Secret Santa Fic for wicked_g!
Fic: Just Another Christmas Story
For: wicked-g
The Prompt: I would LOVE a A/R Christmas fic. Set within the fleet. And even though Christmas in the fleet is a tad unrealistic, be as realistic as you can i.e. no mistletoe, no freshly killed turkey, plump from the oven, etc. You know. Have fun with it. Fluffy Crack might be the genre I'm looking for...
I hope this suits!
Disclaimer: As I am not secretly Ron Moore, I do not own BSG. Just taking it out for a spin. :-)
Rating: Teen
Summary: A made-up holiday, a secret gift-exchange, a not-so-secret crush (which may or may not be reciprocated) and some pesky visions make for a Christmas to remember aboard Galactica
Authors note: This story is set some magical crack universe between the events of Home Part II and Pegasus. No spoilers beyond Home Part II - I'm kicking it old school. This will be posted in two parts, and the second part should be up tonight or early tomorrow. Hope you enjoy!
Shameless self-plug: This fic can actually be read as a prequel to my Christmas Special picspam. No, really. You can find part I of that here
Part I: In Which Laura Roslin Dreams of Christmas and Seeks Medical Help
In a tiny bed (or rack) on Colonial One, Laura Roslin was gasping, sweaty, exhausted, and completely tangled up in her sheets.
This was unfortunately not as fun as it sounds.
Laura Roslin had recently woken up from another bizarre, and extremely involved, vision involving a fat man in a red suit, a green tree with twinkly lights, nauseatingly cheerful music, and brightly wrapped presents.
The first seven times this happened, Laura was willing to write it off as stress. Or something she ate. Or a vicious combination of something she ate and stress. Or perhaps Billy spiked her tea. Though she doubted Billy would ever think to do such a thing.
Regardless, there was probably a logical, medical explanation for the abrupt u-turn her visions had taken into the ludicrous. Her visions before had at least involved Cylons, snakes, Kobol, ...practical things. She was pretty sure that some man named “Santa” was not mentioned in the scrolls.
After her breathing calmed down, Laura got up and staggered to her bathroom for a glass of water, studiously avoiding looking at her reflection in the mirror. This situation was ridiculous. She wasn’t getting any sleep and the Commander had noticed.
She was still getting used to the fact that the Commander, or Bill more aptly, not only noticed things about her but had an annoying propensity to mention them to her. He was always appearing with glasses of water or food now, without her asking for anything. (She was also getting used to studiously ignoring the little flutter she felt every time she thought of Bill as Bill, but that’s neither here nor there).
While suspecting Bill of being a Cylon (again) would probably be bad form, she wasn’t above suspecting him of being a pod person. Or suffering from post-traumatic stress ... that made him nicer. Or maybe Doc Cottle gave him a brain transplant while he was rummaging around.
Laura of course suspected the real reason for Bill Adama’s personality transplant, but she had yet to actually acknowledge it to herself beyond noting that the Commander’s recent behavior had been “different.”
At any rate, she wagered that she had another day or two before he suggested she call Doc Cottle.
And she could see that scene play out in her mind. Bill (she needed to get used to calling him that - after Kobol it seemed rather ridiculous to go back to calling him Commander all the time) would ask, without making eye contact, how she was feeling.
“Fine, Commander,” she would reply, using his rank in an effort to stop this line of conversation
He would make a humming sound. And then he would, casually, note “You seem a little tired lately” trailing off. She could take her pick of the questions unasked - is her ship comfortable enough, would she rather stay on Galactica, could she acknowledge the fact that he would rather she stay on Galactica, were her treatments going well.... And on and on.
But she would shrug and say “Hazards of the job, Bill.” using his name here in an effort to stop this line of conversation.
And then he would make eye contact, finally, and would suggest “Maybe you should check in with Doc Cottle, if you’re having trouble sleeping” and she would have two options now: either pull rank and shut the conversation down or nod, allowing him to think that he helped, and knowing deep down that he had because she actually would go see Doc Cottle now.
And then Doc Cottle would lecture her on taking better care of herself, and if she brought up her sleeping trouble he would say “I told you so” and would insist that she actually follow his dietary/sleep/chamalla intake/work schedule to the letter. All the while calling her “young lady” (the only person other than Bill who called her something other than Madam President from time to time) and puffing away on a cigarette and making her want to smack him....
