FIC: On the Ropes (1/4)
Rating: M
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Adama takes a standing eight count.
Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama
Setting: Unfinished Business
Series: Love in a Time of War: 9
Chapter One:
The starting bell rang. Two boxers, Morrow, a deckhand, and Hexigon, an ECO, circled warily. Ringside, Bill watched them, wondering what their beef had been, when the punches finally began. The fight was on.
Then he turned his attention to all the other dancers in the hanger, those who waited to perform, and more importantly, those who should join in but would not.
Laura sidled up from his blindside, “There you are,” warm in his ear, her public intimacy knocking him off balance before she stepped back.
He reacted like a teenage boy, goofy grin and gabbling response, pulling Laura a bit closer to shield her from the fighters’ flying sweat, all his intensions for the evening momentarily forgotten.
“What?” she asked when he wasn’t saying anything, and he knew that his gaze lingered a bit too long; it was a warning. He shook his head to clear it of the sudden, poorly-timed memories and she approved with a smile.
When she gushed about her love for boxing, he realized that she wasn’t just checking in for some presidential public relations, but would stay. Instinctively he wanted to fight but now she would be there to bear witness.
Hard-edged confidence rolled off of her stance as she looked around the hanger, staying close to him. The playful accusation in her voice when she said, “Heard about your so-called dance. Accidently, I might add,” meant that he should tell her everything. It all said, this is my man, but that didn’t bother him. He liked being possessed; it meant he could be possessive too.
She sensed his tension, had noticed him looking at Tyrol--she wanted to see her man fight. She thought it would just be for fun, to release some of those frustrations that being with her couldn’t dispel. “It’s a dance, remember,” she said, come on, do it, in her voice.
Regardless of her presence and expectations, he had to act. “Could you hold these?” Bill said, giving her his glasses.
When their admiral climbed into the ring, silence fell over the onlookers. He scanned the hanger before stopping at Tyrol. “Chief! Get your fat, lazy ass up here!” The young man gaped, hip flask still at his lips. The crew erupted, their roars shaking the ring. Adama nodded to Helo, beckoning him into the ring as well.
After shedding his tunic, Adama told Helo, “Make ‘em tight,” holding out his right hand for the wraps. The smell of blood and sweat and rubbing alcohol swarmed up his nostrils. His instinct had been right; it was his turn to fight. The cotton wrap cut into his hand, concentrating the blood when he squeezed a fist.
Bill looked down at Laura outside the ring, gripping his glasses, the hand smoothing his tunic, but her eyes were filled with excitement. It appeared there was one more thing he didn’t know about her; a love for a good fight.
Two days earlier, he’d awoken to Laura fumbling around in the dark at 0300, trying to find her clothes. He’d finally frakked her hard enough that she had fallen asleep before she could beat her usual retreat. But she still wouldn’t stay the full night.
“Whah you doin’?” he’d mumbled.
Holding up one shoe, she’d told him, “Just go back to sleep.”
“Turn on a light,” he said.
The flash of his desk lamp had hurt, but then he got to watch her slip back into her clothes, nearly as pleasurable as watching her get out of them. He enjoyed seeing a woman’s ordinary movements, her curves and soft valleys shifting in the half light, and the way that fabric slid across those shapes.
The final crisp snap shut of her blazer meant it was her armor, not feminine garments that she was replacing. He propped his head on his folded arm. “Come ‘ere,” he rumbled.
She had been easing towards the door, dancing on one shod foot while slipping the other pump on. “I’m leaving.”
“I know. I want to kiss you goodbye,” he said, fighting the urge to leap from the rack and chase her.
She dragged herself to him as though heading to the principal’s office. When she got to there, he still didn’t rise from his recumbent position. He held her eyes with his, demanding.
He watched her swallow, and then she leaned over, blocking out the light. She murmured, “Goodnight,” and her lips lightly touching his.
He invaded her mouth, his quick hand capturing her head to hold it in place. She struggled for only a moment, before her tongue chased his back into his mouth. Finally releasing her lips, he lay back on his pillow. “Night,” he said.
She stood upright again, pushing her hair back. Her tongue quickly flicked across her lips as her gaze traveled over his body sprawled out on the rack, unashamedly naked; he didn’t bother to pull the sheet over his hips.
