Secret Santa Fic - The Conclusion
Here is the second half of my Secret Santa fic for wicked-g, which didn't take as long to edit as I'd thought. Hooray! I hope you all enjoy.
If you are looking for part I, you can find it here.
All authors notes and whatnot are in that part.
Quick Additional Authors note: The book referenced here is from one of my favorite episodes of MASH, just fyi. :-)
On with the show!
Part VI: In Which Laura Roslin Freaks Out
Laura Roslin was agitatedly pacing, hands on her hips, between her desk and the far bulkhead, five steps forward, turn, two steps left, then five steps back again.
“Is there any way you can fix this?” she asked, brushing past Billy in her circuit around the room.
“Well, we had an odd number of people ma’am, so we had to put you in to even it out. I wouldn’t worry to much about it ma’am, this will make for good PR...”
Billy trailed off as his boss pinned him with an over-the-glasses glare. She was suspicious all right. But to be honest he wasn’t entirely sure why she was this agitated - surely it couldn’t be that hard to find a gift for the Commander...
Laura wasn’t sure why Billy seemed confused by her agitation. To begin with, this entire thing was shifty. She just happened to get the Commander in the drawing? And didn’t he know how difficult it was going to be to find the Commander a gift? Just about anything she gave him could be read the wrong way....
“It’s fine Billy, just...go work some more on that report for the Quorum.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Billy said and quickly left the room. He usually worked at his desk in the corner, but he certainly knew enough to vacate the premises when his boss was pacing.
He also knew enough to not comment on the banging sound that occasionally emitted from her office - he suspected she was kicking things.
Laura was indeed kicking things, though there was some tossing of inanimate objects, like her shoes, involved in here as well. Just when she thought her life couldn’t get any more frakked up, it did. Why the hell did the Commander allow himself to be entered into this thing anyway? And what the hell was she supposed to get him?
If she got him something totally impersonal it would appear rude. If she got him something funny he would probably think it was stupid. If she tried to get him something meaningful it could really go the wrong way....
She had no idea what to make of their relationship, if that was even the word for it. They seemed to have either bypassed or defied all the normal classifications - adversaries, opponents, colleagues, partners, leaders, friends...something else that she didn’t really want to get into.
The little voice in her head helpfully supplied some terms, as well as picture to go with it, however. Laura hated that little voice almost as much as she hated the Gods (sadists all of them) and their stupid imaginary holidays.
Besides, the man had fully stocked quarters as far as she could tell. Not that she had spent an excessive amount of time surreptitiously examining his belongings. He pretty much had everything in there: artwork, weird statues, rugs, clothes, alcohol, dishes, books, books, and more books. Maybe she could steal one and then give it back to him. He had so many he probably wouldn’t notice....
Her mother appeared in her mind now, crossing her arms over her chest and noting that she had raised her to have better manners. Good manners weren’t really required of the Colonial president though. And this of course, was the President getting the Commander a Christmas present. Laura was certainly not getting Bill anything.
Part VII: In Which Bill Adama Freaks Out
Bill Adama was agitatedly pacing his quarters in a broad circuit, traversing between the couch, the desk, and the hatch. Dee fought the urge to fidget. She couldn’t believe that Billy had gotten her to agree to this.
“So you’re telling me that there was an odd number of people and you HAD to put my name in the drawing?”
“Yes, sir. At least you drew the Colonial President sir...” Dee trailed off, alarmed. Bill Adama wasn’t stupid and he could certainly spot a scam a mile away. This whole thing was a little too convenient.
“Dismissed Petty Officer.”
“Yes sir.” Dee snapped off a salute and quickly made her way out. She had no desire to hang around and endure the Adama Death Glare longer than necessary. Billy definitely owed her one for this. She was one of the first to admit that the Commander and the President were “cute” together, but she still had no desire to incur their wrath by meddling.
Bill was agitated, to say the least. He had no idea what to get Laura for Christmas.
He also had no idea where this Christmas thing had even come from. Bill had developed a tolerance for, or perhaps a blind spot regarding, Laura’s visions and he was starting to get accustomed to her..stranger suggestions.
Bill Adama certainly had no faith in the Gods, but he did have faith in Laura Roslin. When it came right down to it, Laura Roslin was rapidly becoming Bill’s religion, and he was quickly approaching the point where he would accept holiday’s involving fat men named Santa and presents and twinkly lights without question or comment. Well maybe some comment, since he really would love to see how Laura attempted to explain this one without using the words Gods, visions, or chamallla.
But being a practical man, Bill decided to focus on the problem at hand, which was what to get Laura for Christmas, regardless of what this holiday actually was. He’d already given her a book, but he supposed another one couldn’t hurt.
She did have a limited wardrobe, but he had no idea where he could find more clothes much less ones in the right size. Gods he could just see that conversation: So here are the latest supply reports and by the way what size are you Madam President?