She would go see him tomorrow.
Part II: In Which Laura Tries to Explain Christmas Without Sounding Crazy
“So, it’s called... Christmas?” Bill asked. If he didn’t know any better he’d say his boss looked a bit resigned and more than a little sheepish right now. But of course, this was Laura Roslin and Billy was pretty certain that Laura Roslin didn’t do sheepish. End of story.
“Yes, Christmas. I’m not entirely sure why.”
Billy paused, scanning over the report she had given him. “So this is a holiday where people give out presents and eat food, sing songs, have fun with friends?”
Laura paused this time. “Essentially.”
“I still don’t understand the purpose of this Santa person. Why is he breaking into people’s homes in order to give them presents? And why would you decorate a tree and put it inside your house?”
“Look, Billy, I have no idea. Let’s just... go with it.”
“Go with it?”
“The visions, this whole Christmas thing. It sounds like fun. And Lords know the people could use a little morale booster. We could take this opportunity to demonstrate the cohesiveness of the fleet and the command structure...”
Laura trailed off, noting that Billy was trying very hard for his default expression of earnestness and was instead falling somewhere between mild skepticism and complete disbelief.
Were Billy anyone else she would expect the next words out of his mouth to be “What the frak,” but of course Billy was Billy and he would likely be polite about the fact that his boss may or may not have gone off the deep end finally. At least her potential lapse into insanity involved festivity.
“Ma’am, how are we going to ah...”
“Pitch this to the fleet?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Well... I figured we’d just tell them the truth.”
“Um, really? I mean granted, you are riding a wave of popular support right now...”
Laura just managed to restrain herself from noting that people tend to love their leaders when they know that they are the dying ones of prophecy. Billy probably wouldn’t appreciate the joke and truthfully she didn’t appreciate the cosmic joke being foisted upon her either. Frakking Pythia.
There was a brief pause, filled with the comforting whirr of the ship’s engines and Billy quietly rustling paper.
“At any rate, Billy, I certainly think it would be wise to downplay the ... stranger elements of this holiday. We’ll just tell people to think of it as a substitute for Winter Solstice. We can’t exactly have bonfires up here and the basic principles of food, fun, and presents are the same.”
“Well I think people would enjoy an excuse to celebrate and have fun ma’am.”
“Exactly. Arrange a press conference for this afternoon. Let’s have the holiday a week from today. I’ll call the Commander and let him know about this...”
“Ma’am, may I ask why you gave me this detailed report if you plan on downplaying the holiday’s more...”
“Outrageous?”
“Er, yes, outrageous elements?”
*Drug-induced is more like it* thought Laura. She refrained from sharing this observation with Billy as he would likely frown in concern rather than laugh about it. Billy’s sense of humor wasn’t quite as developed as Laura would wish, at least when it came to sardonic comments on her part.
“Well Billy, I just wanted you to have all the information. And if, for some reason, that report were to make it’s way out into the fleet, well then people would be free to adopt whatever elements of the holiday the wish.” Laura smiled her politician’s smile, the one that once had the ability to frighten Adar and had the ability to, if not frighten, at least give Bill Adama pause.
Billy smiled. “Understood ma’am.”
After Billy left to efficiently and quietly leak the information in the report, Santas and deer creatures and twinkly lights and jingling bells and all, Laura breathed a sigh of relief. She had reached the end of her rope this morning, jerking awake after her most bizarre vision yet: Bill Adama, hanging some sort of sock on a mantle and smiling at her off all things, and pulling her closer and...then she woke up.
She refused to give that particular vision anymore thought. But clearly, drastic measures were in order.
A visit with Doc Cottle had revealed that, while she was doing everything else wrong in regards to her health, her chamalla dosage was in fact all right. So Laura came to the unpleasant conclusion that she was either losing her mind or the Gods were sending her these insane visions of Christmas for some reason.
Laura was too tired at this point to care how ridiculous she sounded - the fleet was celebrating a full-blown Christmas whether they liked it or not. Hopefully the Gods would lay off on the visions after this. Or at least send her one that didn’t involve dopey songs and Santa.
Over the next few days, Laura would learn to be careful what she wished for.
Part III: In Which Bill Adama Asks What the Frak is Christmas?