But she had walked out without a backward glance, just like she always did.
He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after that, and was dressed and waiting for Dee when she arrived for the morning briefing, surprising the young woman.
Although she looked concerned at this development, Dee settled at his table and began her reports. “Sir, what did you want to do about the adjustments to the water refining schedule?”
Bill shook his head, and poured his third cup of coffee. “Guess I’m not as awake as I thought I was.” He held up the carafe in an unspoken offer and she declined. “Dee, you know, I am your father-in-law; you can call me Bill.” She shifted in her chair. “Or Dad.”
Dee looked shy. “I don’t know, sir...”
He shrugged. She was probably right. As long as they were in uniform, they should maintain discipline. He had thought that he’d woven the fabric of his family back together after New Caprica with pure determination. Instead, it was a fraying tapestry, and when he had to let go of threads to weave more together, others unraveled. Lee was married, but seemed distracted and tense. Dee was obviously in love with her husband, but Bill didn’t like the anxiety he saw in her eyes. Tigh was returning to the CIC, but was remote and unemotional, even after spilling his story. Starbuck was back on the CAP, but her husband still lived off ship. And Laura.
Laura he couldn’t fault. She was giving him just what she’d promised and that was the problem.
Bill smiled at Dee. “Yes, we’re on duty. But I don’t know if I’ve ever expressed to you how happy that I am that you’re truly my daughter now.”
The lovely young woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, si--Dad,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand and decided that was enough. Now wasn’t a good time to ask about children, as in when, and how many. He could see them already, curly dark hair, light cocoa skin; green eyes or blue, though?
Dee regained control and starting going through what they called the bitch list, a collection of complaints and grieves posted by the crew.
After the first page, Bill leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “We need to throw a dance,” he said, thoughtful.
Dee nodded definitely. Bill grinned at her. “You’ve gone a few rounds, Lieutenant?”
She raised her chin. “Yes, sir, I beat down this bitch from Weapons when I was on the Firefly; she had been breaking off my last nerve.”
He couldn’t help it; he had to roar with laughter.
Tartly, she said, “And you? When was your last dance?”
“I’ve thrown them on all my vessels, but this would be the first for Galactica.”
“Do you fight?” she asked.
“Not in a long time; not while I’m in command,” he said. He smiled at the memory. “But the last one was me and a certain scrappy Major Tigh, settling a score.”
She asked, “Did you win?”
He feigned outrage. “Of course.” They exchanged grins. “He was a tough little frakker but he went down eventually. Don’t pull his tags out; he bites.”
Dee kept smiling until he asked, “Got anyone whose tags you want to pull out this time?”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t win, in any case.” she said, her eyes returning to her clipboard. He furrowed his brow, confused.
She turned over her notes to take fresh dictation. “So we should plan for say, two days hence?”
“Yeah,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “There’s this energy through the ship, a discontent, and I don’t like it, I don’t like it one bit. Let’s get on top of it sooner, rather than later.”
She fiddled with her pen and silence stretched. “Don’t you agree?” Bill said.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “But, we’re only as content as our leaders--“ She suddenly blushed violently and his eyebrows rose over his glasses’ frames.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Sir, really, I shouldn’t have said anything--“
He held up a hand. “Dee, I’ve always been able to count on you to be honest with me--“
“That was before,” she whispered.
“Dee,” he commanded.
She laid the pen and blew out a breath. “I was so happy for you and the President, sir. I’d hoped--“
Apparently he wasn’t the only one envisioning glorious domestic bliss. And he was surprised to find tears pricking at his eyelids; she was the first person who seemed to be happy for them. He nodded to encourage the young woman.
“But you don’t seem content. Either of you. I’d hoped--“ she repeated.
“Me too,” Bill said. “But she’s not exactly malleable.” He muttered, as though Dee wasn’t there, “Can’t get her to open up.”
“I’m sure it’s difficult for her,” said Dee. “After her great loss--“
“What?” Bill said and Dee’s eyes became those of a deer in the headlights.
She backpedaled. “If you don’t know, I probably shouldn’t say anything.”
