She runs her hands over the controls, reverently, almost lovingly. Being President of the Twelve Frakking Colonies should be enough of a power trip, but there’s something oddly appealing-almost alluring-about the airlock, and she doesn’t question what had immediately drawn her here upon boarding Galactica. She decides to chalk it up to necessity:
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Part of me wishes that I could see Bill & Tigh as kids, making themselves gifts at some form of summer camp. Bill making Tigh a boat, Tigh making Bill a bottle. Boy would they end up with each other's gifts. *prays she doesn't get killed*
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Oh, the mind is perpetually in the gutter when it comes to these two. But how're we supposed to help it with this chemistry?
Ha! Little Bill and Tigh. What an awesome semi-crack!fic that would make. *hopes Tigh hasn't found you* (Bill, I think, might be okay with being cute. One-eyed Tigh would probably be ready for a smackdown just to prove you wrong.)
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Oh, I have absolutely no problem with my mind being in the gutter when it comes to A/R. Which is good, since it pretty much lives there. And they give me unrealistic expectations for EVERYTHING. It's sad. And fantastic. And I canNOT wait until Friday. Well, Saturday, technically, but whatever.
The BSG daycare would be FABULOUS. And adorable. And about a thousand other adjectives that I'm too lazy to look in the thesaurus for. Ha!
Thank gods for you jack rabbit mimicking skillz. And for Tigh's enormous blind spot. ;)
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