Fic: Blind Jump
Title: Blind Jump
Author: afrakaday
Artist: sumpta
Word count: 1000
Rating: T
Summary: A power outage on Colonial One allows a restful moment in the midst of a stressful time.
A/N: Written for the twelvecolonies "joint challenge." Many thanks to sumpta for the beautiful graphic! Thanks also to marzipanilla for beta reading.
“That just about wraps up our agenda for this afternoon, Admiral,” Laura said with a smile as she folded the printed sheet of paper in half. She would have liked to crumple it into a ball and forget all about the planet, the frakking planet and the people across the Fleet clamoring to settle on it. However, she’d been discreetly informed by Tory that the nervous habit that brought her so much satisfaction tended to jam up the recyclers. She’d looked so terrified at telling her that Laura had taken pity on her new aide and given her the afternoon off. She and Bill were more or less alone at the moment, as much as she ever was on Colonial One. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That depends,” he said. “What’ve you got?”
“Nothing as good as what you’ve got in your quarters, I’m sure,” she said, “but it’ll do. I think it’s supposed to be ‘in the style of’ Aerilon whiskey.”
He laughed and rose from his deep leather seat, holding a hand out to her to help her up. “Bottom shelf, huh. Fine by me,” he said. “What’s that thing we used to say? It’s seventeen-hundred somewhere.”
“Not lately. I miss spending time in your quarters.” She blushed and looked away.
“The election will be over soon,” he said. “You won’t have to deal with the press so constantly. We’ll go back to normal.”
The truth was, neither one of them had figured out what normal meant since her cure. They hadn’t had time to talk about, much less act on, the feelings that they’d obliquely acknowledged when they thought she was dying. Their “normal” consisted of one crisis after another, no different than from before she’d become too ill to work. Now the upcoming election made unreasonable demands on her time, as well.
She really did need that drink.
"If you'll follow me, Admiral..." Laura enjoyed the way his new title rolled off her tongue nearly as much as she liked using his given name. Outside the public eye, she found herself equally apt to use either one.
Just goes to show you, Bill, never give up hope.
Same goes for you, Laura.
She pushed the familiar memory aside and led him by the arm through the curtain and into what passed for her “private” quarters. Before she reached the liquor cabinet, however, the normally reassuring whir of the ship’s engines came to an ill-sounding sputter and stop. The ship lurched violently, throwing Laura back against her cot. Bill, too, lost his balance, bracing himself over top of her as things rattled off shelves and her desk.
“You all right?” he said, his body in contact with hers from thigh to chest. The interior of the ship was shrouded in complete darkness.
“I’m fine,” she said, running her hands down his sides before finding the edge of her cot. She squirmed beneath him uncomfortably. “Can you--”
“Yeah, sure,” he grunted, pushing himself off her.
She took a deep breath. “What in the worlds--”
“The ship’s lost power,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll go talk to Captain Russo.”
The feeble light of the emergency runners along the bottoms of the bulkheads illuminated the ship’s dimensions, reminding her just how small the area in which she lived and worked actually was. For the first time since the threat posed by Admiral Cain had been eliminated, she felt very vulnerable in the vastness of space.
Laura reached out and groped for his shoulder, finding it and giving a squeeze. “I’ll see if I can’t find a candle and that whiskey.”
He found her hand with his and made a promise. “Be right back.”
Bill’s nearly indiscernible shape retreated into dim shadows, and Laura went about trying to find her prayer candles. She gave up when the mission reduced her to grasping futilely at dust bunnies beneath her cot. A trip across the room made by memory to her cabinet resulted in the discovery of a lighter as well as the whiskey. She poured two glasses and carefully made her way to sit on her cot, enjoying the quiet moment of drinking in the darkness and hoping this incident wouldn’t be used by Baltar as an example why the Fleet needed to settle on the frakking planet. She’d rather they take their chances on another blind jump than settle on that godsforsaken rock.
“Galactica’s sending a Raptor over to make emergency repairs and restore power,” Bill said, interrupting her thoughts as he stepped through the curtain. She flicked the lighter on for him so he could find his way to her without tripping over the debris scattered on her floor. When he reached her, she tucked it away in her jacket pocket and stood up.
“Guess we just have to sit tight until then,” she said, handing him his drink. The lack of light seemed less intimidating amid the powerful whiskey fumes and Bill’s masculine scent. “How long?”
“Fifteen minutes for the Raptor to come over, another hour to bring power back online to get this thing flying again and docked inside Galactica,” he answered, stepping close to her.
“That’s quite a while,” she said, gulping. The whiskey burned like a bolt of electric heat in the immersive darkness, evaporating inhibitions. Staying here was dangerous. Uncharted territory lay ahead.
“I told the crew we’d continue our meeting under the circumstances.” She could feel the warm gravelly rumble against her ear as he spoke.
She placed a hand against his chest, spreading her fingers over his heart. “If the press--”
“That’s the thing,” he said, setting his glass on the shelf and resting his arms over her shoulders. “No press. No interruptions. Just us.” He slid his hands down, coming to a halt at the dip in her lower back and pulling her flush against him.
She closed her eyes in the dark. “Jump,” she whispered, just before his lips crashed down on hers.
