FIC: A Degree of Reconciliation (1/4)
Rating: MA (This chapter T)
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: There’s only a few days left until Roslin assumes the presidency again.
Episode Setting: Collaborators
Series: Love in a Time of War: 3
Author's Notes: As with the other stories in the series, it's not necessary to read the others to get this story. It does help to have watched the episodes though!
Standing in the middle of the Admiral’s quarters, Tom Zarek returned to the steamy, dense jungles of southern Sagittaron, his senses alert to unseen dangers. It had been decades since the S.F.M. freedom fighters had hidden there from the pursuing Colonial Marines, but being called to the Fleet’s military leader’s domain reminded him of the experience. This was not his natural environment, and never would be.
The Admiral had his back to his visitor. “Drink?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” said Tom, still looking around the sumptuous quarters, with its rich leather sectional sofa, fine knotted rugs and antique furnishings. He squinted at the large painting on the wall; a cheap copy had hung in his school history classroom.
Bringing two glasses half filled with amber liquid, Adama finally faced Zarek, smiling but with no greeting in his eyes. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning towards the conference table.
No lounging up on that sofa for him, Tom thought, pulling out a hard chair. He sipped his drink and said, “Smooth. Figures the Admiral would have the best stuff.”
Adama said, “I get it from the same moonshiners that everyone else does--“ then pulled himself up short, not wanting to show aggravation. He lapsed into silence and sipped his own drink.
“So, Admiral, I assume you asked me here for a reason,” Tom said.
Setting down his glass, Adama said, “Yes. Thank you for finally showing up.” Tom blinked innocently as the Admiral continued, “Let’s get to the point. I understand that by default, you are now president.”
“Default? I’d call it the succession order in the Articles of Colonization,” Tom pointed out, getting only a steady gaze back from Adama. “And I am president; I took the oath as soon as we returned to space.”
Once, while hiding in the jungle, Tom had leaned against a massive mangrove tree to rest, only to sense he was being watched. He had no weapon but a short knife. He finally saw it--a huge black jaguar, high above him on a branch. The cat looked down at him like Adama looked at him now. Supremely confident in his superior strength, ever the hunter, not hungry at this moment, but seeing Tom as nothing but a future meal.
Savoring the alcohol, Adama slowly moved his mouth just as the jaguar had, his eyes never leaving Tom either. Tom had not been frightened at the predator’s gaze. If anything, it excited him. He’d been hunted his whole life, chased, caged, beaten. He could almost feel the long canines sinking into his throat, his blood flowing hot out, away, death coming slow, like falling asleep. It would be an honorable way to die, just as being killed by the Admiral would be an honor.
What did they call him? The Old Man? The Old Man spoke, his tone final. “You are a criminal who belongs in a cell.”
“What’s my crime?” said Tom. “Pissing you off?”
Adama said, “Just to pick one, being a member of the traitor Baltar’s administration. You should be in the brig; not president.”
The cat’s face has been scarred from years of battles, like Adama’s was. But if the jaguar was a hunter who would not attack unless Tom had run, Tom was another kind of predator. He was a shark, who must keep moving to live. His bloodlust was just as strong as the cat’s. He smiled his shark’s grin. “I guessed as much. And I assume that you have someone in mind to replace me?”
Adama sipped his drink, his face relaxing ever so slightly.
Tom said, “Speaking of criminal acts, she told me that she tried to steal the election from Baltar.” Adama’s lips closed on the glass’s edge and Zarek tasted the blood in the water. “I wonder who gave it to him instead--she wouldn’t say.”
The Admiral put his glass down. “I have learned from my mistakes.”
Tom kept going. “Yes, you should have seen her down there. Still the leader, still the one that citizens looked to for guidance during our oppression. She took detention--“ That got something, a slight hiss from Adama. Had she truly not told him about that? Interesting.
“Took her detention like a soldier. You trained her well.”
“I haven’t taught her anything. She’s a natural warrior. She just had to see it.” The unexpected intimacy in Adama’s voice made Tom felt slightly embarrassed, as though he’d caught them having sex, but it answered an obvious question that he’d had about the true nature of their relationship. His eyes glanced through the archway to the Admiral’s rack, almost surprised to find it empty.
He refocused. “You sell yourself short,” Tom said easily. “She’d had prior experience in confinement after all, courtesy of you.”
Adama’s jaw began to clench, and Tom settled back in the chair to enjoy himself. “Yes, she was spectacular then as well, as I’m sure you noticed when you finally arrived. Our long days and nights, hiding in my shipboard haunts, then struggling through the forests of Kobol...” He wondered how the Admiral could breathe with his collar as tight as it appeared.
Adama’s voice was definitely raspier than normal. “I think we’re getting off the point.”
“She is a distracting woman, isn’t she?” said Tom.
“It would seem so.” Adama cleared his throat with another deep sip from his glass. “But to return to the topic at hand--“
“What if I don’t agree to leave?” Tom asked the hunter, wanting to see the cat jump from the branch.