He could recall, very dimly, these little IOU coupons that Zak and Lee would make for birthdays and various holidays, saying how they would do chores or bring him breakfast or something. Yet another stellar idea - “Here’s a coupon I made for you Madame President. Why yes, it does say one breakfast in bed. What time is convenient for you? You should preferably still be in your pajamas for this...no reason.”
Gods, he really needed to stop thinking about Laura in her pajamas...or in bed for that matter. She was the Colonial President for fraks sake. The very smart, very competent, very... attractive (and frakkable) Colonial President.
He was pretty frakked. And not in a fun way.
Part VIII: In Which A Sleep-Deprived Laura Wraps A Present
Laura had gotten Bill a book after all, and she did not even have to resort to stealing one that he already owned. Billy however may or may not have stolen this book, but she decided it was best not to inquire as to how he had come across this ... book-like object that sounded so stupid that it probably didn’t deserve to be called a book.
Billy assured her it was on the best seller list, back when there actually was a best-seller list and habitable planets on which to compile and peruse this list, which did nothing to reassure Laura’s faith in humanity. Anyone who helped catapult something called “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight” to the Colonial best-seller list was suspect in her mind.
Laura was currently sitting at her desk, carefully using a pair of scissors to curl some ribbon festively. Her gift may be stupid, but at least it would look nice. Years of teaching really did come in handy for things like this: give Laura Roslin a pair of scissors and some paper and she could pretty much make anything.
Festive ribbon was failing to mitigate the fact that she was frakked though. The Christmas party was in 2 hours, and she only just gotten her gift, to use the term loosely, and her gift was stupid. Laura Roslin wasn’t normally one to procrastinate, but when she did she really went all out.
She told Billy to just find her something “decent” for the Commander and this would have to fit the bill... for Bill. Besides, this took some pressure off of Laura - she could just tell the Commander that she asked Billy to find her a book and hoped it was something he hadn’t read...nothing overly personal there at all.
Laura had a good reason for reverting to calling Bill the Commander and for delegating her gift shopping duties to someone who thought that paisley shirts were the height of fashion: she was currently panicking because her feelings for the Commander were apparently less hidden than she had thought. She blamed the Chamalla for all of this.
Granted the only thing probably involved in this latest development was her hormones, but still. It was nice to have a scapegoat, and Laura was more than willing to use the one currently available.
For the past few nights Laura’s dreams, visions, whatever always ended (she wasn’t sure if this was fortunate or unfortunate) with her and the Commander (Bill really) kissing. It was never clear who initiated things in these dreams, visions, whatever they were.
She wasn’t sure which was worse: if they were dreams, that meant she might go crazy and just jump the Commander in CIC. If they were visions, there was the possibility that Bill might do the same to her. And given his recent personality transplant, this was potentially cause for concern. (It was also cause for some other emotions that Laura chose to ignore).
The weirdest of these dreams had occurred last night - Bill was once again decorating for Christmas, though this time he was adorning an airlock with twinkly lights, like the ones she had tracked down for that Colonial Day dance (and really, who would have thought that, given their rocky start, that Laura would gladly sacrifice something substantial, like the remnants of her wardrobe, to dance with the Commander again?).
And he kissed her. Again. Which seemed to be a recurring theme in these dreams.
Laura decided to asses her situation: she had suggested that the fleet celebrate a demented holiday that may be nothing more than a drug-induced hallucination and because of this stupid holiday she now had to give the Commander, the very attractive Commander who she kept dreaming about inappropriately, a stupid gift that she had her aide pick out for her since she was trying to ignore anything to do with the Commander because of her out of control hormones or something.
Laura decided to put her scissors down before she did something un-Presidential, and potentially damaging, to an innocent inanimate object.
Part IX: In Which Bill Wraps a Present
Bill Adama was on a mission. He was currently sitting at his desk doing something very un-Commander like. He wasn’t sure why wrapping a present (for Laura) was taking up the better part of his afternoon, but it was. It wouldn’t do to give the Colonial President a shoddily wrapped gift, and if he was spending his afternoon measuring the angles of his wrapping paper and perfecting his ribbon into a perfect box knot, well that just meant he was respecting the office of the president.
Bill was getting pretty good at this rationalization thing.
He was concerned about his gift though - it was quite possibly the dumbest book ever written, but he was fully prepared to blame Gaeta for finding it if it didn’t go over well. Apparently “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight” was quite popular, but he found this suspect. Laura probably hadn’t read this at least (with good reason).
Bill had decided, after much brooding, that giving Laura one of his books might not go over well - she’d try to return it and would argue about accepting it. Then he’d argue back, convincing her to take it. And this could lead to him blurting out something idiotic like I love you (kind of, sort of, a little, only as a friend, well not really, maybe a friend with benefits, wouldn’t frakking now be fun?).
