![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
andverygingerTitle: Neither Confirm nor Deny
Author: Becca Ramsey
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: To Season Two, “Pegasus.” Minor speculation based on spoilers for the second half.
A/N: Written for the BSG Hiatus Ficathon, and specifically for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snowballjane. My assignment was the following:
Character and/or pairing: Roslin, Adama
Request (scenario for character or pairing): Any political/civil rights issues
Spoilers to: Pegasus
3 things you want in your fic: troublesome civilians, political/legal argument, friendship and/or UST between Roslin and Adama
3 things you don't want: Major character death, amazing cures for cancer, Earth.
Thanks tokimbari for the quick beta read! Any mistakes you see now are my own fault!
***
Laura Roslin paused in her reading, startled by the silence. She lowered her book and glanced around the room. She took in the orangeish glow given by the table lamps, a stark contrast to the harsh, gaseous lanterns beyond the confines of the quarters; beneath her, she was enveloped by the overstuffed leather sofa. A rug softened the hard decks at her feet, cushioning her steps and absorbing echoes.
Other items on the wall absorbed sound, too: Paintings, numerous bookshelves, paper. She was sure Adama knew the exact placement of it all, despite the clutter. It was a place of work, yes – all the reports, logs were piled high on his desk. But it was also a place of refuge, of peace and quiet in the confines of Galactica. This was something she had little of aboard Colonial One. Certainly, she had made herself as comfortable as possible – it was her “home,” after all, but she made the decision long before not to become too comfortable.
At first, it was because it all seemed surreal; surely someone would come along and tell her it was all a mistake, that Adar -- or even the 42nd in line -- was still alive. As time dragged on, however, the reality settled heavily upon her. Then her cancer became the reason. She had so little time left, and so few belongings. Why should she bother making a home when she had to get her people home?
Kobol changed that somewhat. Since then, she had been drawn into a tentative friendship with Bill Adama. She found herself visiting more, staying longer, and taking refuge as he offered it. Their time together was filled with companionable silences, punctuated by sometimes playful, sometimes intense debates. Laura found she was coming to enjoy his company. She tried not to think about the implications of it… or the implications of being curled up on one end the sofa, with him stretched out on the other.
A knock on the door broke her from her thoughts. Her eyes were already on him when he looked up, closing his own book. Smiling, she waved him off. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. Pushing herself to her feet, she padded across to the door. She opened the hatch to find her assistant, Billy Kekeiya, hovering outside, lips drawn taut.
“Madam President,” he said and pushed past her into the room, “there’s something you should see.” Laura could only stare after him. He nodded abruptly at Adama, lips thinning further as the admiral buttoned the last of his uniform buttons.
From beneath his jacket, Billy produced a portable vid player, placing it atop Adama’s desk. He powered it up and inserted a small disc. “This went live about half an hour ago.”
Laura watched as the black screen flickered to life. A familiar face took shape from the pixels, and she frowned. The blonde woman on screen was Kaitlynn Ryan, lead anchor for the mid-morning newscast, a show that would have ended about the same time as Billy’s arrival. Laura noted that Kaitlynn was clad in a dark blue suit, her expression all business as she looked directly into the camera. “…and now Caprica’s own Michelle Chang brings us footage from around the fleet that may put a whole new spin on the recent political turmoil.”
The scene changed, and Kaitlynn was replaced by a tall, thin brunette with angled hazel eyes and a darker complexion. She held a microphone just below her chin in traditional style, and also looked directly into the camera. “Good morning, Kaitlynn,” she offered as a greeting. “I’m standing aboard the Cloud Nine, stationed on one of the stellar observation decks. Behind me, against the stars, you can see Colonial One, the President’s home vessel, running alongside the protector of our fleet, the Galactica. It’s not an abnormal sight; Colonial One, like the rest of the fleet, obtains her water rations at regular intervals from Galactica. Rumors have begun to circulate, however, that it’s not just the ships that are passing in the night.”
Laura felt her throat tighten at the cliché, and she knew immediately what would follow: a carefully edited montage of her interactions with the now-Admiral Adama, complete with color commentary, making things seem much more intimate than they really were. Her attention was transfixed; she heard nothing but the rushing of her own blood in her ears, felt the beat of her own heart.
She chanced a sidelong glance to Adama, taking in the muscle ticking slightly in his jaw, and the white knuckles which gripped his coffee cup. His whole body was tensed, as though ready at any moment to spring into action. It was abundantly clear he was angry, but with whom? With her? With the reporter? With himself? It was an answer Laura was sure to get later.
With some effort, she dragged her attention back to the screen. The images flickered past, one by one. Chang continued her narration, offering a voiceover, as the image changed yet again. The president barely stifled a gasp as, on screen, she stood opposite Bill in one of the many corridors of Colonial One. She knew what was coming next.
On screen, Bill reached up gingerly and tucked an errant lock of mahogany hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes, further amplified as his eyes came to rest on her slightly parted lips.
The reporter’s voice flooded the president’s ears. “…which leads us to question,” she began, “whether our recent split was politically motivated, or a symptom of a lover’s quarrel.” The screen froze at that moment, blinking back to an image of Chang aboard Cloud Nine. “This is Michelle Chang, reporting live from aboard the Cloud Nine. Back to you, Kaitlynn.”
