Dating the President 1/5
Title: Dating the President 1/5
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: G
Spoilers: Set just after the season 3 episode: "Dirty Hands". In this world, none of the episodes after that exist.
Synopsis: Just how do you go about wooing the President when you're the Admiral of the Fleet?
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Genre: Romance
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to SciFi and lots of other people but not me.
Chapter 1 - Dinner
The meeting was dragging on. And on. And still on. Admiral of the Fleet, William Adama, freely admitted to himself he was bored. Extremely bored. Bored to the point of falling asleep bored. He was sure if the meeting had been between just himself and the President, they could have had the details sensibly hammered out in an hour.
The delegation of ship captains weren't really adding anything to the discussion except an annoyance factor. Throw in Tigh, Helo and Jack Cottle, and you just got a headache-inducing shit-fight. He wondered if it was too late to volunteer for janitorial duties as a career path. Anything had to be better than this.
None of this showed on his face, of course: forty-five years in Colonial Fleet had honed his military mask to the edge of perfection. Not to mention his keen sense of self-preservation: Laura would do all sorts of unpleasant things to him if he put his head back and started snoring in the middle of her meeting. Air locking came predominately to mind.
He looked across the room at Laura Roslin, who seemed to be intently listening to the captain of the Virgon Trader. Seemed being the operative word, he realized as he watched her fidget: it looked like she was bored too. He watched her fold and refold her legs; chew her pen; fiddle with her bracelet; brush back her hair; stretch her legs under the table. Those nice, shapely legs that were displayed nicely thanks to her suit skirt and the angle at which he was sitting. He realized he was staring at said legs, but couldn't seem to help it. At least he wasn't falling asleep, he shrugged to himself.
Helo made a point, stabbing his finger at one of the captains for emphasis. A controversial point, by the sounds of it, as the room erupted into chaos.
Laura sat back in her chair, letting it continue while she took off her glasses, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked tired - she hadn't complained, but he knew she wasn't comfortable in her "temporary" quarters aboard Colonial One. And so far she hadn't take him up on his… offer.
He smiled at that thought: it had been a slip of the tongue on his part, saying she was welcome in "one of his beds."
'A very telling slip of the tongue, Bill,' he told himself. It had been something of a moment of revelation. While he'd been trying to throw obstacles in the path of a relationship with Laura, it seemed part of him had already decided he wanted it to happen. He recalled the expression on her face at his slip: a combination of amusement and mischief. And a thoroughly lovely smile. A smile he'd give a lot to see on a regular basis.
She chose that moment to open her eyes and look directly at him. He knew he had a soft, tender smile on his face, but he didn't try to hide it. Instead, he held her gaze, letting her see what she would in his expression. Her eyes widened fractionally, then a warm smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes. The moment held until by some unspoken mutual agreement, both looked away and schooled their expressions back to professional neutrality.
Bill felt a massive dislocation in his world: as if it had been stretched to its limits, then let free to realign itself, but it didn't quite fit the way it used to.
There were no doubts left: he wanted to pursue this relationship.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
It was easier said than done, of course. How did one go about dating the most important woman in the Fleet, anyway?
The business of running the Fleet had to come first. No question on that. But Bill hadn't realized just how scheduled and managed both their lives were until he tried to find a time when they could meet for dinner and not have business intrude. In the end, he had to enlist Tory's aid.
"I'd like to arrange for a dinner meeting between myself and the President," he told her over the phone.
"Of course, Admiral," she agreed. He could hear her flipping through the President's agenda. It wasn't that unusual a request, after all: they'd often shared working dinners. "I can shift things around for tomorrow evening."
"That would be acceptable."
"Galactica or Colonial One?"
Now for the delicate part. He cleared his throat.
"Ah… actually, the Rising Star."
"Oh?" he could picture her raised eyebrow. "Is there a problem on the Rising Star I should brief the President on beforehand?"
"No… This is… a dinner date." There, he'd said it.
He fancied he could hear Tory's mouth closing with a snap.