He felt ashamed for himself and Laura, that Dee saw their lack of closeness. “Why don’t you tell me, Dee,” he said.
“It’s just...Billy only told me because I was so angry with the president when she defied you and sent Starbuck back to Caprica after the arrow--“ He nodded, remembering those events; it seemed like another lifetime. “I said something about how she didn’t understand what it meant to tear a family apart--“
“Yes,” encouraged Bill, holding her worried green eyes with his own intense gaze.
Those eyes filled with tears. “Her family’s dead. All of them-- before the fall. Her mother died of cancer, and her sisters and father were killed in a car accident. She was alone before all the rest of us were alone.”
“She’s used to being alone,” Bill said. He shook himself and said bitterly, “She told the boy--“
“Billy was just that way,” Dee said quickly. “He’d look at you and you’d tell him anything.” Her own anguish appeared on her quivering lips.
“And I’m not.”
Dee said, “No, sir, it’s not like that. I just think...she can seem so warm, but there’s a wall there...I’m sure that she just doesn’t want to get hurt.” Her smooth brow knit. “Billy wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
They fell into silence again. Bill filled in the unspoken from Dee. You do hurt me sometimes. Lee hurts me. You Adama men push too hard; are blind.
He slapped the table, causing her to jump. “The dance. How about the port hanger deck?”
Relief on her face, Dee said, “Yes, sir.” She cocked her head at him. “Be sure to invite the president; I bet that she’d enjoy the spectacle.”
He waved her off. “No, no, this wouldn’t be her sort of thing. She abhors violence; probably wouldn’t understand the point.”
Daring, Dee said, “Who knows? Perhaps she’d like to pull someone’s tags out of the box and clear the air.”
He gave her a pained smile. “She doesn’t work that way. No, we’ll keep this crew only.”
She opened her mouth as though to argue, then closed it again. “Yes, sir,” she said. Hopping to her feet, she said, “I should be going.”
“Yes,” said Bill. “And Dee?”
She turned back at the hatch. “Yes, sir?”
“Thank you for telling me,” he said and she gave him a quick, quivering smile.
End (1/4) Chapter Two >>>
Word Count: 2,000
Summary: Adama takes a standing eight count.
Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama
Setting: Unfinished Business
Series: Love in a Time of War: 9
Chapter One:
The starting bell rang. Two boxers, Morrow, a deckhand, and Hexigon, an ECO, circled warily. Ringside, Bill watched them, wondering what their beef had been, when the punches finally began. The fight was on.
Then he turned his attention to all the other dancers in the hanger, those who waited to perform, and more importantly, those who should join in but would not.
Laura sidled up from his blindside, “There you are,” warm in his ear, her public intimacy knocking him off balance before she stepped back.
He reacted like a teenage boy, goofy grin and gabbling response, pulling Laura a bit closer to shield her from the fighters’ flying sweat, all his intensions for the evening momentarily forgotten.
“What?” she asked when he wasn’t saying anything, and he knew that his gaze lingered a bit too long; it was a warning. He shook his head to clear it of the sudden, poorly-timed memories and she approved with a smile.
When she gushed about her love for boxing, he realized that she wasn’t just checking in for some presidential public relations, but would stay. Instinctively he wanted to fight but now she would be there to bear witness.
Hard-edged confidence rolled off of her stance as she looked around the hanger, staying close to him. The playful accusation in her voice when she said, “Heard about your so-called dance. Accidently, I might add,” meant that he should tell her everything. It all said, this is my man, but that didn’t bother him. He liked being possessed; it meant he could be possessive too.
She sensed his tension, had noticed him looking at Tyrol--she wanted to see her man fight. She thought it would just be for fun, to release some of those frustrations that being with her couldn’t dispel. “It’s a dance, remember,” she said, come on, do it, in her voice.
Regardless of her presence and expectations, he had to act. “Could you hold these?” Bill said, giving her his glasses.
When their admiral climbed into the ring, silence fell over the onlookers. He scanned the hanger before stopping at Tyrol. “Chief! Get your fat, lazy ass up here!” The young man gaped, hip flask still at his lips. The crew erupted, their roars shaking the ring. Adama nodded to Helo, beckoning him into the ring as well.