Adama’s glasses glinted, magnifying his boring glare. “If you choose to stay, I will remove you from the office. If you leave voluntarily, at least you’ll get something out of it, I’m sure. You always do.”
“So you’ve discussed this with Laura?” Tom let his tongue caress her name, as though he said it all the time, every day. Sure enough, there as the slightest of twitches at the corner of Adama’s eyelid.
“I have not discussed my specific plans,” said the Admiral. “But I know that she wants to return to the presidency. That’s all I need to know.”
“You may find Laura changed after our experiences on New Caprica. Has she told you what happened to us?”
“Are you saying that Laura Roslin is unfit to lead?” said Adama, tipping his chin up stubbornly.
Tom held up his hands. “Not at all. I’m saying that the two of you may discover that you won’t work smoothly as a team anymore.”
The Admiral actually smiled. “Is that how you saw us? Which one was the mule and which one had the whip?”
Tom chuckled and glanced to the rack again. “That wasn’t the sort of relationship I was suggesting--“
“What sort were you suggesting?” said Adama coldly, drawing Zarek’s gaze back to him. Tom would only be allowed to prod so far.
“I’m just saying that I might have a better understanding of what’s making Laura tick these days.” Tom had finally pushed the right button. Although there was not a single movement from Adama, he felt the other man’s fist curl and slam into his head. He wished Adama had done it; he wanted to taste his own blood, he needed the fight, the hate, the battle.
Instead, Adama said, “An odd assessment from a man who put Baltar up as his puppet to defeat President Roslin because he knew not enough people would vote for a terrorist.” The beast’s face was ugly, the nose curling as though smelling something bad.
Right then, Zarek knew he must stay as close to Laura as he could; this was the most unacceptable thing for Adama. He tipped his head, as though in defeat. “So that’s where we’re at.”
Adama drained his glass. “Yes.” The meeting was over. He rose. “Roslin is on Colonial One. I believe she’s going through paperwork. I’d suggest you offer to resign and to help her return to the presidency.”
“At your command, Admiral.” Tom stood too, giving his best whimsical smile. “I look forward to reuniting with Laura under better circumstances.”
Adama paused at Zarek’s shoulder, not looking at him. He whispered, as though others were in the room. “Don’t frak with her or I will make you disappear.” He kept walking to his desk, ignoring the other man.
Zarek’s smile became a grin, and he strode jauntily out. He had a meeting with his future president to attend. But first, he had to see the disgraced Colonel Tigh about the course of his first, last, and most important presidential order.
(end 1/4) Next Chapter >>>
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: There’s only a few days left until Roslin assumes the presidency again.
Episode Setting: Collaborators
Series: Love in a Time of War: 3
Author's Notes: As with the other stories in the series, it's not necessary to read the others to get this story. It does help to have watched the episodes though!
Standing in the middle of the Admiral’s quarters, Tom Zarek returned to the steamy, dense jungles of southern Sagittaron, his senses alert to unseen dangers. It had been decades since the S.F.M. freedom fighters had hidden there from the pursuing Colonial Marines, but being called to the Fleet’s military leader’s domain reminded him of the experience. This was not his natural environment, and never would be.
The Admiral had his back to his visitor. “Drink?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” said Tom, still looking around the sumptuous quarters, with its rich leather sectional sofa, fine knotted rugs and antique furnishings. He squinted at the large painting on the wall; a cheap copy had hung in his school history classroom.
Bringing two glasses half filled with amber liquid, Adama finally faced Zarek, smiling but with no greeting in his eyes. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning towards the conference table.
No lounging up on that sofa for him, Tom thought, pulling out a hard chair. He sipped his drink and said, “Smooth. Figures the Admiral would have the best stuff.”
Adama said, “I get it from the same moonshiners that everyone else does--“ then pulled himself up short, not wanting to show aggravation. He lapsed into silence and sipped his own drink.
“So, Admiral, I assume you asked me here for a reason,” Tom said.
Setting down his glass, Adama said, “Yes. Thank you for finally showing up.” Tom blinked innocently as the Admiral continued, “Let’s get to the point. I understand that by default, you are now president.”
“Default? I’d call it the succession order in the Articles of Colonization,” Tom pointed out, getting only a steady gaze back from Adama. “And I am president; I took the oath as soon as we returned to space.”
Once, while hiding in the jungle, Tom had leaned against a massive mangrove tree to rest, only to sense he was being watched. He had no weapon but a short knife. He finally saw it--a huge black jaguar, high above him on a branch. The cat looked down at him like Adama looked at him now. Supremely confident in his superior strength, ever the hunter, not hungry at this moment, but seeing Tom as nothing but a future meal.
Savoring the alcohol, Adama slowly moved his mouth just as the jaguar had, his eyes never leaving Tom either. Tom had not been frightened at the predator’s gaze. If anything, it excited him. He’d been hunted his whole life, chased, caged, beaten. He could almost feel the long canines sinking into his throat, his blood flowing hot out, away, death coming slow, like falling asleep. It would be an honorable way to die, just as being killed by the Admiral would be an honor.