"Oh."
"And I'd appreciate it if you didn't schedule any meetings for her afterwards: she needs an evening off."
"I… ah… Yes, Admiral." She still sounded stunned. He didn't want to know what was currently running through her mind.
Now for the hard part: he hadn't asked a woman out on a date for a long, long time.
"Could you connect me to the President, please?"
"Hi." Her greeting seemed to warm the room. He pictured her sitting back in her chair in that cramped temporary office on Colonial One with a smile on her face.
"Hi yourself," he responded. He wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice.
A soft "thump" then a second one sounded over the line.
"Did you just kick off your shoes?" he asked.
"Mmm-hmm," she replied. It sounded like she was stretching, too.
"Tory just high-tailed it out of here with the oddest expression on her face, so I have this "office" to myself for the moment."
"My fault," he admitted. "I had an… unusual request. I think it threw her."
"Oh?" she sounded intrigued. "You'll have to let me in on your secret. I've seen her face down Cylons, politicians, the press and children; nothing seems to faze her. I was beginning to think she was completely unflappable."
Crunch time.
"I… ah… Would you like to have dinner with me?"
There was silence for a moment. Stunned silence, he assumed. Whether that was good or bad…
"Are you asking me out on a date, Bill?" Her voice had dropped a couple of tones in pitch and sounded very… He deliberately didn't finish that thought.
"Only if you're saying yes," he replied, undoing a few buttons on his jacket.
"Yes."
Could it be that easy?
"Yes?" he repeated, making sure.
"Yes. What - did you thing I was going to say no?" He could hear the chuckle in her voice. "Where and when did you want me?"
Oh, she did that deliberately. He loosened the rest of the buttons on his tunic as his mind began to think of all sorts of answers for that question. With some very, very vivid pictures. It definitely felt like the cabin had suddenly grown warmer.
"Twenty hundred tomorrow night at Rhapsody." Realizing she might not know it, he began elaborating: "It's a restaurant…"
"On the Rising Star. Yes; I know." She sounded surprised. "So this will be a real 'dating' type date?"
"I hope so," he said softly.
Another pause.
"You realize that we will be seen."
It sounded like she was giving him a way out, if he wanted to take it.
"Yes," he said deliberately. He let her think on that for a moment, then added: "And that all the gossip rags will go wild. Yes, I know all that. But I'm not going to sneak around, hiding things."
There was silence on the other end of the line. He sensed that she was digesting the implications of his acceptance that any relationship would be in the public eye.
"And those responsibilities of ours you were so worried about the other day?"
"We'll just have to schedule around them."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Rhapsody was as elegant as any five star restaurant in Caprica city, Bill decided as the Maitre 'D led him through the candle-lit room to a secluded corner table. Despite his civilian garb, the other diners obviously recognized him and he could hear a ripple of whispers in his wake. He ignored them, just as he would have ignored gossiping crewmen on his own ship. Instead, he allowed the waiter to seat him and take his order for a drink; something with which to occupy him while he waited for Laura to arrive. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the unfamiliar collar of his shirt: mentally, he knew it wasn't really too tight. It just felt that way. He felt odd, being out of uniform, as if his armor had been stripped away. His choice of clothes wasn't so much a disguise as a statement about his intentions. Tonight, he wasn't the CO of Galactica, or the President's senior military commander: tonight he was simply William Adama. Someone he hadn't been since before the attack on the Colonies.
He glanced about the restaurant again, noticing the heads whipping away from his gaze as their owners were caught staring. It caused a genuine smile to appear on his lips: it seemed everyone was very curious as to who his date might be.
Laura's arrival a few minutes later caused a moment of absolute silence, followed by an excited buzz of conversation. She was surrounded by her security detail, who peeled off at intervals to cover the restaurant. He was glad she had brought them: dispensing with them while she was aboard Galactica was one thing, but the Rising Star was an unsecured location. He wanted to date Laura, not the President, but knew some aspects of both their jobs were likely to intrude: like her security.
