A/N: Many apologies to anyone who had to suffer through that formatting nightmare and THANK YOU very much to the guest reviewer who pointed it out. Chapter's 18, 20 and 21 have been reposted, that'll teach me to not check my postings…
He did not want to go down to that planet. Play his part in the President's masquerade. Pretend that this was the ending that they deserved.
"Come on Bill." Saul growled from his seat on the couch, his sash already sliding from his shoulder, the cup in his hand tilted dangerously; threatening to mark the leather, "We've been on this ship so long we're practically welded to the floor. What's a little formality for some solid ground under your feet… you've dealt with more for less…" he examined the crumpled flyer a little more closely, "There's an open bar." He added as if it were incentive.
Adama reached across the coffee table, damp towel still slung over his shoulder, and took the cup from his XO's hand.
"Doesn't mean you need a head-start." He grumbled, setting it down on the cart and finally crossing to his closet.
"Live a little, Bill." He jibed, hauling himself to his feet, "enjoy the break until those gods-damned people realise that Roslin was right about that hunk of rock and we get moving again," he reclaimed his drink from the cart with a pointed snatch, "About time you took a vacation anyway." And he tottered through the open hatch.
"Skids up in 40." His bark echoed through the empty causeway.
Bill ignored him. Brushed aside his dress greys and pulled down his jacket, pushing the shiny buttons through the worn holes and smoothing down the ends of his moustache. His Admiral's pips were on the bookcase where he'd left them, beneath the photograph of the former President; the one who'd entrusted him with them.
She looked so serious, he thought as he fixed them to his collar.
She was a serious woman, he reasoned… most of the time, and he smiled at the echo of her helpless giggles. Only a few steps from where he stood now. Torn speaking cards littering the floor, her shoes discarded by the table, practically hanging off his arm as he escorted her through his ship.
He looked at her perhaps more closely than he had trusted himself to before.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about her, certainly a handsome woman in her middle age. The creases around her eyes deepened when she smiled, whether it was that tight, polished smile that seemed permanently fixed when she was trying to choke down something unpleasant but especially when it was a rarer kind. The kind that broke her face with radiant joy, lighting up the sage green of her eyes to rich emerald.
Even better when she laughed. It was a sunny sound that made his gut clench and his mouth smile as if in reflex. With her head tipped back to expose the long lines of her neck, her hair falling over her shoulders. Shoulders that would set in equal time with her mouth when she was pissed, her feet shoulder width apart as if to plant herself. An unmovable object. An absolute pain in his ass.
Bill smirked to himself and straightened his uniform. He couldn't look completely disheveled.