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04 June 2006 @ 06:22 pm
New Fanfiction  

Shut The Door
By: ellymelly
Genre/rating: Adama/Roslin - Romance/Humour. Rated T (for the moment)
Summary: The War was started by Laura. It evolved. Bill rebelled. There are many plans. And only one will be victorious.
(Bill knows it's going to be him - Laura knows he's wrong).


Chapter One: How about we shut that door...

~The President's Office~


"That's totally out of the question Madame President!"

Bill paced unhappily from one side of her office to the next, Laura seated behind her desk - tapping her fingers disinterestedly on its wooden surface. She sighed one of her long suffering sighs.

It was all theatre of course - this being her favourite game.

"And why is that Admiral?"

"Well," he stammered, trying to think of the best way to put it without actually having to say it, "don't you think it would look a little - you know." he moved his eyebrows meaningfully.

Laura didn't need to make eye contact to know what he was getting at. Truthfully, he had a point. She had even spent some time considering the topic herself from time to time, but something inside her found pleasure in watching the Admiral squirm further.

Would he actually address this issue directly? She thought not. And if he did – well then, that was a new game.

She moved therefore, to continue her pretence of disinterest. He was uneasy, and she liked that – it excited her something shocking.

Adama fumed, damn that woman, she wouldn't even look at him. She was going to make him say it out loud - damn her. Damn her, damn her, damn her. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of any way around it.

"You know," he stuttered further, hands clamming up with an embarrassment that had snuck in from nowhere, "it might look, may appear to the passing individual that we..."

Why did doors have to mean so much anyway? What difference did it make whether the door was open or closed? Who would even notice if the door appeared closed on their meetings from now on? How had he even gotten into this mess! WHY COULDN'T HE HAVE JUST LEFT THAT DAMN DOOR ALONE IN THE FIRST PLACE!

But then the Admiral got to thinking, well - Billy of course would notice - how could he not? And Billy being Billy - it was suffice to say that boy had an imagination on his shoulders worthy of the scriptures. Not to say reminded the Admiral to himself, that we're even engaging on thought down that path.

Other parts of his body had a differing opinion.

"Frak, that's all I need."

"Did you say something Admiral?" The President didn't look up from what must have been a fascinating report to compete with a currently adorable Admiral for Laura's attention...

"No Madame President."

She went quiet.

He rejoiced momentarily before his brain filled in the gaps with panic – attempting to write her thoughts into his. Not that he was supposed to be having any thoughts that even remotely strayed from the Fleet's supply chain.

If Billy knew reminded his mind, then Dualla would know and then it would only be a matter of time before Lee... Adama mentally swore. He didn't need to imagine that outcome.

But Laura sat at her desk in front of him, signing the odd dotted line without the slightest recognition that he was still in the room. Perhaps maybe, just maybe he had escaped the issue altogether - could he possibly be that -

"What were you saying before," she chirped happily as the stewing time she'd allocated to him expired, "about my door?"

lucky... "The door?" responded Bill hesitantly. Eyes darting across the room for assistance.

Laura managed to draw her eyes away from the paperwork to meet where his gaze had fallen on her. It was like those pupils tore through him. "Yes," she smiled, "the door."

"The door, oh that door." He pretended to chuckle casually as an electric tingle escaped across the surface of his skin.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and mockingly repeat his last comment.

"Th-th-the that door..." he checked, pointing toward it where he could see the freedom of the corridor beyond.

Laura had had about enough of this.

Quite to Adama's fright and fascination she placed the dark metal of her pen atop the current report on; "The Growing Sympathies Toward Cylons" and let the wheels of the chair roll backwards over the carpeted surface.

"Laura... what are you doing?" panicked Bill. She held a hand up and shook her head slowly in protest.

"I like it better when you call me, 'Madame President'."

Surely thought Bill, he hadn't heard that right.

"One must respect," she stood to her full height, lyrical legs perched atop shaped heels, "the proper government ranks when one is at a," she stepped forward and Adama misplaced his breath, "governmental meeting. Don't you agree?"

Bill wasn't sure how much more of this he could take before certain primitive brain functions switched to override. "I – ah,"

"The answer, Admiral, is yes"

Laura advanced, excruciatingly slowly. The gentle sway of her impending figure disconnecting most of Adama's rational thought. This felt a whole lot like seduction and not much like diplomacy.

"Well then Madame President, yes."

Now it was Laura who found her composure faltering slightly as his gravely voice rolled out her title. But she was better at this then he was, and managed to hold herself steady.

He did his best not to become completely lost in the hopelessness of his building desire. "Permission to speak fr-r" she moved to him and he reversed toward the door where he met the steely barrier of the office wall just to the side of it. There was no where to go and she was leaning across his shoulder, breath falling heavily on his neck. "Fr-rankly?" he stumbled over the words, his body slipping from his control.

She leant across him, making sure the lightest touches of her hair met his face. Bill breathed the intoxicating mixture in - at that moment, if she had said jump - he would have saluted her smile and leapt at her command. "Denied."

Bill struggled for control he had lost to her long ago.