Bill Adama sat down heavily in his chair, poured himself a glass of ambrosia, and turned on the radio to listen to the President’s latest press conference. Saul would probably raise an eyebrow, or two, if he knew that Bill’s idea of relaxing after a long shift in CIC was to have a glass of ambrosia and listen to Laura Roslin talk.
But what Saul didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And besides, this was important fleet business and had nothing to do with the fact that he may or may not actually like the sound of Laura Roslin’s voice.
The radio crackled a bit and finally a voice came on, though it wasn’t Laura’s. He guessed it was Playa - she never shut up at these things.
“Madam President! Is it true that this whole Christmas thing was revealed to you in a vision?”
Another voice, this one male, butted in here “Madam President, do you think the Gods want us to celebrate Christmas for some reason?”
Saul Tigh chose this moment to bang open the hatch, causing Bill to miss part of Laura’s answer.
“Saul, quiet, I’m listening to this.” Bill conveniently left out the fact that he was extremely confused. What the hell was Christmas?
“It’s just more of that Christmas crap. I signed off on it this afternoon.”
“Signed off on what exactly?” Bill was trying very hard not to throw his friend out of his quarters so that he could listen to Laura’s voice (discussing important fleet business of course) in peace.
“Christmas! Some stupid holiday that Roslin made up. She says its for morale. It sounded ridiculous and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give her something to hang herself with. Woman’s frakking popular enough, she could stand to be knocked down a few pegs or two.”
Bill fought the urge to either down the bottle of ambrosia, punch his XO in the face, or call Laura and ask what was going on. He did none of these things however. Instead Bill simply glared at his XO and turned up the radio. Saul, who could take a hint, sat down and helped himself to a drink.
Laura was speaking now. “As I told Playa, it really doesn’t matter how the idea for Christmas began or who contributed to it along the way. In fact, I would encourage everyone in the fleet to take an active part in shaping what will hopefully become a new holiday tradition “
“So this Jingle Bells song I keep hearing came from...”
“Couldn’t tell you, Mark. However, if people are having fun with this, I say we leave them to it.”
“Madam President! What about this gift exchange?”
“That did come from my office. We set up a Secret Gift Exchange, where we’ll draw someone’s name and will get them a present of some sort. Everyone aboard Colonial One is doing it, and we feel like it’s a good way to establish communal bonds and to spread some holiday cheer. Other groups should feel free to try this out as well.”
Bill knew, without a doubt, that the “other groups” would include Galactica whether he liked it or not. He really needed to figure out what this Christmas thing was all about.
“That’ll be all for today. Thank you for coming”
Laura’s voice dissolved away into a cacophony of shouting voices, and Bill turned his attention to Saul, who was on his second glass of ambrosia. Bill casually moved the bottle away from Saul. He didn’t have an infinite supply of this stuff, and the way Saul kept blowing through his stash did not bode well for the future.
“Well?” Bill asked.
“Well what? I told you it’s just a stupid, made up holiday that will probably make Roslin look foolish.”
“I doubt that. What I want to know is why I wasn’t aware of this before now?”
“You were busy with those nuggets! I didn’t figure you’d care. That aid of Roslin’s called over here, I told him to tell me what it was and not to bother you. So then Roslin herself got on and explained it and I told her to go ahead and have her stupid little holiday.”
Bill sighed. He could only imagine how that conversation must have gone and hoped that the com channel was actually secure, or he would probably be reading about how the military had insulted the President and were planing another coup in the morning fleet newsletter.
“Well we will now be celebrating this stupid made up holiday aboard Galactica.”
“Seriously?” Saul took another large gulp of his drink.
“Presenting a unified front is important. Even if it is over a made up holiday. Now what was that business about presents and jingle bells? And please tell me you didn’t insult the President.”
Saul simply shrugged and Bill poured himself another drink.
Part IV: In Which There is an Explanatory Flashback
What had happened earlier was this:
Billy straightened his tie and placed a call to Galactica. He knew that no one could see him, of course, but he always felt that the Commander could sense if his jacket was tossed over his chair, or if his tie was crooked.
After Dee informed him that the Commander wasn’t available, he found himself patched through to Colonel Tigh before he could protest that he would call back later.
Laura raised an eyebrow at Billy’s harried expression, prompting him to mouth “Tigh” at her, which in turn prompted Laura to roll her eyes.
