Roslin Residence, Unit 6, Mauvaise Chance Apartments, Tuesday Night
Laura was clad in one of her oversized oxford shirts, hair piled in a random mass atop her head, when the doorbell rang. Reaching for the stereo, she turned down the volume as she blew upward at a stray lock of hair, and grasped at the doorknob. She stopped abruptly. Bill Adama was standing on her doorstep.
"Bill."
A wry grin twitched across weathered features. He nodded. "Laura." He then paused, glancing over her shoulder at the apartment beyond. "Ah, should I just stand here, or...?"
"Sorry, I...wasn't expecting you until later. Time zones, time changes --" She shook her head, brushing that same lock of hair back out of her eyes again. The smile that surfaced was wide and genuine. "It's still a bit of a mess, but please... come in."
Laura stepped aside and allowed the admiral entrance. For the first time, she took in the civilian clothes he had chosen for this trip -- dark charcoal slacks, black tee shirt, and coordinated sport jacket. It looked...professional, and definitely not military. She also noted how well the colors coordinated with his silver-streaked hair and olive complexion. Cheater, she thought with a lopsided grin.
For his part, Adama entered the room and glanced around. The apartment was larger than his quarters aboard Galactica, and had been decorated tastefully in neutral tones. It was, of course, neater than the proverbial pin; only Laura would have found any fault with it. The only area of clutter he saw was on the desk. He crossed to it and ran his fingers along the spines of the many books stacked there. "Prepping for class tomorrow?"
"Trying to." Closing the door, Laura joined him at the desk. She leaned back against the edge and folded her arms across her chest. "It's hard to figure out how to get the students involved in a battle without actually getting them involved in a battle."
The admiral picked up a book, glancing at the title. He then glanced at the schoolteacher. "Thermopylae?" She nodded. "Ambitious."
"I thought it was a good choice...given our current plans."
Lowering the book, Adama raised his brows and shifted closer. "And why is it so fitting, Professor Roslin?"
"You read the stories."
"I did."
"Then you should know. Three hundred men against the whole of the Persian Army, including the Immortals -- soldiers who, according to legend, were impervious to death; they had never been defeated." She paused, shifting closer herself. "And, while they died to the last, they managed to carve a hole large enough in the Persian reserves to make them reconsider. History didn't forget them. In fact, history made heroes of them."
Adama regarded her, his head cocked to one side, grey-blue eyes studying hers, and tracing each feature into memory. "You think we'll die to the last?"
She shook her head. "No. But I think we should be prepared for losses...as you well know." A grin. "And to write our own history books."
"You write, I'll edit?"
Laura considered this for a moment, noting that the gap between them had all but closed. "We'll let Tory write it. We'll co-edit." Her eyes danced with mischief. It was a proposition guaranteed to lead to conflict.
"Looking for a fight, Madam President?"
"With you?" Adama nodded. Reaching up, he tucked the errant lock of hair behind her ear, the palm of his hand coming to rest against her cheek. She sighed, taking in the warmth of his touch. "Not at the moment."
"Good. Because I only arranged 48 hours of leave." With a smirk of his own, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.
[Interrupt at your own risk...and their frustration.]
"Bill."
A wry grin twitched across weathered features. He nodded. "Laura." He then paused, glancing over her shoulder at the apartment beyond. "Ah, should I just stand here, or...?"
"Sorry, I...wasn't expecting you until later. Time zones, time changes --" She shook her head, brushing that same lock of hair back out of her eyes again. The smile that surfaced was wide and genuine. "It's still a bit of a mess, but please... come in."
Laura stepped aside and allowed the admiral entrance. For the first time, she took in the civilian clothes he had chosen for this trip -- dark charcoal slacks, black tee shirt, and coordinated sport jacket. It looked...professional, and definitely not military. She also noted how well the colors coordinated with his silver-streaked hair and olive complexion. Cheater, she thought with a lopsided grin.
For his part, Adama entered the room and glanced around. The apartment was larger than his quarters aboard Galactica, and had been decorated tastefully in neutral tones. It was, of course, neater than the proverbial pin; only Laura would have found any fault with it. The only area of clutter he saw was on the desk. He crossed to it and ran his fingers along the spines of the many books stacked there. "Prepping for class tomorrow?"
"Trying to." Closing the door, Laura joined him at the desk. She leaned back against the edge and folded her arms across her chest. "It's hard to figure out how to get the students involved in a battle without actually getting them involved in a battle."
The admiral picked up a book, glancing at the title. He then glanced at the schoolteacher. "Thermopylae?" She nodded. "Ambitious."
"I thought it was a good choice...given our current plans."
Lowering the book, Adama raised his brows and shifted closer. "And why is it so fitting, Professor Roslin?"
"You read the stories."
"I did."
"Then you should know. Three hundred men against the whole of the Persian Army, including the Immortals -- soldiers who, according to legend, were impervious to death; they had never been defeated." She paused, shifting closer herself. "And, while they died to the last, they managed to carve a hole large enough in the Persian reserves to make them reconsider. History didn't forget them. In fact, history made heroes of them."
Adama regarded her, his head cocked to one side, grey-blue eyes studying hers, and tracing each feature into memory. "You think we'll die to the last?"
She shook her head. "No. But I think we should be prepared for losses...as you well know." A grin. "And to write our own history books."
"You write, I'll edit?"
Laura considered this for a moment, noting that the gap between them had all but closed. "We'll let Tory write it. We'll co-edit." Her eyes danced with mischief. It was a proposition guaranteed to lead to conflict.
"Looking for a fight, Madam President?"
"With you?" Adama nodded. Reaching up, he tucked the errant lock of hair behind her ear, the palm of his hand coming to rest against her cheek. She sighed, taking in the warmth of his touch. "Not at the moment."
"Good. Because I only arranged 48 hours of leave." With a smirk of his own, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.
[Interrupt at your own risk...and their frustration.]