After shedding his tunic, Adama told Helo, “Make ‘em tight,” holding out his right hand for the wraps. The smell of blood and sweat and rubbing alcohol swarmed up his nostrils. His instinct had been right; it was his turn to fight. The cotton wrap cut into his hand, concentrating the blood when he squeezed a fist.
Bill looked down at Laura outside the ring, gripping his glasses, the hand smoothing his tunic, but her eyes were filled with excitement. It appeared there was one more thing he didn’t know about her; a love for a good fight.
Two days earlier, he’d awoken to Laura fumbling around in the dark at 0300, trying to find her clothes. He’d finally frakked her hard enough that she had fallen asleep before she could beat her usual retreat. But she still wouldn’t stay the full night.
“Whah you doin’?” he’d mumbled.
Holding up one shoe, she’d told him, “Just go back to sleep.”
“Turn on a light,” he said.
The flash of his desk lamp had hurt, but then he got to watch her slip back into her clothes, nearly as pleasurable as watching her get out of them. He enjoyed seeing a woman’s ordinary movements, her curves and soft valleys shifting in the half light, and the way that fabric slid across those shapes.
The final crisp snap shut of her blazer meant it was her armor, not feminine garments that she was replacing. He propped his head on his folded arm. “Come ‘ere,” he rumbled.
She had been easing towards the door, dancing on one shod foot while slipping the other pump on. “I’m leaving.”
“I know. I want to kiss you goodbye,” he said, fighting the urge to leap from the rack and chase her.
She dragged herself to him as though heading to the principal’s office. When she got to there, he still didn’t rise from his recumbent position. He held her eyes with his, demanding.
He watched her swallow, and then she leaned over, blocking out the light. She murmured, “Goodnight,” and her lips lightly touching his.
He invaded her mouth, his quick hand capturing her head to hold it in place. She struggled for only a moment, before her tongue chased his back into his mouth. Finally releasing her lips, he lay back on his pillow. “Night,” he said.
She stood upright again, pushing her hair back. Her tongue quickly flicked across her lips as her gaze traveled over his body sprawled out on the rack, unashamedly naked; he didn’t bother to pull the sheet over his hips.
But she had walked out without a backward glance, just like she always did.
He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after that, and was dressed and waiting for Dee when she arrived for the morning briefing, surprising the young woman.
Although she looked concerned at this development, Dee settled at his table and began her reports. “Sir, what did you want to do about the adjustments to the water refining schedule?”
Bill shook his head, and poured his third cup of coffee. “Guess I’m not as awake as I thought I was.” He held up the carafe in an unspoken offer and she declined. “Dee, you know, I am your father-in-law; you can call me Bill.” She shifted in her chair. “Or Dad.”
Dee looked shy. “I don’t know, sir...”
He shrugged. She was probably right. As long as they were in uniform, they should maintain discipline. He had thought that he’d woven the fabric of his family back together after New Caprica with pure determination. Instead, it was a fraying tapestry, and when he had to let go of threads to weave more together, others unraveled. Lee was married, but seemed distracted and tense. Dee was obviously in love with her husband, but Bill didn’t like the anxiety he saw in her eyes. Tigh was returning to the CIC, but was remote and unemotional, even after spilling his story. Starbuck was back on the CAP, but her husband still lived off ship. And Laura.
Laura he couldn’t fault. She was giving him just what she’d promised and that was the problem.
Bill smiled at Dee. “Yes, we’re on duty. But I don’t know if I’ve ever expressed to you how happy that I am that you’re truly my daughter now.”
The lovely young woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, si--Dad,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand and decided that was enough. Now wasn’t a good time to ask about children, as in when, and how many. He could see them already, curly dark hair, light cocoa skin; green eyes or blue, though?
Dee regained control and starting going through what they called the bitch list, a collection of complaints and grieves posted by the crew.
After the first page, Bill leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “We need to throw a dance,” he said, thoughtful.
Dee nodded definitely. Bill grinned at her. “You’ve gone a few rounds, Lieutenant?”
She raised her chin. “Yes, sir, I beat down this bitch from Weapons when I was on the Firefly; she had been breaking off my last nerve.”