Author: afrakaday
Artist: sumpta
Word count: 1000
Rating: T
Summary: A power outage on Colonial One allows a restful moment in the midst of a stressful time.
A/N: Written for the twelvecolonies "joint challenge." Many thanks to sumpta for the beautiful graphic! Thanks also to marzipanilla for beta reading.
“That just about wraps up our agenda for this afternoon, Admiral,” Laura said with a smile as she folded the printed sheet of paper in half. She would have liked to crumple it into a ball and forget all about the planet, the frakking planet and the people across the Fleet clamoring to settle on it. However, she’d been discreetly informed by Tory that the nervous habit that brought her so much satisfaction tended to jam up the recyclers. She’d looked so terrified at telling her that Laura had taken pity on her new aide and given her the afternoon off. She and Bill were more or less alone at the moment, as much as she ever was on Colonial One. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That depends,” he said. “What’ve you got?”
“Nothing as good as what you’ve got in your quarters, I’m sure,” she said, “but it’ll do. I think it’s supposed to be ‘in the style of’ Aerilon whiskey.”
He laughed and rose from his deep leather seat, holding a hand out to her to help her up. “Bottom shelf, huh. Fine by me,” he said. “What’s that thing we used to say? It’s seventeen-hundred somewhere.”
“Not lately. I miss spending time in your quarters.” She blushed and looked away.
“The election will be over soon,” he said. “You won’t have to deal with the press so constantly. We’ll go back to normal.”
The truth was, neither one of them had figured out what normal meant since her cure. They hadn’t had time to talk about, much less act on, the feelings that they’d obliquely acknowledged when they thought she was dying. Their “normal” consisted of one crisis after another, no different than from before she’d become too ill to work. Now the upcoming election made unreasonable demands on her time, as well.
She really did need that drink.
"If you'll follow me, Admiral..." Laura enjoyed the way his new title rolled off her tongue nearly as much as she liked using his given name. Outside the public eye, she found herself equally apt to use either one.
Just goes to show you, Bill, never give up hope.
Same goes for you, Laura.
She pushed the familiar memory aside and led him by the arm through the curtain and into what passed for her “private” quarters. Before she reached the liquor cabinet, however, the normally reassuring whir of the ship’s engines came to an ill-sounding sputter and stop. The ship lurched violently, throwing Laura back against her cot. Bill, too, lost his balance, bracing himself over top of her as things rattled off shelves and her desk.
“You all right?” he said, his body in contact with hers from thigh to chest. The interior of the ship was shrouded in complete darkness.
“I’m fine,” she said, running her hands down his sides before finding the edge of her cot. She squirmed beneath him uncomfortably. “Can you--”
“Yeah, sure,” he grunted, pushing himself off her.
She took a deep breath. “What in the worlds--”
“The ship’s lost power,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll go talk to Captain Russo.”
The feeble light of the emergency runners along the bottoms of the bulkheads illuminated the ship’s dimensions, reminding her just how small the area in which she lived and worked actually was. For the first time since the threat posed by Admiral Cain had been eliminated, she felt very vulnerable in the vastness of space.
Laura reached out and groped for his shoulder, finding it and giving a squeeze. “I’ll see if I can’t find a candle and that whiskey.”
He found her hand with his and made a promise. “Be right back.”
Bill’s nearly indiscernible shape retreated into dim shadows, and Laura went about trying to find her prayer candles. She gave up when the mission reduced her to grasping futilely at dust bunnies beneath her cot. A trip across the room made by memory to her cabinet resulted in the discovery of a lighter as well as the whiskey. She poured two glasses and carefully made her way to sit on her cot, enjoying the quiet moment of drinking in the darkness and hoping this incident wouldn’t be used by Baltar as an example why the Fleet needed to settle on the frakking planet. She’d rather they take their chances on another blind jump than settle on that godsforsaken rock.
“Galactica’s sending a Raptor over to make emergency repairs and restore power,” Bill said, interrupting her thoughts as he stepped through the curtain. She flicked the lighter on for him so he could find his way to her without tripping over the debris scattered on her floor. When he reached her, she tucked it away in her jacket pocket and stood up.
“Guess we just have to sit tight until then,” she said, handing him his drink. The lack of light seemed less intimidating amid the powerful whiskey fumes and Bill’s masculine scent. “How long?”
“Fifteen minutes for the Raptor to come over, another hour to bring power back online to get this thing flying again and docked inside Galactica,” he answered, stepping close to her.
“That’s quite a while,” she said, gulping. The whiskey burned like a bolt of electric heat in the immersive darkness, evaporating inhibitions. Staying here was dangerous. Uncharted territory lay ahead.
“I told the crew we’d continue our meeting under the circumstances.” She could feel the warm gravelly rumble against her ear as he spoke.
She placed a hand against his chest, spreading her fingers over his heart. “If the press--”
“That’s the thing,” he said, setting his glass on the shelf and resting his arms over her shoulders. “No press. No interruptions. Just us.” He slid his hands down, coming to a halt at the dip in her lower back and pulling her flush against him.
She closed her eyes in the dark. “Jump,” she whispered, just before his lips crashed down on hers.