This was getting ridiculous. Bill was the first to admit he could be pretty oblivious at times - he hadn’t noticed that there was “something going on between Starbuck and Captain Apollo” until Laura mentioned it to him. But he wasn’t totally blind and he did notice the fact that Laura was eyeballing him lately. Bill was too much of a pragmatist (and a pessimist) to think that this could actually be a good thing and that the Colonial President secretly wanted to frak him or something.
Really, he just hoped that she didn’t suspect he was a Cylon again. Or, even worse, that she knew what he was thinking when he was around her. If that was the case, he might just need to airlock himself and save her the trouble. Surely there was something in the Articles frowning upon inappropriate thoughts about ones Colonial President involving office furniture and limited clothing.
He really hoped that Laura wouldn’t throw this book at his head when he gave it to her. Surely his wrapping job would count for something though.
Part X: In Which There Is a Christmas Party
Galactica’s hanger deck was noisy and crowded, and for once it had nothing to do with Cylons. The Christmas party was in full swing and people were drinking. Which in turn led to people dancing (drunkenly) and singing (badly) and transforming nonsensical Christmas songs into bawdy, nonsensical Christmas songs.
The party was a success. Even Saul Tigh, after his sixth shot of something toxic from Chief’s still, felt that he had to give Roslin credit for “coming up with crazy stuff like this.”
Bill merely grunted in agreement with this. He could care less about the party since Laura had yet to arrive. Laura was currently making the rounds at other parties, checking out the Santa suits, the green and red decorations, the mangled songs, and the inventive alcoholic concoctions currently proliferating throughout the fleet. Strange as it was, people were having fun. Though Bill wished that Galactica didn’t currently look like some sort of red and green creature had exploded inside.
Bill knew the second she had entered the room. This wasn’t as romantic as it sounds, unfortunately. Saul had actually just yelled “ Hey, Bill! Roslin is here!”
At any rate, Laura was now heading his way, smiling at his crew, and valiantly recovering from an overly hearty slap on the back a drunk Hotdog had given her. Bill made a mental note to give Hotdog KP duty for a month.
Bill fought the urge to rub the back of his neck nervously when Laura got within speaking range. He felt like a damn teenager.
Laura too fought the urge to fidget when she reached him, cursing herself for behaving like a teenager.
“Enjoying the party, Commander?” She glanced over to where Chief was currently drinking his fellow knuckle draggers under the table.
“It’s nice to see everyone having fun.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “That was a very nice non-answer Commander. Downright political of you.”
Bill’s face remained as impassive as ever, though the corner of his mouth twitched for a brief second. “Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time with you Madam President.”
Laura laughed outright at this. “Touche, Commander.”
A shout of glee from Starbuck drew their attention. She was vigorously whacking a coughing Lee on the back, and given their proximity to Chief’s still it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened there. Someone had cranked the music up as well, filling the hangar bay with the sounds that used to emanate from those dance clubs with the strobe lights in Caprica’s warehouse district.
Bill leaned closer to Laura (merely so that she could hear him better of course).
“Perhaps we should leave the young people to their fun, Madam President.”
Laura leaned closer towards Bill, only because the room was noisy of course. “Speak for yourself, Old Man.”
Bill looked shocked for an instant, and then started laughing. Laura was now convinced that Doc Cottle had performed some sort of secret personality transplant on her as well since that was the only explanation she could come up with (aside from insanity) for casually joking (and flirting) with the Commander.
Bill had since recovered while Laura recriminated herself. “Would you care for a drink Madam President? I believe I can offer up something better than that stuff Chief was brewing.”
“Lead the way Commander.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laura breathed a sigh of relief when they (and her ever present marine guards) made it back to the Commander’s quarters. All those long stretches of empty corridor made her nervous - the way her week had been going, she would not have been surprised to find herself overcome with a fit of insanity that led to her laying one on the Commander in a deserted corridor.
Leaving her marines to guard the corridor, Laura followed Bill inside. He quickly went to pour them both a rather generous helping of ambrosia.
After taking a few fortifying sips, Bill and Laura both spoke simultaneously
“Commander...”
“I have...”
There was an awkward pause. And then both said “You go first.”
“No, you go first.”
“No, I insist.”
“Commander...”
“No really, you go first Laura.”
Laura wanted to smack him, both for being chivalrous and for saying her first name the way he did. She had always thought her first name was rather boring until Bill Adama started saying it. Gods but she loved (liked a lot, no love here at all) that man’s voice.
The man in question was currently waiting expectantly for her to say something. So in true Laura Roslin fashion, she thwarted expectations by turning on her heel and marching out the hatch.
Bill was confused to say the least. There were any number of reasons why she would abruptly leave his room and most involved him (or Saul, that frakker) doing something inadvertently stupid.
Fortunately Laura returned a moment later, brightly wrapped gift in hand. One of her marine guards got the lucky distinction of carrying the parcel (curled ribbon and all) around all evening. The President rewarded him with a full blown smile for his cooperation, so he really didn’t have cause to complain.