There was certainly no love lost between The Colonial President and Galactica’s XO, who of course personally placed the president in the brig, left her there, and then attempted to sabotage what remained of her influence. She had figured that last part was mostly Ellen’s doing, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to deck the Colonel on occasion.
Bill seemed to like him though, proving that there was no accounting for taste or the power of ambrosia in cementing 30 year friendships.
Saul Tigh was not in a good mood today. The latest batch of nuggets were about as competent as blind monkeys and it seemed that half the vipers were out of commission. And to top if off he was running low on booze and Ellen had nearly nailed him in the head with a shoe this morning. It was not an auspicious start to the day.
And now he was supposed to deal with Laura Frakking Roslin and that twerp she called an “assistant.” Lackey was more like it. Bill seemed to like Roslin for some reason (though he suspected her legs had something to do with it) proving that there was no accounting for taste or the power of a nice set of legs (among other things).
“What do you want, we’re busy over here.” he barked.
Billy cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, the president needs to speak to the Commander, Colonel. Is there any chance he can take a call now?”
“No, he’s busy. Just tell me what it is.”
Billy blanched at the idea of explaining Christmas to Colonel Tigh. Fortunately, Roslin took pity on her aide, and asked for the phone.
“Sir, the president will speak to you now” He practically threw the phone at Roslin.
“Good morning Colonel, I was hoping to speak with the Commander.”
“Whatever you have to say to him you can say to me.”
Laura decided to let that erroneous comment slide for now. “I merely wanted to inform him that I plan on declaring a fleet wide holiday next week. I figured the people could use a morale booster.”
“Well, what sort of holiday?”
“Well, it’s called Christmas..”
“Never heard of it.”
“Well, that’s because it is new.”
“You made up a holiday?”
Laura admirably resisted the urge to groan here.
“Well, no, it’s just not commonly known about...”
“Is this some weird religious thing?”
“No, as far as I can tell. Look, just tell the Commander that’s we’re having a fleet holiday but that I do not require the military to do anything specific. You’re all welcome to participate if you wish however. I’ll have Billy send over some information for you.”
“Yeah, fine, go ahead. Galactica out.” Saul quickly hung up, muttering about stupid conversations, crazy schoolteachers, and insane ideas.
Laura once again admirably resisted the urge to groan and to bang her head on her desk. The Gods had to be frakking kidding with this thing. Colonel Tigh already thought she was insane, and the last thing she needed was for him to inform Bill of that fact yet again. Bill certainly seemed fond of her (she refused to consider anything beyond that point, though she was unable to silence a little voice in her head that laughed rather sardonically at this idea of “fondness”).
But she suspected that advocating for a holiday that involved singing and cookies and a fat man named Santa might push that “fondness” to its limits.
Part V: In Which Dee and Billy Come Up With a Clever Plan
Dee curled up against Billy, gazing out at the stars. The two of them were tucked away in a far corner of the observation deck talking about two of their favorite topics of conversation: their respective bosses.
Dee yawned slightly and smiled at Billy. “Did you hear about the gift exchange?”
“Yeah, government and military personal exchanging Secret Santa gifts. Makes for good PR.”
“Secret Santa?” Dee scrunched up her brow in confusion
“I dunno where that came from. I started hearing people talk about it yesterday and the name sort of stuck. People seem to be having fun with this.”
“Yeah, I guess everyone wanted an excuse to blow off some steam.”
Billy nodded slightly. “Say, is the Commander participating in the gift exchange?”
Dee laughed. “No, definitely not. He said he couldn’t show favoritism and that having a crew member get him a present would be inappropriate.”
“The President said the same thing! She won’t do it either.”
“Too bad we can’t force them to participate.”
Billy sat up with a look on his face that Dee had come to know pretty well. He had the same look on his face when he delivered the Christmas memo to her and told her to spread the word. “What if we DID force them to participate?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we enter them into the gift exchange and make sure that they get each other.”
Dee tiled her head to the side, thinking this through. “So you want us to arrange for the Commander and the President to get each other Christmas gifts? Why exactly?”
Billy blushed a little at this. “Well Christmas is about friends as far as I can tell, and the President could probably do with a friendly gesture like a present.”
Dee smirked. She and Billy had had multiple conversations about what exactly was going on between their bosses, and neither of them were averse to helping matters along a little when the occasion called for it.
“Well, Billy, what exactly did you have in mind?”