He watched her follow the Maitre D with calm assurance, nodding to the occasional staring patron. Of course, he was staring too. And with good reason.
Gone was the tailored jacket and skirt; in its place an elegant black dress that showed a nice amount of leg and just a hint of cleavage. Form fitting and sexy but classy at the same time. And completely Laura Roslin. He wondered where the hell she'd found it: he was certain that it wouldn't have been amongst the clothes she'd originally brought to Galactica.
He stood as she approached and took her outstretched hand, drawing her closer so he could kiss her cheek. The subtle scent of her perfume washed over him.
"You look stunning," he said softly, holding her hand a moment longer.
"Thank you, Bill." Her smile was radiant and her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the compliment. She cast an appreciative eye over his appearance.
"And you look very dashing," she returned the compliment. "I see you've left the Admiral at home tonight," she continued, as he helped seat her.
"As you did with the President. Well, mostly" he added dryly, glancing at the nearest member of her detail who was impersonating a statue.
"I think Daniel would have put me across his knee and spanked me if I'd suggested leaving them at home," she laughed, referring to the head of her detail.
The waiter took Laura's order for a drink, handed each a menu and departed.
Laura withdrew her glasses from her evening bag, while he withdrew his from his jacket pocket. They shared a wry smile at this, then both perused the menu.
"Everyone's still staring, aren't they?" Laura said, seemingly absorbed in the menu.
"Mmm hmm," he agreed, doing the same. "I think someone also took a picture when I kissed you."
She looked over the top of her glasses at him, her eyes twinkling. It was a look of pure mischief: a look he had come to recognize as 'Laura the Troublemaker' slipping out from under the control of 'Laura the President.'
"Don't," he warned.
"Don't what?" she countered, with an innocent look.
He gave her a stern look, to which she replied with an exaggerated sigh.
"And we wanted to have dinner in public, why?"
"Well, given our jobs, we're obviously both masochists," he replied with a straight face. Pause. "Or it could be because I'm having dinner with an intelligent, charming, beautiful woman and I want everyone to know. Especially when I get to see you in a dress like that."
A faint blush heated her cheeks and her expression was soft and completely unguarded.
He decided then and there that the whole evening - whatever happened from here - was worth it just for the way she looked at that moment.
Returning his attention to the menu, he gave her a moment to regain her composure.
"See anything you like?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the menu in his hands.
He gave her a steady look over the top of his glasses that spoke volumes.
"Yes. Yes I do."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
"...So both boys are standing there, looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouth, and their mother asks: 'So, did you have a little fire last night?'
"I thought Lee's eyes were going to pop out of his head, and Zak blurts out: 'How did you know?'
"While they'd cleaned up the pan, the walls, floor, even washed and ironed the curtains - all before we got home - they'd forgotten one thing.
"She points up, and there is a round sooty patch on the ceiling…"
Laura laughed at the story of Lee and Zak's cooking mishap as she sipped her wine.
"You're lucky they didn't burn the house down," she noted.
"They were banned from the kitchen after that," he agreed, sitting back and finishing the last of his own wine.
The dinner had passed pleasantly as they exchanged stories on childhood, work, pets and family. On occasion, they'd even managed to forget their audience.
"May I offer you tea or coffee?" the waiter asked, whisking away their empty dessert plates.
Laura shook her head with a regretful expression. "No thank you. If I have caffeine at this hour, I'll never get to sleep."
The waiter departed unobtrusively again.
She sighed. "Speaking of which, I should probably think about heading back to Colonial One."
It was rather late, Bill realized. He'd been having such a good time, that he'd lost track of the time.
They were silent as they walked arm-in-arm through the corridors of the Rising Star to the hangar deck.
"I had a lovely time tonight, Bill," Laura said as they stopped by her shuttle, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Thank you."
Ignoring the deck crew and the Presidential Detail, she leaned in and softly kissed him. It was sweet, brief, but oh so full of promise.
"I'll see you later in the week."