In a very un-Laura like fashion, she practically threw the gift at Bill and began speaking very rapidly: “Long story short I got entered into that Secret Santa Gift exchange thing and drew you so I got you a gift, well Billy found it for me really, and I was hoping you hadn’t read it and I ah, hope you...like it.” She began losing steam by the end of that spiel, trying very hard not to burst out laughing at Bill’s confused expression.
“So...you got me a Christmas present?” If it were possible Bill looked even more confused as he fingered the package’s bright green ribbon, wondering how you went about curling ribbon like that.
“Well I had to get you a gift because I drew your name.” Laura winced slightly realizing how that may have sounded.
“Well, not that I wouldn’t want to get you a gift....I just didn’t have a reason to get you one before but now I did obviously and...can you just open it already?” she ended in a huff.
Bill very deliberately set his present down on the table and retrieved another wrapped package that Laura hadn’t noticed until now. He handed it to her.
“Looks like we drew each others names in that gift exchange thing.”
Laura gave him her best “what the frak” expression.
Bill shrugged slightly. “I know it’s suspicious.”
“I’ll say.” Laura gritted out. Billy, and most likely Dee, were in for it.
“While I’m sure you want to start plotting revenge against your aide, you might want to open your present first.” Bill resisted the urge to wince when Laura glared at him. Her expression quickly softened though and she ripped into her present, curious to see what Bill had gotten her.
Bill did wince this time. “That took me a long time to wrap you know”
Laura glanced at him, one hand suspended mid-air, clutching a torn edge of Bill’s meticulously wrapped package. “Bill, it’s a package. You’re supposed to tear the wrapping paper off.”
“Yes, not rip it off though.”
Bill opted to ignore Laura’s glare this time as he carefully untied the green ribbon of his package.
Despite her head-start it took Laura a while to undo Bill’s box knot, and they each unwrapped their identical gifts at the same time.
There was a rather lengthy pause as Bill and Laura looked at their own gifts, then looked at each other’s gifts, then looked at one another, then looked at the books again.
And then Laura began to laugh. And Bill couldn’t help but offer up a full-blown grin at the sight of his normally indomitable Colonial President doubled over laughing, tears streaming down her face in mirth.
She finally managed to gasp out “I can’t...believe...you got me the...same...stupid...book!”
“For all we know this is a literary masterpiece.”
Laura had calmed down aside from the occasional giggle. “Bill, this thing is called “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.”
“So the title is stupid. You should never judge a book by it’s cover though.” Bill noted.
Their eyes locked, both thinking of the barely disguised animosity in the early days of their relationship, of arguments over the phone, of discussions bordering on shouting matches, of jail cells, of mutinies.
And Laura smiled slightly, thinking now of quiet conversations, and books, and dances on Colonial Day.
And Bill smiled back, thinking of tents on Kobol, and glasses of water, and dances on Colonial Day.
“I suppose we could start a book club now, Bill.” Laura smirked slightly.
“Not the most ideal thing to start with, but it’ll have to do.”
“Are you insulting the gift I went to all that trouble to wrap for you?”
“That Billy got for me apparently. I suppose I should send him a thank you note.”
Laura laughed again. “Seriously, where did you find this thing? Billy told me he got it from some guy over on Cloud 9. He insisted it was a best seller, which I find debatable.”
“That guy must’ve had a box of these, cause Gaeta picked your copy up on Cloud 9 as well.”
“I guess I owe Gaeta a thank you note. I’ll thank you for the wrapping job however.”
“Very kind of you Madam President.”
Laura bowed slightly and smiled. “I should probably get going.”
Bill tried to tell himself that he wasn’t disappointed by this fact. “I’ll walk you to your ship.”
Laura picked up her book, wrapping paper and all. “That’s not necessary Bill. I already have two strapping escorts waiting outside.”
Bill told himself that going outside and punching the “strapping” marine guards would probably raise a few eyebrows. “I’ll walk you to the hatch at least.”
He moved over to take her arm and escorted her to the hatch, stopping beside it.
“Well, good night Laura.” He wondered if he could get away with kissing her on the cheek. He was also wondering how it was possible for someone to look that good in notoriously awful Battlestar lighting.
Laura beat him to the punch, however. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the giggle fit, or the crazy dreams, or Bill’s proximity. Or some combination of all these factors. Whatever it was, it led Laura to learn forward, book clutched to her chest, and to swiftly kiss Bill, by the hatch, in his quarters, on a Battlestar, on Christmas day.
She pulled back slowly, watching Bill blinking rather stupidly at her.
Before she could apologize, or list all the reasons why that was a stupid thing to do, or kiss him again, she simply said “Merry Christmas, Bill.”
Bill had recovered his speech capacity enough to say “Merry Christmas, Laura.”
And Laura exited out the hatch and made her way back to Colonial One. Both Bill and Laura decided that Christmas, whatever it was, might not be such a bad little holiday.