Stay tuned for part II! Thanks for reading!
For: wicked-g
The Prompt: I would LOVE a A/R Christmas fic. Set within the fleet. And even though Christmas in the fleet is a tad unrealistic, be as realistic as you can i.e. no mistletoe, no freshly killed turkey, plump from the oven, etc. You know. Have fun with it. Fluffy Crack might be the genre I'm looking for...
I hope this suits!
Disclaimer: As I am not secretly Ron Moore, I do not own BSG. Just taking it out for a spin. :-)
Rating: Teen
Summary: A made-up holiday, a secret gift-exchange, a not-so-secret crush (which may or may not be reciprocated) and some pesky visions make for a Christmas to remember aboard Galactica
Authors note: This story is set some magical crack universe between the events of Home Part II and Pegasus. No spoilers beyond Home Part II - I'm kicking it old school. This will be posted in two parts, and the second part should be up tonight or early tomorrow. Hope you enjoy!
Shameless self-plug: This fic can actually be read as a prequel to my Christmas Special picspam. No, really. You can find part I of that here
Part I: In Which Laura Roslin Dreams of Christmas and Seeks Medical Help
In a tiny bed (or rack) on Colonial One, Laura Roslin was gasping, sweaty, exhausted, and completely tangled up in her sheets.
This was unfortunately not as fun as it sounds.
Laura Roslin had recently woken up from another bizarre, and extremely involved, vision involving a fat man in a red suit, a green tree with twinkly lights, nauseatingly cheerful music, and brightly wrapped presents.
The first seven times this happened, Laura was willing to write it off as stress. Or something she ate. Or a vicious combination of something she ate and stress. Or perhaps Billy spiked her tea. Though she doubted Billy would ever think to do such a thing.
Regardless, there was probably a logical, medical explanation for the abrupt u-turn her visions had taken into the ludicrous. Her visions before had at least involved Cylons, snakes, Kobol, ...practical things. She was pretty sure that some man named “Santa” was not mentioned in the scrolls.
After her breathing calmed down, Laura got up and staggered to her bathroom for a glass of water, studiously avoiding looking at her reflection in the mirror. This situation was ridiculous. She wasn’t getting any sleep and the Commander had noticed.
She was still getting used to the fact that the Commander, or Bill more aptly, not only noticed things about her but had an annoying propensity to mention them to her. He was always appearing with glasses of water or food now, without her asking for anything. (She was also getting used to studiously ignoring the little flutter she felt every time she thought of Bill as Bill, but that’s neither here nor there).
While suspecting Bill of being a Cylon (again) would probably be bad form, she wasn’t above suspecting him of being a pod person. Or suffering from post-traumatic stress ... that made him nicer. Or maybe Doc Cottle gave him a brain transplant while he was rummaging around.
Laura of course suspected the real reason for Bill Adama’s personality transplant, but she had yet to actually acknowledge it to herself beyond noting that the Commander’s recent behavior had been “different.”
At any rate, she wagered that she had another day or two before he suggested she call Doc Cottle.
And she could see that scene play out in her mind. Bill (she needed to get used to calling him that - after Kobol it seemed rather ridiculous to go back to calling him Commander all the time) would ask, without making eye contact, how she was feeling.
“Fine, Commander,” she would reply, using his rank in an effort to stop this line of conversation
He would make a humming sound. And then he would, casually, note “You seem a little tired lately” trailing off. She could take her pick of the questions unasked - is her ship comfortable enough, would she rather stay on Galactica, could she acknowledge the fact that he would rather she stay on Galactica, were her treatments going well.... And on and on.
But she would shrug and say “Hazards of the job, Bill.” using his name here in an effort to stop this line of conversation.
And then he would make eye contact, finally, and would suggest “Maybe you should check in with Doc Cottle, if you’re having trouble sleeping” and she would have two options now: either pull rank and shut the conversation down or nod, allowing him to think that he helped, and knowing deep down that he had because she actually would go see Doc Cottle now.
And then Doc Cottle would lecture her on taking better care of herself, and if she brought up her sleeping trouble he would say “I told you so” and would insist that she actually follow his dietary/sleep/chamalla intake/work schedule to the letter. All the while calling her “young lady” (the only person other than Bill who called her something other than Madam President from time to time) and puffing away on a cigarette and making her want to smack him....
She would go see him tomorrow.