What did they call him? The Old Man? The Old Man spoke, his tone final. “You are a criminal who belongs in a cell.”
“What’s my crime?” said Tom. “Pissing you off?”
Adama said, “Just to pick one, being a member of the traitor Baltar’s administration. You should be in the brig; not president.”
The cat’s face has been scarred from years of battles, like Adama’s was. But if the jaguar was a hunter who would not attack unless Tom had run, Tom was another kind of predator. He was a shark, who must keep moving to live. His bloodlust was just as strong as the cat’s. He smiled his shark’s grin. “I guessed as much. And I assume that you have someone in mind to replace me?”
Adama sipped his drink, his face relaxing ever so slightly.
Tom said, “Speaking of criminal acts, she told me that she tried to steal the election from Baltar.” Adama’s lips closed on the glass’s edge and Zarek tasted the blood in the water. “I wonder who gave it to him instead--she wouldn’t say.”
The Admiral put his glass down. “I have learned from my mistakes.”
Tom kept going. “Yes, you should have seen her down there. Still the leader, still the one that citizens looked to for guidance during our oppression. She took detention--“ That got something, a slight hiss from Adama. Had she truly not told him about that? Interesting.
“Took her detention like a soldier. You trained her well.”
“I haven’t taught her anything. She’s a natural warrior. She just had to see it.” The unexpected intimacy in Adama’s voice made Tom felt slightly embarrassed, as though he’d caught them having sex, but it answered an obvious question that he’d had about the true nature of their relationship. His eyes glanced through the archway to the Admiral’s rack, almost surprised to find it empty.
He refocused. “You sell yourself short,” Tom said easily. “She’d had prior experience in confinement after all, courtesy of you.”
Adama’s jaw began to clench, and Tom settled back in the chair to enjoy himself. “Yes, she was spectacular then as well, as I’m sure you noticed when you finally arrived. Our long days and nights, hiding in my shipboard haunts, then struggling through the forests of Kobol...” He wondered how the Admiral could breathe with his collar as tight as it appeared.
Adama’s voice was definitely raspier than normal. “I think we’re getting off the point.”
“She is a distracting woman, isn’t she?” said Tom.
“It would seem so.” Adama cleared his throat with another deep sip from his glass. “But to return to the topic at hand--“
“What if I don’t agree to leave?” Tom asked the hunter, wanting to see the cat jump from the branch.
Adama’s glasses glinted, magnifying his boring glare. “If you choose to stay, I will remove you from the office. If you leave voluntarily, at least you’ll get something out of it, I’m sure. You always do.”
“So you’ve discussed this with Laura?” Tom let his tongue caress her name, as though he said it all the time, every day. Sure enough, there as the slightest of twitches at the corner of Adama’s eyelid.
“I have not discussed my specific plans,” said the Admiral. “But I know that she wants to return to the presidency. That’s all I need to know.”
“You may find Laura changed after our experiences on New Caprica. Has she told you what happened to us?”
“Are you saying that Laura Roslin is unfit to lead?” said Adama, tipping his chin up stubbornly.
Tom held up his hands. “Not at all. I’m saying that the two of you may discover that you won’t work smoothly as a team anymore.”
The Admiral actually smiled. “Is that how you saw us? Which one was the mule and which one had the whip?”
Tom chuckled and glanced to the rack again. “That wasn’t the sort of relationship I was suggesting--“
“What sort were you suggesting?” said Adama coldly, drawing Zarek’s gaze back to him. Tom would only be allowed to prod so far.
“I’m just saying that I might have a better understanding of what’s making Laura tick these days.” Tom had finally pushed the right button. Although there was not a single movement from Adama, he felt the other man’s fist curl and slam into his head. He wished Adama had done it; he wanted to taste his own blood, he needed the fight, the hate, the battle.
Instead, Adama said, “An odd assessment from a man who put Baltar up as his puppet to defeat President Roslin because he knew not enough people would vote for a terrorist.” The beast’s face was ugly, the nose curling as though smelling something bad.
Right then, Zarek knew he must stay as close to Laura as he could; this was the most unacceptable thing for Adama. He tipped his head, as though in defeat. “So that’s where we’re at.”
Adama drained his glass. “Yes.” The meeting was over. He rose. “Roslin is on Colonial One. I believe she’s going through paperwork. I’d suggest you offer to resign and to help her return to the presidency.”
“At your command, Admiral.” Tom stood too, giving his best whimsical smile. “I look forward to reuniting with Laura under better circumstances.”
Adama paused at Zarek’s shoulder, not looking at him. He whispered, as though others were in the room. “Don’t frak with her or I will make you disappear.” He kept walking to his desk, ignoring the other man.
Zarek’s smile became a grin, and he strode jauntily out. He had a meeting with his future president to attend. But first, he had to see the disgraced Colonel Tigh about the course of his first, last, and most important presidential order.
(end 1/4) Next Chapter >>>