And that’s the story of Bill and Laura’s first Christmas.
Thanks very much for reading!
If you are looking for part I, you can find it here.
All authors notes and whatnot are in that part.
Quick Additional Authors note: The book referenced here is from one of my favorite episodes of MASH, just fyi. :-)
On with the show!
Part VI: In Which Laura Roslin Freaks Out
Laura Roslin was agitatedly pacing, hands on her hips, between her desk and the far bulkhead, five steps forward, turn, two steps left, then five steps back again.
“Is there any way you can fix this?” she asked, brushing past Billy in her circuit around the room.
“Well, we had an odd number of people ma’am, so we had to put you in to even it out. I wouldn’t worry to much about it ma’am, this will make for good PR...”
Billy trailed off as his boss pinned him with an over-the-glasses glare. She was suspicious all right. But to be honest he wasn’t entirely sure why she was this agitated - surely it couldn’t be that hard to find a gift for the Commander...
Laura wasn’t sure why Billy seemed confused by her agitation. To begin with, this entire thing was shifty. She just happened to get the Commander in the drawing? And didn’t he know how difficult it was going to be to find the Commander a gift? Just about anything she gave him could be read the wrong way....
“It’s fine Billy, just...go work some more on that report for the Quorum.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Billy said and quickly left the room. He usually worked at his desk in the corner, but he certainly knew enough to vacate the premises when his boss was pacing.
He also knew enough to not comment on the banging sound that occasionally emitted from her office - he suspected she was kicking things.
Laura was indeed kicking things, though there was some tossing of inanimate objects, like her shoes, involved in here as well. Just when she thought her life couldn’t get any more frakked up, it did. Why the hell did the Commander allow himself to be entered into this thing anyway? And what the hell was she supposed to get him?
If she got him something totally impersonal it would appear rude. If she got him something funny he would probably think it was stupid. If she tried to get him something meaningful it could really go the wrong way....
She had no idea what to make of their relationship, if that was even the word for it. They seemed to have either bypassed or defied all the normal classifications - adversaries, opponents, colleagues, partners, leaders, friends...something else that she didn’t really want to get into.
The little voice in her head helpfully supplied some terms, as well as picture to go with it, however. Laura hated that little voice almost as much as she hated the Gods (sadists all of them) and their stupid imaginary holidays.
Besides, the man had fully stocked quarters as far as she could tell. Not that she had spent an excessive amount of time surreptitiously examining his belongings. He pretty much had everything in there: artwork, weird statues, rugs, clothes, alcohol, dishes, books, books, and more books. Maybe she could steal one and then give it back to him. He had so many he probably wouldn’t notice....
Her mother appeared in her mind now, crossing her arms over her chest and noting that she had raised her to have better manners. Good manners weren’t really required of the Colonial president though. And this of course, was the President getting the Commander a Christmas present. Laura was certainly not getting Bill anything.
Part VII: In Which Bill Adama Freaks Out
Bill Adama was agitatedly pacing his quarters in a broad circuit, traversing between the couch, the desk, and the hatch. Dee fought the urge to fidget. She couldn’t believe that Billy had gotten her to agree to this.
“So you’re telling me that there was an odd number of people and you HAD to put my name in the drawing?”
“Yes, sir. At least you drew the Colonial President sir...” Dee trailed off, alarmed. Bill Adama wasn’t stupid and he could certainly spot a scam a mile away. This whole thing was a little too convenient.
“Dismissed Petty Officer.”
“Yes sir.” Dee snapped off a salute and quickly made her way out. She had no desire to hang around and endure the Adama Death Glare longer than necessary. Billy definitely owed her one for this. She was one of the first to admit that the Commander and the President were “cute” together, but she still had no desire to incur their wrath by meddling.
Bill was agitated, to say the least. He had no idea what to get Laura for Christmas.
He also had no idea where this Christmas thing had even come from. Bill had developed a tolerance for, or perhaps a blind spot regarding, Laura’s visions and he was starting to get accustomed to her..stranger suggestions.
Bill Adama certainly had no faith in the Gods, but he did have faith in Laura Roslin. When it came right down to it, Laura Roslin was rapidly becoming Bill’s religion, and he was quickly approaching the point where he would accept holiday’s involving fat men named Santa and presents and twinkly lights without question or comment. Well maybe some comment, since he really would love to see how Laura attempted to explain this one without using the words Gods, visions, or chamallla.
But being a practical man, Bill decided to focus on the problem at hand, which was what to get Laura for Christmas, regardless of what this holiday actually was. He’d already given her a book, but he supposed another one couldn’t hurt.
She did have a limited wardrobe, but he had no idea where he could find more clothes much less ones in the right size. Gods he could just see that conversation: So here are the latest supply reports and by the way what size are you Madam President?