"How about we just shut that door." Laura's hand captured the silver fitting and slid the door across, sealing the room in one elegant stroke. If you want something done, do it yourself.

Unable to move, the Admiral remained silent - burning where any and every part of her met him through his uniform.

After torturing him for her entertainment she allowed him a few more seconds before swiftly stepping back and retreating to the desk as if she had never been close enough to feel the desire that moved between them.

Up until that moment, Laura Roslin had every intent on returning to a diplomatic position, safely seated on her chair securely obscuring his sight with the structure. But then a thought struck her.

The door was closed.

Easily she slid herself to sit on the surface of the Presidential desk, tilting slightly so that her legs fell to the side, crossed in a manner that best exposed the Admiral to their generous curves.

The Admiral swallowed.

Hard.

This was going to be a long meeting.


 Chapter 2: The Plan

~The Admiral's Quarters~


It was suffice to say that as the door finally opened for the Admiral to exit the President's office - victory was hers for all to see...

-but that was okay because Adama had a plan - oh yes, and more than that, it was a good one. Rock solid in every way - fortification so thick no army in the known universe could penetrate it. Well, galaxy at least considering they hadn't really gotten very far through the universe yet. Hell, there was a lot of universe out there after all.

Anyway, that wasn't even close to the point.

After their last meeting it had become clear that the two leaders, the President and the Admiral had declared a war of sorts. This was fine, both were used to wars and both had fine tuned war instruments ready for the plucking. "Especially me." thought Bill to himself.

Like every war, this one had a prize - and a cost, where the first one to surrender would be subject to - Bill paused, momentarily confused as his train of thought hit a tunnel wall.

"The first one to surrender would - ah", he thought quietly on the matter as he gave an almighty 'push' to the locking mechanism of his door, his eyes watching closely as the metal bars spun - chasing each other until the final click. Satisfied that his quarters were unlocked, Adama entered the room with the kind of mad drive that only a seasoned warrior could command.

"The first one to surrender - loses!" He declared triumphantly swiping a ready poured glass of Ambrosia on his way.

He moved stealthily to his control centre, smooth and quick across the floor - if he had been wearing one of those cool capes it would have billowed out to full volume, dark folds disappearing beneath the fabric's edge. Instead his uniform clung close as war hardened hands slid open the desk's most secret draw - seeking within, his faithful black, leather bound diary.

He'd written it all down, yes he had! That way he figured he couldn't possibly forget any of his vital strategies.

The war was his.

Bill removed the object, stroking the cover lovingly - the book appearing exactly as he'd left it. The journal had been his faithful friend for eight years, and buried deep within its contents were some of his darkest, smartest, (most embarrassing) moments along with his brilliant - fame worthy mission tactics. It was a document that could bring about the human races' downfall if it fell into the wrong hands.

That's why he kept it hidden in the safest, most secret place.

Bill had to admit that the President's demonstration so far was up there with the best defense and offence that he'd seen. She appeared to have it all, power, manipulation, drive and a set of legs to melt armies. However, neither her fortitude nor the length of those ass kickingly awesome legs could conquer him now.

Not now that he had this plan written down.

Bill opened his journal and flipped to where he had left off - failing to notice that the deep purple bookmark had been slightly readjusted without his permission...

The Admiral stopped, mouth agape.

On the blank page following his faithful plan was a message, neatly scrawled in its centre.

In pink pen.

It read:

This diary has been borrowed for a period of twelve hours, read thoroughly and returned to its owner.

It is advised that said owner either consider revising the impending covert attack or surrender during the next meeting to be held tomorrow evening.

Regards,

Your Superior

ps. You need to learn to hide your stuff better.


Adama's nostrils flared.

This wasn't happening... Gritting his teeth he absently flipped to the bookmarked page, expecting to find the wisdom of his favourite passage from a famous Caprican warrior where he had painstakingly copied it down - its words always soothing even in dire situations like this.

Instead he found his, 'if all else fails - the dirt on the new president' list - now annotated with comments like; 'wrong', 'wrong again', 'interesting', 'wow, you got that right' and, 'how is my shoe size relevant? - come to think of it, what's your shoe size?'

The Admiral blinked.

The Admiral narrowed his eyes.


~A short time later on Colonial One~


Laura played with her pen, content to let it fall casually across the back of her hand and back into her fingers. A shamefully large smile had applied itself to her face and simply refused to leave as she mentally checked off her goals for the day.

Objectives:

Steal very secret journal to signify start of war.

Pretend to have read it.

Anotate with annoying and suggestive comments.

Also consider taking item of clothing for extended leverage.

Plan for tomorrow.


The grin got wider.

"Check, check, check, definitely check and will do as soon as I finish congratulating self on success of objectives."


~Adama's Quarters, several hours later~


Bill searched and searched but to no avail, it was if they simply did not exist - like his favourite boxers had decided to go for a field trip out the air lock into space.

Out the airlock. What did airlocks remind him of?

"No," he thought firmly, "she wouldn't."

Convincing himself that he'd probably sent them in with the laundry, Admiral Bill Adama managed to settle in for a decent night's sleep.