Part II: In Which Laura Tries to Explain Christmas Without Sounding Crazy
“So, it’s called... Christmas?” Bill asked. If he didn’t know any better he’d say his boss looked a bit resigned and more than a little sheepish right now. But of course, this was Laura Roslin and Billy was pretty certain that Laura Roslin didn’t do sheepish. End of story.
“Yes, Christmas. I’m not entirely sure why.”
Billy paused, scanning over the report she had given him. “So this is a holiday where people give out presents and eat food, sing songs, have fun with friends?”
Laura paused this time. “Essentially.”
“I still don’t understand the purpose of this Santa person. Why is he breaking into people’s homes in order to give them presents? And why would you decorate a tree and put it inside your house?”
“Look, Billy, I have no idea. Let’s just... go with it.”
“Go with it?”
“The visions, this whole Christmas thing. It sounds like fun. And Lords know the people could use a little morale booster. We could take this opportunity to demonstrate the cohesiveness of the fleet and the command structure...”
Laura trailed off, noting that Billy was trying very hard for his default expression of earnestness and was instead falling somewhere between mild skepticism and complete disbelief.
Were Billy anyone else she would expect the next words out of his mouth to be “What the frak,” but of course Billy was Billy and he would likely be polite about the fact that his boss may or may not have gone off the deep end finally. At least her potential lapse into insanity involved festivity.
“Ma’am, how are we going to ah...”
“Pitch this to the fleet?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Well... I figured we’d just tell them the truth.”
“Um, really? I mean granted, you are riding a wave of popular support right now...”
Laura just managed to restrain herself from noting that people tend to love their leaders when they know that they are the dying ones of prophecy. Billy probably wouldn’t appreciate the joke and truthfully she didn’t appreciate the cosmic joke being foisted upon her either. Frakking Pythia.
There was a brief pause, filled with the comforting whirr of the ship’s engines and Billy quietly rustling paper.
“At any rate, Billy, I certainly think it would be wise to downplay the ... stranger elements of this holiday. We’ll just tell people to think of it as a substitute for Winter Solstice. We can’t exactly have bonfires up here and the basic principles of food, fun, and presents are the same.”
“Well I think people would enjoy an excuse to celebrate and have fun ma’am.”
“Exactly. Arrange a press conference for this afternoon. Let’s have the holiday a week from today. I’ll call the Commander and let him know about this...”
“Ma’am, may I ask why you gave me this detailed report if you plan on downplaying the holiday’s more...”
“Outrageous?”
“Er, yes, outrageous elements?”
*Drug-induced is more like it* thought Laura. She refrained from sharing this observation with Billy as he would likely frown in concern rather than laugh about it. Billy’s sense of humor wasn’t quite as developed as Laura would wish, at least when it came to sardonic comments on her part.
“Well Billy, I just wanted you to have all the information. And if, for some reason, that report were to make it’s way out into the fleet, well then people would be free to adopt whatever elements of the holiday the wish.” Laura smiled her politician’s smile, the one that once had the ability to frighten Adar and had the ability to, if not frighten, at least give Bill Adama pause.
Billy smiled. “Understood ma’am.”
After Billy left to efficiently and quietly leak the information in the report, Santas and deer creatures and twinkly lights and jingling bells and all, Laura breathed a sigh of relief. She had reached the end of her rope this morning, jerking awake after her most bizarre vision yet: Bill Adama, hanging some sort of sock on a mantle and smiling at her off all things, and pulling her closer and...then she woke up.
She refused to give that particular vision anymore thought. But clearly, drastic measures were in order.
A visit with Doc Cottle had revealed that, while she was doing everything else wrong in regards to her health, her chamalla dosage was in fact all right. So Laura came to the unpleasant conclusion that she was either losing her mind or the Gods were sending her these insane visions of Christmas for some reason.
Laura was too tired at this point to care how ridiculous she sounded - the fleet was celebrating a full-blown Christmas whether they liked it or not. Hopefully the Gods would lay off on the visions after this. Or at least send her one that didn’t involve dopey songs and Santa.
Over the next few days, Laura would learn to be careful what she wished for.
Part III: In Which Bill Adama Asks What the Frak is Christmas?