He could recall, very dimly, these little IOU coupons that Zak and Lee would make for birthdays and various holidays, saying how they would do chores or bring him breakfast or something. Yet another stellar idea - “Here’s a coupon I made for you Madame President. Why yes, it does say one breakfast in bed. What time is convenient for you? You should preferably still be in your pajamas for this...no reason.”
Gods, he really needed to stop thinking about Laura in her pajamas...or in bed for that matter. She was the Colonial President for fraks sake. The very smart, very competent, very... attractive (and frakkable) Colonial President.
He was pretty frakked. And not in a fun way.
Part VIII: In Which A Sleep-Deprived Laura Wraps A Present
Laura had gotten Bill a book after all, and she did not even have to resort to stealing one that he already owned. Billy however may or may not have stolen this book, but she decided it was best not to inquire as to how he had come across this ... book-like object that sounded so stupid that it probably didn’t deserve to be called a book.
Billy assured her it was on the best seller list, back when there actually was a best-seller list and habitable planets on which to compile and peruse this list, which did nothing to reassure Laura’s faith in humanity. Anyone who helped catapult something called “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight” to the Colonial best-seller list was suspect in her mind.
Laura was currently sitting at her desk, carefully using a pair of scissors to curl some ribbon festively. Her gift may be stupid, but at least it would look nice. Years of teaching really did come in handy for things like this: give Laura Roslin a pair of scissors and some paper and she could pretty much make anything.
Festive ribbon was failing to mitigate the fact that she was frakked though. The Christmas party was in 2 hours, and she only just gotten her gift, to use the term loosely, and her gift was stupid. Laura Roslin wasn’t normally one to procrastinate, but when she did she really went all out.
She told Billy to just find her something “decent” for the Commander and this would have to fit the bill... for Bill. Besides, this took some pressure off of Laura - she could just tell the Commander that she asked Billy to find her a book and hoped it was something he hadn’t read...nothing overly personal there at all.
Laura had a good reason for reverting to calling Bill the Commander and for delegating her gift shopping duties to someone who thought that paisley shirts were the height of fashion: she was currently panicking because her feelings for the Commander were apparently less hidden than she had thought. She blamed the Chamalla for all of this.
Granted the only thing probably involved in this latest development was her hormones, but still. It was nice to have a scapegoat, and Laura was more than willing to use the one currently available.
For the past few nights Laura’s dreams, visions, whatever always ended (she wasn’t sure if this was fortunate or unfortunate) with her and the Commander (Bill really) kissing. It was never clear who initiated things in these dreams, visions, whatever they were.
She wasn’t sure which was worse: if they were dreams, that meant she might go crazy and just jump the Commander in CIC. If they were visions, there was the possibility that Bill might do the same to her. And given his recent personality transplant, this was potentially cause for concern. (It was also cause for some other emotions that Laura chose to ignore).
The weirdest of these dreams had occurred last night - Bill was once again decorating for Christmas, though this time he was adorning an airlock with twinkly lights, like the ones she had tracked down for that Colonial Day dance (and really, who would have thought that, given their rocky start, that Laura would gladly sacrifice something substantial, like the remnants of her wardrobe, to dance with the Commander again?).
And he kissed her. Again. Which seemed to be a recurring theme in these dreams.
Laura decided to asses her situation: she had suggested that the fleet celebrate a demented holiday that may be nothing more than a drug-induced hallucination and because of this stupid holiday she now had to give the Commander, the very attractive Commander who she kept dreaming about inappropriately, a stupid gift that she had her aide pick out for her since she was trying to ignore anything to do with the Commander because of her out of control hormones or something.
Laura decided to put her scissors down before she did something un-Presidential, and potentially damaging, to an innocent inanimate object.
Part IX: In Which Bill Wraps a Present
Bill Adama was on a mission. He was currently sitting at his desk doing something very un-Commander like. He wasn’t sure why wrapping a present (for Laura) was taking up the better part of his afternoon, but it was. It wouldn’t do to give the Colonial President a shoddily wrapped gift, and if he was spending his afternoon measuring the angles of his wrapping paper and perfecting his ribbon into a perfect box knot, well that just meant he was respecting the office of the president.
Bill was getting pretty good at this rationalization thing.
He was concerned about his gift though - it was quite possibly the dumbest book ever written, but he was fully prepared to blame Gaeta for finding it if it didn’t go over well. Apparently “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight” was quite popular, but he found this suspect. Laura probably hadn’t read this at least (with good reason).
Bill had decided, after much brooding, that giving Laura one of his books might not go over well - she’d try to return it and would argue about accepting it. Then he’d argue back, convincing her to take it. And this could lead to him blurting out something idiotic like I love you (kind of, sort of, a little, only as a friend, well not really, maybe a friend with benefits, wouldn’t frakking now be fun?).
This was getting ridiculous. Bill was the first to admit he could be pretty oblivious at times - he hadn’t noticed that there was “something going on between Starbuck and Captain Apollo” until Laura mentioned it to him. But he wasn’t totally blind and he did notice the fact that Laura was eyeballing him lately. Bill was too much of a pragmatist (and a pessimist) to think that this could actually be a good thing and that the Colonial President secretly wanted to frak him or something.