A sleep he would need because tomorrow all hell would break loose and revenge would be exacted.

Chapter 3:  A 'Short' Problem

~Early morning, Adama's Quarters~


Adama rolled over beneath the covers of his bed, snuggling into their warmth - wishing the snuggly darkness would last for ever and ever. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was morning and that his cocoon would have to be cracked open - but it felt better to convince himself that five minutes equaled eternity and nothing could tell him otherwise.

The Admiral buried himself deeper, dreaming happily of supreme warships drifting in the silence of space - him at the helm, commanding an oncoming assault where he attacked, some dramatic event threatened his life (he hadn't quite worked out the details there yet) and then he would rise victoriously and a set of the President's legs walked past. Wait, a frown of concern spread over Adama's face, how did that get there?

The legs walked past again - and again, and again...

Bill couldn't shake the image.

"Gods frakking dammit!"

He rolled over, hoping a change of position would shift his thoughts.

Well, he was correct - they shifted alright - straight to her chest.

"FRAK!"

It wasn't enough for her to torment him in person - his own subconscious was in collaboration - the traitor! Bill figured it was probably his own fault though, strange things always happened when you hit the snooze button on your alarm too many times - it was like the universe's pay back for you being a lazy bugger.

So Bill decided to get up.

All went well for about two seconds until Bill went looking for his favourite pair of boxers. Swearing, he remembered last night - though it was still beyond him as to how he'd managed to fit the washing into his busy schedule.

"Oh well," he said calmly, "they'd be ready by now anyway."

With that, the Admiral put on some casual clothes and made off for an early morning trek to the wash room - intent on collecting his underwear.

Poor, poor hot man.


~ Colonial One, eariler that morning ~


Laura was still smiling as she inspected the hot, red -

"Madame President?"

She jumped a little, scrunching the offending garment back into the draw as Billy entered through the curtain.

"Yes Billy?"

"Your flight has arrived."

"Excellent - I mean, right, thank you."

Billy eyed her suspiciously for a moment before deciding that he probably didn't want to know what was going on. Anything that involved a trip to Galactica involved the Admiral.

Anything that involved the Admiral and the President involved trouble.

Any trouble that involved those two was better left well alone.


~ Later, Battlestar Galactica's washroom~


Bill sorted through his pile, a good weeks worth of washing he'd simply been too busy to retrieve. In the ten short minutes he'd been there, he'd already found items presumed 'missing in action'.

In fact, he'd managed to find pretty much everything except his boxers. The Admiral frowned.

A pair of legs walked past.

Adama screwed his eyes shut, he hoped that image wasn't going to keep popping up unexpectedly for the rest of the day - it was bad enough it happened while he was asleep. He opened his eyes, satisfied he had regained control of his thoughts - except the legs were still there, standing casually next to him - their owner hidden by the door of his drier.

The Admiral grabbed the door hastily and pulled it shut to reveal the President of the Colonies calmly placing a couple of jumpers into the drier. Bill stared as her hair fell heavily over her shoulder, the scent of her arousing thoughts that were inappropriate this early in the morning.

"What the gods are you doing here?"

Laura ignored him, placing a shirt into the hole. "Morning Admiral."

Damn her complacency.

"And I believe I asked you to call me, 'Madame President'."

The Admiral found himself at a loss. "Madame President," he recovered, "am I to understand that Colonial One is not equipped with washrooms of its own?"

"No." she answered shortly.

Not the answer Bill was expecting, he thought he'd had her with that one. "And that the President" he rolled her title on purpose, "of the Colonies washes her own clothes?"

" - and that the Admiral of the fleet washes his own clothes..." quipped Laura.

Frak it all.

Laura bent down to pick up the last of the items in her basket, throwing them in in one hit. Bill's eyes caught a flash of red amongst the chaos.

Everything within him froze.

The President closed the door, locking it and punching in her identification - the cycle starting automatically. Finally she turned to face him, basket under her arm.

"See you this evening Admiral." and then she was off leaving the Admiral in the washroom.

As soon as she had disappeared he flung his own basket onto the floor - its contents spilling. She had his shorts, he knew it - he could feel it.

Bill shuffled over to the door of the President's washer, hands cupping around the door's surface in an attempt to see in.

Someone behind him cleared their throat.

The Admiral jumped to see Billy, arms crossed - staring at him.

Bill lowered his eyes and stalked back to his basket.

 
 
Currently seated: oz
Feeling...: calmcalm
Background Noise: Until The Morning
 
 
 
selenay_xselenay_x on June 4th, 2006 11:36 am (UTC)
Heyla

Caught up with this on Survival Instinct LJ. If you do ever need a beta then I'd be happy to

Email is seleney_x@yahoo.co.uk
ellymelly: spoilerellymelly on June 5th, 2006 05:34 am (UTC)
I would love a beta *see email*

oh, and that a/r pic of yours (not the one above but another one) is by Hypercaz - a very good school friend of mine! :D hehehe
radak: scarsradak on July 8th, 2006 03:09 pm (UTC)
Funny! They definitely have nothing better to do. And I like wicked Laura!