Bill Adama sat down heavily in his chair, poured himself a glass of ambrosia, and turned on the radio to listen to the President’s latest press conference. Saul would probably raise an eyebrow, or two, if he knew that Bill’s idea of relaxing after a long shift in CIC was to have a glass of ambrosia and listen to Laura Roslin talk.
But what Saul didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And besides, this was important fleet business and had nothing to do with the fact that he may or may not actually like the sound of Laura Roslin’s voice.
The radio crackled a bit and finally a voice came on, though it wasn’t Laura’s. He guessed it was Playa - she never shut up at these things.
“Madam President! Is it true that this whole Christmas thing was revealed to you in a vision?”
Another voice, this one male, butted in here “Madam President, do you think the Gods want us to celebrate Christmas for some reason?”
Saul Tigh chose this moment to bang open the hatch, causing Bill to miss part of Laura’s answer.
“Saul, quiet, I’m listening to this.” Bill conveniently left out the fact that he was extremely confused. What the hell was Christmas?
“It’s just more of that Christmas crap. I signed off on it this afternoon.”
“Signed off on what exactly?” Bill was trying very hard not to throw his friend out of his quarters so that he could listen to Laura’s voice (discussing important fleet business of course) in peace.
“Christmas! Some stupid holiday that Roslin made up. She says its for morale. It sounded ridiculous and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give her something to hang herself with. Woman’s frakking popular enough, she could stand to be knocked down a few pegs or two.”
Bill fought the urge to either down the bottle of ambrosia, punch his XO in the face, or call Laura and ask what was going on. He did none of these things however. Instead Bill simply glared at his XO and turned up the radio. Saul, who could take a hint, sat down and helped himself to a drink.
Laura was speaking now. “As I told Playa, it really doesn’t matter how the idea for Christmas began or who contributed to it along the way. In fact, I would encourage everyone in the fleet to take an active part in shaping what will hopefully become a new holiday tradition “
“So this Jingle Bells song I keep hearing came from...”
“Couldn’t tell you, Mark. However, if people are having fun with this, I say we leave them to it.”
“Madam President! What about this gift exchange?”
“That did come from my office. We set up a Secret Gift Exchange, where we’ll draw someone’s name and will get them a present of some sort. Everyone aboard Colonial One is doing it, and we feel like it’s a good way to establish communal bonds and to spread some holiday cheer. Other groups should feel free to try this out as well.”
Bill knew, without a doubt, that the “other groups” would include Galactica whether he liked it or not. He really needed to figure out what this Christmas thing was all about.
“That’ll be all for today. Thank you for coming”
Laura’s voice dissolved away into a cacophony of shouting voices, and Bill turned his attention to Saul, who was on his second glass of ambrosia. Bill casually moved the bottle away from Saul. He didn’t have an infinite supply of this stuff, and the way Saul kept blowing through his stash did not bode well for the future.
“Well?” Bill asked.
“Well what? I told you it’s just a stupid, made up holiday that will probably make Roslin look foolish.”
“I doubt that. What I want to know is why I wasn’t aware of this before now?”
“You were busy with those nuggets! I didn’t figure you’d care. That aid of Roslin’s called over here, I told him to tell me what it was and not to bother you. So then Roslin herself got on and explained it and I told her to go ahead and have her stupid little holiday.”
Bill sighed. He could only imagine how that conversation must have gone and hoped that the com channel was actually secure, or he would probably be reading about how the military had insulted the President and were planing another coup in the morning fleet newsletter.
“Well we will now be celebrating this stupid made up holiday aboard Galactica.”
“Seriously?” Saul took another large gulp of his drink.
“Presenting a unified front is important. Even if it is over a made up holiday. Now what was that business about presents and jingle bells? And please tell me you didn’t insult the President.”
Saul simply shrugged and Bill poured himself another drink.
Part IV: In Which There is an Explanatory Flashback
What had happened earlier was this:
Billy straightened his tie and placed a call to Galactica. He knew that no one could see him, of course, but he always felt that the Commander could sense if his jacket was tossed over his chair, or if his tie was crooked.
After Dee informed him that the Commander wasn’t available, he found himself patched through to Colonel Tigh before he could protest that he would call back later.
Laura raised an eyebrow at Billy’s harried expression, prompting him to mouth “Tigh” at her, which in turn prompted Laura to roll her eyes.