Really, he just hoped that she didn’t suspect he was a Cylon again. Or, even worse, that she knew what he was thinking when he was around her. If that was the case, he might just need to airlock himself and save her the trouble. Surely there was something in the Articles frowning upon inappropriate thoughts about ones Colonial President involving office furniture and limited clothing.
He really hoped that Laura wouldn’t throw this book at his head when he gave it to her. Surely his wrapping job would count for something though.
Part X: In Which There Is a Christmas Party
Galactica’s hanger deck was noisy and crowded, and for once it had nothing to do with Cylons. The Christmas party was in full swing and people were drinking. Which in turn led to people dancing (drunkenly) and singing (badly) and transforming nonsensical Christmas songs into bawdy, nonsensical Christmas songs.
The party was a success. Even Saul Tigh, after his sixth shot of something toxic from Chief’s still, felt that he had to give Roslin credit for “coming up with crazy stuff like this.”
Bill merely grunted in agreement with this. He could care less about the party since Laura had yet to arrive. Laura was currently making the rounds at other parties, checking out the Santa suits, the green and red decorations, the mangled songs, and the inventive alcoholic concoctions currently proliferating throughout the fleet. Strange as it was, people were having fun. Though Bill wished that Galactica didn’t currently look like some sort of red and green creature had exploded inside.
Bill knew the second she had entered the room. This wasn’t as romantic as it sounds, unfortunately. Saul had actually just yelled “ Hey, Bill! Roslin is here!”
At any rate, Laura was now heading his way, smiling at his crew, and valiantly recovering from an overly hearty slap on the back a drunk Hotdog had given her. Bill made a mental note to give Hotdog KP duty for a month.
Bill fought the urge to rub the back of his neck nervously when Laura got within speaking range. He felt like a damn teenager.
Laura too fought the urge to fidget when she reached him, cursing herself for behaving like a teenager.
“Enjoying the party, Commander?” She glanced over to where Chief was currently drinking his fellow knuckle draggers under the table.
“It’s nice to see everyone having fun.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “That was a very nice non-answer Commander. Downright political of you.”
Bill’s face remained as impassive as ever, though the corner of his mouth twitched for a brief second. “Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time with you Madam President.”
Laura laughed outright at this. “Touche, Commander.”
A shout of glee from Starbuck drew their attention. She was vigorously whacking a coughing Lee on the back, and given their proximity to Chief’s still it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened there. Someone had cranked the music up as well, filling the hangar bay with the sounds that used to emanate from those dance clubs with the strobe lights in Caprica’s warehouse district.
Bill leaned closer to Laura (merely so that she could hear him better of course).
“Perhaps we should leave the young people to their fun, Madam President.”
Laura leaned closer towards Bill, only because the room was noisy of course. “Speak for yourself, Old Man.”
Bill looked shocked for an instant, and then started laughing. Laura was now convinced that Doc Cottle had performed some sort of secret personality transplant on her as well since that was the only explanation she could come up with (aside from insanity) for casually joking (and flirting) with the Commander.
Bill had since recovered while Laura recriminated herself. “Would you care for a drink Madam President? I believe I can offer up something better than that stuff Chief was brewing.”
“Lead the way Commander.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laura breathed a sigh of relief when they (and her ever present marine guards) made it back to the Commander’s quarters. All those long stretches of empty corridor made her nervous - the way her week had been going, she would not have been surprised to find herself overcome with a fit of insanity that led to her laying one on the Commander in a deserted corridor.
Leaving her marines to guard the corridor, Laura followed Bill inside. He quickly went to pour them both a rather generous helping of ambrosia.
After taking a few fortifying sips, Bill and Laura both spoke simultaneously
“Commander...”
“I have...”
There was an awkward pause. And then both said “You go first.”
“No, you go first.”
“No, I insist.”
“Commander...”
“No really, you go first Laura.”
Laura wanted to smack him, both for being chivalrous and for saying her first name the way he did. She had always thought her first name was rather boring until Bill Adama started saying it. Gods but she loved (liked a lot, no love here at all) that man’s voice.
The man in question was currently waiting expectantly for her to say something. So in true Laura Roslin fashion, she thwarted expectations by turning on her heel and marching out the hatch.
Bill was confused to say the least. There were any number of reasons why she would abruptly leave his room and most involved him (or Saul, that frakker) doing something inadvertently stupid.
Fortunately Laura returned a moment later, brightly wrapped gift in hand. One of her marine guards got the lucky distinction of carrying the parcel (curled ribbon and all) around all evening. The President rewarded him with a full blown smile for his cooperation, so he really didn’t have cause to complain.