As he traveled back to Galactica aboard his own Raptor, he was aware he still had a smile on his face.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Next chapter >
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: G
Spoilers: Set just after the season 3 episode: "Dirty Hands". In this world, none of the episodes after that exist.
Synopsis: Just how do you go about wooing the President when you're the Admiral of the Fleet?
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Genre: Romance
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to SciFi and lots of other people but not me.
Chapter 1 - Dinner
The meeting was dragging on. And on. And still on. Admiral of the Fleet, William Adama, freely admitted to himself he was bored. Extremely bored. Bored to the point of falling asleep bored. He was sure if the meeting had been between just himself and the President, they could have had the details sensibly hammered out in an hour.
The delegation of ship captains weren't really adding anything to the discussion except an annoyance factor. Throw in Tigh, Helo and Jack Cottle, and you just got a headache-inducing shit-fight. He wondered if it was too late to volunteer for janitorial duties as a career path. Anything had to be better than this.
None of this showed on his face, of course: forty-five years in Colonial Fleet had honed his military mask to the edge of perfection. Not to mention his keen sense of self-preservation: Laura would do all sorts of unpleasant things to him if he put his head back and started snoring in the middle of her meeting. Air locking came predominately to mind.
He looked across the room at Laura Roslin, who seemed to be intently listening to the captain of the Virgon Trader. Seemed being the operative word, he realized as he watched her fidget: it looked like she was bored too. He watched her fold and refold her legs; chew her pen; fiddle with her bracelet; brush back her hair; stretch her legs under the table. Those nice, shapely legs that were displayed nicely thanks to her suit skirt and the angle at which he was sitting. He realized he was staring at said legs, but couldn't seem to help it. At least he wasn't falling asleep, he shrugged to himself.
Helo made a point, stabbing his finger at one of the captains for emphasis. A controversial point, by the sounds of it, as the room erupted into chaos.
Laura sat back in her chair, letting it continue while she took off her glasses, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked tired - she hadn't complained, but he knew she wasn't comfortable in her "temporary" quarters aboard Colonial One. And so far she hadn't take him up on his… offer.
He smiled at that thought: it had been a slip of the tongue on his part, saying she was welcome in "one of his beds."
'A very telling slip of the tongue, Bill,' he told himself. It had been something of a moment of revelation. While he'd been trying to throw obstacles in the path of a relationship with Laura, it seemed part of him had already decided he wanted it to happen. He recalled the expression on her face at his slip: a combination of amusement and mischief. And a thoroughly lovely smile. A smile he'd give a lot to see on a regular basis.
She chose that moment to open her eyes and look directly at him. He knew he had a soft, tender smile on his face, but he didn't try to hide it. Instead, he held her gaze, letting her see what she would in his expression. Her eyes widened fractionally, then a warm smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes. The moment held until by some unspoken mutual agreement, both looked away and schooled their expressions back to professional neutrality.
Bill felt a massive dislocation in his world: as if it had been stretched to its limits, then let free to realign itself, but it didn't quite fit the way it used to.
There were no doubts left: he wanted to pursue this relationship.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
It was easier said than done, of course. How did one go about dating the most important woman in the Fleet, anyway?
The business of running the Fleet had to come first. No question on that. But Bill hadn't realized just how scheduled and managed both their lives were until he tried to find a time when they could meet for dinner and not have business intrude. In the end, he had to enlist Tory's aid.
"I'd like to arrange for a dinner meeting between myself and the President," he told her over the phone.
"Of course, Admiral," she agreed. He could hear her flipping through the President's agenda. It wasn't that unusual a request, after all: they'd often shared working dinners. "I can shift things around for tomorrow evening."
"That would be acceptable."
"Galactica or Colonial One?"
Now for the delicate part. He cleared his throat.
"Ah… actually, the Rising Star."
"Oh?" he could picture her raised eyebrow. "Is there a problem on the Rising Star I should brief the President on beforehand?"
"No… This is… a dinner date." There, he'd said it.
He fancied he could hear Tory's mouth closing with a snap.
"Oh."