There was certainly no love lost between The Colonial President and Galactica’s XO, who of course personally placed the president in the brig, left her there, and then attempted to sabotage what remained of her influence. She had figured that last part was mostly Ellen’s doing, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to deck the Colonel on occasion.
Bill seemed to like him though, proving that there was no accounting for taste or the power of ambrosia in cementing 30 year friendships.
Saul Tigh was not in a good mood today. The latest batch of nuggets were about as competent as blind monkeys and it seemed that half the vipers were out of commission. And to top if off he was running low on booze and Ellen had nearly nailed him in the head with a shoe this morning. It was not an auspicious start to the day.
And now he was supposed to deal with Laura Frakking Roslin and that twerp she called an “assistant.” Lackey was more like it. Bill seemed to like Roslin for some reason (though he suspected her legs had something to do with it) proving that there was no accounting for taste or the power of a nice set of legs (among other things).
“What do you want, we’re busy over here.” he barked.
Billy cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, the president needs to speak to the Commander, Colonel. Is there any chance he can take a call now?”
“No, he’s busy. Just tell me what it is.”
Billy blanched at the idea of explaining Christmas to Colonel Tigh. Fortunately, Roslin took pity on her aide, and asked for the phone.
“Sir, the president will speak to you now” He practically threw the phone at Roslin.
“Good morning Colonel, I was hoping to speak with the Commander.”
“Whatever you have to say to him you can say to me.”
Laura decided to let that erroneous comment slide for now. “I merely wanted to inform him that I plan on declaring a fleet wide holiday next week. I figured the people could use a morale booster.”
“Well, what sort of holiday?”
“Well, it’s called Christmas..”
“Never heard of it.”
“Well, that’s because it is new.”
“You made up a holiday?”
Laura admirably resisted the urge to groan here.
“Well, no, it’s just not commonly known about...”
“Is this some weird religious thing?”
“No, as far as I can tell. Look, just tell the Commander that’s we’re having a fleet holiday but that I do not require the military to do anything specific. You’re all welcome to participate if you wish however. I’ll have Billy send over some information for you.”
“Yeah, fine, go ahead. Galactica out.” Saul quickly hung up, muttering about stupid conversations, crazy schoolteachers, and insane ideas.
Laura once again admirably resisted the urge to groan and to bang her head on her desk. The Gods had to be frakking kidding with this thing. Colonel Tigh already thought she was insane, and the last thing she needed was for him to inform Bill of that fact yet again. Bill certainly seemed fond of her (she refused to consider anything beyond that point, though she was unable to silence a little voice in her head that laughed rather sardonically at this idea of “fondness”).
But she suspected that advocating for a holiday that involved singing and cookies and a fat man named Santa might push that “fondness” to its limits.
Part V: In Which Dee and Billy Come Up With a Clever Plan
Dee curled up against Billy, gazing out at the stars. The two of them were tucked away in a far corner of the observation deck talking about two of their favorite topics of conversation: their respective bosses.
Dee yawned slightly and smiled at Billy. “Did you hear about the gift exchange?”
“Yeah, government and military personal exchanging Secret Santa gifts. Makes for good PR.”
“Secret Santa?” Dee scrunched up her brow in confusion
“I dunno where that came from. I started hearing people talk about it yesterday and the name sort of stuck. People seem to be having fun with this.”
“Yeah, I guess everyone wanted an excuse to blow off some steam.”
Billy nodded slightly. “Say, is the Commander participating in the gift exchange?”
Dee laughed. “No, definitely not. He said he couldn’t show favoritism and that having a crew member get him a present would be inappropriate.”
“The President said the same thing! She won’t do it either.”
“Too bad we can’t force them to participate.”
Billy sat up with a look on his face that Dee had come to know pretty well. He had the same look on his face when he delivered the Christmas memo to her and told her to spread the word. “What if we DID force them to participate?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we enter them into the gift exchange and make sure that they get each other.”
Dee tiled her head to the side, thinking this through. “So you want us to arrange for the Commander and the President to get each other Christmas gifts? Why exactly?”
Billy blushed a little at this. “Well Christmas is about friends as far as I can tell, and the President could probably do with a friendly gesture like a present.”
Dee smirked. She and Billy had had multiple conversations about what exactly was going on between their bosses, and neither of them were averse to helping matters along a little when the occasion called for it.
“Well, Billy, what exactly did you have in mind?”
Stay tuned for part II! Thanks for reading!