wrist. He took it firmly in his grasp, pushing it against the wall and then sliding it up. Laura stretched out, whispering something inaudible.

To his surprise, he still couldn't shift the book.

"You're not very good at this," she murmured, sliding the hand with the book behind her back which she arched to make room for it against the wall. This action pulled him even closer, his arm around her waist. "You should have tried this…"

Bill felt her hair slide over his cheek as Laura slowly turned her head. There she was, her Presidential demeanor shifted to something else. She was soft, and fierce. He knew this though he was barely touching her. All of a sudden her warm breath was on his face and her eyes were slipping shut, like the moon beneath a cloud and then two things happened at once –

The journal they'd been clinging to fell open on the floor and Laura's arm reached out, followed by a solid 'click' as the door to the hatch was pushed shut.

The President opened her eyes, that sinister smile creeping back into her regal gaze.

"Probably best if we shut that door." Laura noted that the journal was no longer in her possession. "This leaves one more item on the agenda, Admiral," she whispered, the two of them inextricably close. Her eyes darted over to the bag now open on the floor where the upset chair was. There, inside the darkness, was a flicker of red.

"I sense another sacrifice coming," he replied, more interested in the way her cheek curved into her chin.

"Indeed," she whispered back. "It would have to involve getting these ones off…"

The Corridor Outside the Admiral's Quarters

After a suspicious amount of noise soon after the President's disappearance into the Admiral's quarters, things had suddenly gone extremely quiet – except of course for the priest who was busy blessing the ratchets along the wall.

"What are you doing?" asked Dualla cautiously, as Billy handed her the fire extinguisher.

Billy rolled his eyes, digging into his pile of supplies. Soon after, Dee got her answer as she watched Billy calmly slip on a pair of earmuffs.