"And I'd appreciate it if you didn't schedule any meetings for her afterwards: she needs an evening off."
"I… ah… Yes, Admiral." She still sounded stunned. He didn't want to know what was currently running through her mind.
Now for the hard part: he hadn't asked a woman out on a date for a long, long time.
"Could you connect me to the President, please?"
"Hi." Her greeting seemed to warm the room. He pictured her sitting back in her chair in that cramped temporary office on Colonial One with a smile on her face.
"Hi yourself," he responded. He wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice.
A soft "thump" then a second one sounded over the line.
"Did you just kick off your shoes?" he asked.
"Mmm-hmm," she replied. It sounded like she was stretching, too.
"Tory just high-tailed it out of here with the oddest expression on her face, so I have this "office" to myself for the moment."
"My fault," he admitted. "I had an… unusual request. I think it threw her."
"Oh?" she sounded intrigued. "You'll have to let me in on your secret. I've seen her face down Cylons, politicians, the press and children; nothing seems to faze her. I was beginning to think she was completely unflappable."
Crunch time.
"I… ah… Would you like to have dinner with me?"
There was silence for a moment. Stunned silence, he assumed. Whether that was good or bad…
"Are you asking me out on a date, Bill?" Her voice had dropped a couple of tones in pitch and sounded very… He deliberately didn't finish that thought.
"Only if you're saying yes," he replied, undoing a few buttons on his jacket.
"Yes."
Could it be that easy?
"Yes?" he repeated, making sure.
"Yes. What - did you thing I was going to say no?" He could hear the chuckle in her voice. "Where and when did you want me?"
Oh, she did that deliberately. He loosened the rest of the buttons on his tunic as his mind began to think of all sorts of answers for that question. With some very, very vivid pictures. It definitely felt like the cabin had suddenly grown warmer.
"Twenty hundred tomorrow night at Rhapsody." Realizing she might not know it, he began elaborating: "It's a restaurant…"
"On the Rising Star. Yes; I know." She sounded surprised. "So this will be a real 'dating' type date?"
"I hope so," he said softly.
Another pause.
"You realize that we will be seen."
It sounded like she was giving him a way out, if he wanted to take it.
"Yes," he said deliberately. He let her think on that for a moment, then added: "And that all the gossip rags will go wild. Yes, I know all that. But I'm not going to sneak around, hiding things."
There was silence on the other end of the line. He sensed that she was digesting the implications of his acceptance that any relationship would be in the public eye.
"And those responsibilities of ours you were so worried about the other day?"
"We'll just have to schedule around them."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Rhapsody was as elegant as any five star restaurant in Caprica city, Bill decided as the Maitre 'D led him through the candle-lit room to a secluded corner table. Despite his civilian garb, the other diners obviously recognized him and he could hear a ripple of whispers in his wake. He ignored them, just as he would have ignored gossiping crewmen on his own ship. Instead, he allowed the waiter to seat him and take his order for a drink; something with which to occupy him while he waited for Laura to arrive. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the unfamiliar collar of his shirt: mentally, he knew it wasn't really too tight. It just felt that way. He felt odd, being out of uniform, as if his armor had been stripped away. His choice of clothes wasn't so much a disguise as a statement about his intentions. Tonight, he wasn't the CO of Galactica, or the President's senior military commander: tonight he was simply William Adama. Someone he hadn't been since before the attack on the Colonies.
He glanced about the restaurant again, noticing the heads whipping away from his gaze as their owners were caught staring. It caused a genuine smile to appear on his lips: it seemed everyone was very curious as to who his date might be.
Laura's arrival a few minutes later caused a moment of absolute silence, followed by an excited buzz of conversation. She was surrounded by her security detail, who peeled off at intervals to cover the restaurant. He was glad she had brought them: dispensing with them while she was aboard Galactica was one thing, but the Rising Star was an unsecured location. He wanted to date Laura, not the President, but knew some aspects of both their jobs were likely to intrude: like her security.