In a very un-Laura like fashion, she practically threw the gift at Bill and began speaking very rapidly: “Long story short I got entered into that Secret Santa Gift exchange thing and drew you so I got you a gift, well Billy found it for me really, and I was hoping you hadn’t read it and I ah, hope you...like it.” She began losing steam by the end of that spiel, trying very hard not to burst out laughing at Bill’s confused expression.
“So...you got me a Christmas present?” If it were possible Bill looked even more confused as he fingered the package’s bright green ribbon, wondering how you went about curling ribbon like that.
“Well I had to get you a gift because I drew your name.” Laura winced slightly realizing how that may have sounded.
“Well, not that I wouldn’t want to get you a gift....I just didn’t have a reason to get you one before but now I did obviously and...can you just open it already?” she ended in a huff.
Bill very deliberately set his present down on the table and retrieved another wrapped package that Laura hadn’t noticed until now. He handed it to her.
“Looks like we drew each others names in that gift exchange thing.”
Laura gave him her best “what the frak” expression.
Bill shrugged slightly. “I know it’s suspicious.”
“I’ll say.” Laura gritted out. Billy, and most likely Dee, were in for it.
“While I’m sure you want to start plotting revenge against your aide, you might want to open your present first.” Bill resisted the urge to wince when Laura glared at him. Her expression quickly softened though and she ripped into her present, curious to see what Bill had gotten her.
Bill did wince this time. “That took me a long time to wrap you know”
Laura glanced at him, one hand suspended mid-air, clutching a torn edge of Bill’s meticulously wrapped package. “Bill, it’s a package. You’re supposed to tear the wrapping paper off.”
“Yes, not rip it off though.”
Bill opted to ignore Laura’s glare this time as he carefully untied the green ribbon of his package.
Despite her head-start it took Laura a while to undo Bill’s box knot, and they each unwrapped their identical gifts at the same time.
There was a rather lengthy pause as Bill and Laura looked at their own gifts, then looked at each other’s gifts, then looked at one another, then looked at the books again.
And then Laura began to laugh. And Bill couldn’t help but offer up a full-blown grin at the sight of his normally indomitable Colonial President doubled over laughing, tears streaming down her face in mirth.
She finally managed to gasp out “I can’t...believe...you got me the...same...stupid...book!”
“For all we know this is a literary masterpiece.”
Laura had calmed down aside from the occasional giggle. “Bill, this thing is called “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.”
“So the title is stupid. You should never judge a book by it’s cover though.” Bill noted.
Their eyes locked, both thinking of the barely disguised animosity in the early days of their relationship, of arguments over the phone, of discussions bordering on shouting matches, of jail cells, of mutinies.
And Laura smiled slightly, thinking now of quiet conversations, and books, and dances on Colonial Day.
And Bill smiled back, thinking of tents on Kobol, and glasses of water, and dances on Colonial Day.
“I suppose we could start a book club now, Bill.” Laura smirked slightly.
“Not the most ideal thing to start with, but it’ll have to do.”
“Are you insulting the gift I went to all that trouble to wrap for you?”
“That Billy got for me apparently. I suppose I should send him a thank you note.”
Laura laughed again. “Seriously, where did you find this thing? Billy told me he got it from some guy over on Cloud 9. He insisted it was a best seller, which I find debatable.”
“That guy must’ve had a box of these, cause Gaeta picked your copy up on Cloud 9 as well.”
“I guess I owe Gaeta a thank you note. I’ll thank you for the wrapping job however.”
“Very kind of you Madam President.”
Laura bowed slightly and smiled. “I should probably get going.”
Bill tried to tell himself that he wasn’t disappointed by this fact. “I’ll walk you to your ship.”
Laura picked up her book, wrapping paper and all. “That’s not necessary Bill. I already have two strapping escorts waiting outside.”
Bill told himself that going outside and punching the “strapping” marine guards would probably raise a few eyebrows. “I’ll walk you to the hatch at least.”
He moved over to take her arm and escorted her to the hatch, stopping beside it.
“Well, good night Laura.” He wondered if he could get away with kissing her on the cheek. He was also wondering how it was possible for someone to look that good in notoriously awful Battlestar lighting.
Laura beat him to the punch, however. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the giggle fit, or the crazy dreams, or Bill’s proximity. Or some combination of all these factors. Whatever it was, it led Laura to learn forward, book clutched to her chest, and to swiftly kiss Bill, by the hatch, in his quarters, on a Battlestar, on Christmas day.
She pulled back slowly, watching Bill blinking rather stupidly at her.
Before she could apologize, or list all the reasons why that was a stupid thing to do, or kiss him again, she simply said “Merry Christmas, Bill.”
Bill had recovered his speech capacity enough to say “Merry Christmas, Laura.”
And Laura exited out the hatch and made her way back to Colonial One. Both Bill and Laura decided that Christmas, whatever it was, might not be such a bad little holiday.
And that’s the story of Bill and Laura’s first Christmas.
Thanks very much for reading!