He couldn’t help it; he had to roar with laughter.
Tartly, she said, “And you? When was your last dance?”
“I’ve thrown them on all my vessels, but this would be the first for Galactica.”
“Do you fight?” she asked.
“Not in a long time; not while I’m in command,” he said. He smiled at the memory. “But the last one was me and a certain scrappy Major Tigh, settling a score.”
She asked, “Did you win?”
He feigned outrage. “Of course.” They exchanged grins. “He was a tough little frakker but he went down eventually. Don’t pull his tags out; he bites.”
Dee kept smiling until he asked, “Got anyone whose tags you want to pull out this time?”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t win, in any case.” she said, her eyes returning to her clipboard. He furrowed his brow, confused.
She turned over her notes to take fresh dictation. “So we should plan for say, two days hence?”
“Yeah,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “There’s this energy through the ship, a discontent, and I don’t like it, I don’t like it one bit. Let’s get on top of it sooner, rather than later.”
She fiddled with her pen and silence stretched. “Don’t you agree?” Bill said.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “But, we’re only as content as our leaders--“ She suddenly blushed violently and his eyebrows rose over his glasses’ frames.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Sir, really, I shouldn’t have said anything--“
He held up a hand. “Dee, I’ve always been able to count on you to be honest with me--“
“That was before,” she whispered.
“Dee,” he commanded.
She laid the pen and blew out a breath. “I was so happy for you and the President, sir. I’d hoped--“
Apparently he wasn’t the only one envisioning glorious domestic bliss. And he was surprised to find tears pricking at his eyelids; she was the first person who seemed to be happy for them. He nodded to encourage the young woman.
“But you don’t seem content. Either of you. I’d hoped--“ she repeated.
“Me too,” Bill said. “But she’s not exactly malleable.” He muttered, as though Dee wasn’t there, “Can’t get her to open up.”
“I’m sure it’s difficult for her,” said Dee. “After her great loss--“
“What?” Bill said and Dee’s eyes became those of a deer in the headlights.
She backpedaled. “If you don’t know, I probably shouldn’t say anything.”
He felt ashamed for himself and Laura, that Dee saw their lack of closeness. “Why don’t you tell me, Dee,” he said.
“It’s just...Billy only told me because I was so angry with the president when she defied you and sent Starbuck back to Caprica after the arrow--“ He nodded, remembering those events; it seemed like another lifetime. “I said something about how she didn’t understand what it meant to tear a family apart--“
“Yes,” encouraged Bill, holding her worried green eyes with his own intense gaze.
Those eyes filled with tears. “Her family’s dead. All of them-- before the fall. Her mother died of cancer, and her sisters and father were killed in a car accident. She was alone before all the rest of us were alone.”
“She’s used to being alone,” Bill said. He shook himself and said bitterly, “She told the boy--“
“Billy was just that way,” Dee said quickly. “He’d look at you and you’d tell him anything.” Her own anguish appeared on her quivering lips.
“And I’m not.”
Dee said, “No, sir, it’s not like that. I just think...she can seem so warm, but there’s a wall there...I’m sure that she just doesn’t want to get hurt.” Her smooth brow knit. “Billy wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
They fell into silence again. Bill filled in the unspoken from Dee. You do hurt me sometimes. Lee hurts me. You Adama men push too hard; are blind.
He slapped the table, causing her to jump. “The dance. How about the port hanger deck?”
Relief on her face, Dee said, “Yes, sir.” She cocked her head at him. “Be sure to invite the president; I bet that she’d enjoy the spectacle.”
He waved her off. “No, no, this wouldn’t be her sort of thing. She abhors violence; probably wouldn’t understand the point.”
Daring, Dee said, “Who knows? Perhaps she’d like to pull someone’s tags out of the box and clear the air.”
He gave her a pained smile. “She doesn’t work that way. No, we’ll keep this crew only.”
She opened her mouth as though to argue, then closed it again. “Yes, sir,” she said. Hopping to her feet, she said, “I should be going.”
“Yes,” said Bill. “And Dee?”
She turned back at the hatch. “Yes, sir?”
“Thank you for telling me,” he said and she gave him a quick, quivering smile.
End (1/4) Chapter Two >>>