He watched her follow the Maitre D with calm assurance, nodding to the occasional staring patron. Of course, he was staring too. And with good reason.
Gone was the tailored jacket and skirt; in its place an elegant black dress that showed a nice amount of leg and just a hint of cleavage. Form fitting and sexy but classy at the same time. And completely Laura Roslin. He wondered where the hell she'd found it: he was certain that it wouldn't have been amongst the clothes she'd originally brought to Galactica.
He stood as she approached and took her outstretched hand, drawing her closer so he could kiss her cheek. The subtle scent of her perfume washed over him.
"You look stunning," he said softly, holding her hand a moment longer.
"Thank you, Bill." Her smile was radiant and her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the compliment. She cast an appreciative eye over his appearance.
"And you look very dashing," she returned the compliment. "I see you've left the Admiral at home tonight," she continued, as he helped seat her.
"As you did with the President. Well, mostly" he added dryly, glancing at the nearest member of her detail who was impersonating a statue.
"I think Daniel would have put me across his knee and spanked me if I'd suggested leaving them at home," she laughed, referring to the head of her detail.
The waiter took Laura's order for a drink, handed each a menu and departed.
Laura withdrew her glasses from her evening bag, while he withdrew his from his jacket pocket. They shared a wry smile at this, then both perused the menu.
"Everyone's still staring, aren't they?" Laura said, seemingly absorbed in the menu.
"Mmm hmm," he agreed, doing the same. "I think someone also took a picture when I kissed you."
She looked over the top of her glasses at him, her eyes twinkling. It was a look of pure mischief: a look he had come to recognize as 'Laura the Troublemaker' slipping out from under the control of 'Laura the President.'
"Don't," he warned.
"Don't what?" she countered, with an innocent look.
He gave her a stern look, to which she replied with an exaggerated sigh.
"And we wanted to have dinner in public, why?"
"Well, given our jobs, we're obviously both masochists," he replied with a straight face. Pause. "Or it could be because I'm having dinner with an intelligent, charming, beautiful woman and I want everyone to know. Especially when I get to see you in a dress like that."
A faint blush heated her cheeks and her expression was soft and completely unguarded.
He decided then and there that the whole evening - whatever happened from here - was worth it just for the way she looked at that moment.
Returning his attention to the menu, he gave her a moment to regain her composure.
"See anything you like?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the menu in his hands.
He gave her a steady look over the top of his glasses that spoke volumes.
"Yes. Yes I do."
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
"...So both boys are standing there, looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouth, and their mother asks: 'So, did you have a little fire last night?'
"I thought Lee's eyes were going to pop out of his head, and Zak blurts out: 'How did you know?'
"While they'd cleaned up the pan, the walls, floor, even washed and ironed the curtains - all before we got home - they'd forgotten one thing.
"She points up, and there is a round sooty patch on the ceiling…"
Laura laughed at the story of Lee and Zak's cooking mishap as she sipped her wine.
"You're lucky they didn't burn the house down," she noted.
"They were banned from the kitchen after that," he agreed, sitting back and finishing the last of his own wine.
The dinner had passed pleasantly as they exchanged stories on childhood, work, pets and family. On occasion, they'd even managed to forget their audience.
"May I offer you tea or coffee?" the waiter asked, whisking away their empty dessert plates.
Laura shook her head with a regretful expression. "No thank you. If I have caffeine at this hour, I'll never get to sleep."
The waiter departed unobtrusively again.
She sighed. "Speaking of which, I should probably think about heading back to Colonial One."
It was rather late, Bill realized. He'd been having such a good time, that he'd lost track of the time.
They were silent as they walked arm-in-arm through the corridors of the Rising Star to the hangar deck.
"I had a lovely time tonight, Bill," Laura said as they stopped by her shuttle, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Thank you."
Ignoring the deck crew and the Presidential Detail, she leaned in and softly kissed him. It was sweet, brief, but oh so full of promise.
"I'll see you later in the week."
As he traveled back to Galactica aboard his own Raptor, he was aware he still had a smile on his face.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Next chapter >