A much-anticipated conversation
Comments locked to admiral_adama and laura_roslin. WARNING: Adult Material in Comments! Do not read through comments if you're easily offended!
Damn it. She'd done it to him again.
You would think he'd know by now that Laura Roslin delighted in confounding his attempts to predict her. After their brief but very tender conversation, he'd been confident that she'd dither and deliberate for at least a few weeks, maybe a month or more, before taking any further steps with him. Instead it was only four days later when he received a sealed, unsigned and extremely short message that could only have come from one person.
My "earliest convenience" is at 20:00 tonight, so I'll see you then. Don't worry about dinner.
Which was fine. Which was frakking wonderful, in fact, and he'd spent the rest of his day considering what a continuation of that promising conversation might lead to. But he was left with only an hour and a half after he got off shift to get his quarters into some kind of shape.
A third of his time allotment vanished in frantic sorting, stacking, tossing and muttering a stream of profanity under his breath. With any other woman, he might have bypassed the issue by making a bit of a splash ... book a suite on the Rising Star and take her out for drinks and dancing. A splash, however, would be the last thing Laura would want. The President was constantly on show out there; no private talk would be possible under the unwavering scrutiny of the press and public. Here in his quarters she could actually relax, be at ease -- his own thought froze him where he stood.
She is at ease here. Laura likes your quarters, Bill, clutter and all. Now is not the time to frak with success.
He chuckled at his last-minute jitters. Understandable when he considered how long it had been since his last date. And a date this undoubtedly was, though he hadn't even thought the term before now. He devoted a little more time to making sure certain surfaces were clear, the low table and the couch being the most important of these. On the table he arranged a few candles left over from that wincingly memorable dinner with the Tighs and added two small glasses and a bottle holding a tangy, golden dessert wine from Scorpia.
Realization didn't strike until he'd finished. Twenty minutes to go before she arrived, and he had a much bigger problem than the state of his quarters.
What the hell should I wear?!
An inventory of his clothes took almost no time, since they were mostly uniforms. No. Not tonight. Let me set the Admiral aside for one night at least. Much of his selection of civilian clothes seemed either too casual to be respectful or too formal to be relaxing. He finally settled on the softest sweater he had, a V-neck worked in variegated browns ranging from golden tan to chocolate, worn over black slacks. After shoving his feet into a pair of loafers, he sighed and went to the head to finish grooming. Well. I'll have to do.
Candles lit, wine poured and he was ready with minutes to spare.
Just enough time to work himself into a real state of nerves.
Damn it.
Damn it. She'd done it to him again.
You would think he'd know by now that Laura Roslin delighted in confounding his attempts to predict her. After their brief but very tender conversation, he'd been confident that she'd dither and deliberate for at least a few weeks, maybe a month or more, before taking any further steps with him. Instead it was only four days later when he received a sealed, unsigned and extremely short message that could only have come from one person.
My "earliest convenience" is at 20:00 tonight, so I'll see you then. Don't worry about dinner.
Which was fine. Which was frakking wonderful, in fact, and he'd spent the rest of his day considering what a continuation of that promising conversation might lead to. But he was left with only an hour and a half after he got off shift to get his quarters into some kind of shape.
A third of his time allotment vanished in frantic sorting, stacking, tossing and muttering a stream of profanity under his breath. With any other woman, he might have bypassed the issue by making a bit of a splash ... book a suite on the Rising Star and take her out for drinks and dancing. A splash, however, would be the last thing Laura would want. The President was constantly on show out there; no private talk would be possible under the unwavering scrutiny of the press and public. Here in his quarters she could actually relax, be at ease -- his own thought froze him where he stood.
She is at ease here. Laura likes your quarters, Bill, clutter and all. Now is not the time to frak with success.
He chuckled at his last-minute jitters. Understandable when he considered how long it had been since his last date. And a date this undoubtedly was, though he hadn't even thought the term before now. He devoted a little more time to making sure certain surfaces were clear, the low table and the couch being the most important of these. On the table he arranged a few candles left over from that wincingly memorable dinner with the Tighs and added two small glasses and a bottle holding a tangy, golden dessert wine from Scorpia.
Realization didn't strike until he'd finished. Twenty minutes to go before she arrived, and he had a much bigger problem than the state of his quarters.
What the hell should I wear?!
An inventory of his clothes took almost no time, since they were mostly uniforms. No. Not tonight. Let me set the Admiral aside for one night at least. Much of his selection of civilian clothes seemed either too casual to be respectful or too formal to be relaxing. He finally settled on the softest sweater he had, a V-neck worked in variegated browns ranging from golden tan to chocolate, worn over black slacks. After shoving his feet into a pair of loafers, he sighed and went to the head to finish grooming. Well. I'll have to do.
Candles lit, wine poured and he was ready with minutes to spare.
Just enough time to work himself into a real state of nerves.
Damn it.