Slowly, Laura moved to the nearby desk chair and lowered herself into it. Her mind burned with the memory of that moment in the corridor, reappearing every time she closed her eyes. The world had seemed to melt around them. Then, just as now, she heard nothing but the beating of her own heart, the rush of blood in her ears. She felt lost as he watched her, brushed her hair gently behind her ear. The magnetic pull of his eyes, of his hand against her cheek – both were almost irresistible in that instant. Laura suspected that, had it not been for Billy’s timely interruption, there would have been much more substance to the morning news segment.
She was suddenly aware of his presence at her side. “Laura?” Adama asked quietly.
“I’m fine, Bill. Really.” Flashing an unconvincing smile, the president shifted in her chair. “Just...taken by surprise.”
She watched Billy as the younger man looked to Adama, and then back to her. “I don’t think you’re the only one, ma’am,” he commented. He cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll make arrangements to shuttle back to Colonial One.”
He hurried out of the room, and Laura heaved a sigh. She had to admit that she had permitted Bill Adama more liberties than most – as he dared to touch her, she had allowed it, come to crave it, if she let herself admit it. Unlike the religiously faithful, he wasn’t afraid to touch her; the reverence in his eyes wasn’t because he believed she was the dying leader of scripture. It was for a wholly different reason that sent a jolt through to her core at the mere thought.
The admiral finally broke the silence, and his voice was a mixture of humor and remorse. He didn’t want to discuss it, she knew, because saying it aloud might make the thing between them real, but if anything, Adama also recognized the ironic humor in the situation. “Well, Madam President,” he said, “how do we handle this?”
A crooked smile crept across her lips, spurred by his own. “We can’t deny it, can we?”
“We can’t confirm it.”
Laura hesitated before speaking. “I can’t simply tell them that the President’s personal life isn’t a news item – not when it could be viewed as affecting command decisions.” She sighed, removing her glasses and folding them to their compact size. Her index finger circled the noseguard. “It must be abundantly clear that the leadership of this fleet is not in question – regardless of any...personal feelings or relationships.”
Without looking, she could tell by the rustle of garments and the small shift of his feet against the deck that he was now standing with his arms folded across his chest. “You don’t think they’d latch onto the ‘personal feelings or relationships’? It certainly caught my attention.”
The president sighed wearily. “At least it would be speculation on their part and not confirmation.”
“And what about on our part? Speculation or confirmation?”
Laura knew the question was coming, but she still wasn’t prepared for it, wasn’t prepared to answer it. She stood, glancing about for her shoes and avoiding the eyes she felt bearing down onto her. “I should go. I’ll have to make a speech. Or hold a press conference.”
As she stepped away from the chair, his hand came to rest on her forearm, voice offering her name. “Laura.”
More powerful than any weapon housed aboard Galactica, the low, intimate timbre of his voice stilled her. His hand slid down her sleeve and – slowly – their fingers intertwined. He brought their joined hands to his lips and Laura felt the gentle warmth of his lips against the back of her hand, lingering a moment or two longer than necessary. She allowed her eyes to drop and savored the connection.
At once, she was aware of his feelings for her – as if she had any illusions before – and aware that sometime in the last ninety seconds, they had crossed an invisible line from which they couldn’t return. Part of her was screaming. She knew the political firestorm an actual relationship could touch off. She also knew Doctor Cottle’s latest prognosis meant only weeks remaining in a short lifetime. Still another part was screaming, too, but for entirely different reasons, most of which had nothing to do with logic or reason.
And then she heard Captain Apollo’s voice, dredged from her memories of Kobol. I’d like to think, he had said, that following your heart is never a mistake. She only hoped she could trust the advice so earnestly given.
“And on our part...we should be more careful in public.” The smile across her lips slid into a lopsided grin and she squeezed his hand. Then, slipping her hand from his, she stepped quickly into her shoes and out the door before he could formulate a response.
Realization dawned quickly on the admiral, eliciting a smirk as he lowered his head. He idly kicked at the pile of the rug with his toe, his lips pursed. His gaze wandered back to the door, eyes retracing her steps.
She hadn’t said anything about in private.
***
Comments/constructive feedback welcome!
Author: Becca Ramsey
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: To Season Two, “Pegasus.” Minor speculation based on spoilers for the second half.
A/N: Written for the BSG Hiatus Ficathon, and specifically for
snowballjane. My assignment was the following:Character and/or pairing: Roslin, Adama
Request (scenario for character or pairing): Any political/civil rights issues
Spoilers to: Pegasus
3 things you want in your fic: troublesome civilians, political/legal argument, friendship and/or UST between Roslin and Adama
3 things you don't want: Major character death, amazing cures for cancer, Earth.
Thanks to
kimbari for the quick beta read! Any mistakes you see now are my own fault!***
Laura Roslin paused in her reading, startled by the silence. She lowered her book and glanced around the room. She took in the orangeish glow given by the table lamps, a stark contrast to the harsh, gaseous lanterns beyond the confines of the quarters; beneath her, she was enveloped by the overstuffed leather sofa. A rug softened the hard decks at her feet, cushioning her steps and absorbing echoes.
Other items on the wall absorbed sound, too: Paintings, numerous bookshelves, paper. She was sure Adama knew the exact placement of it all, despite the clutter. It was a place of work, yes – all the reports, logs were piled high on his desk. But it was also a place of refuge, of peace and quiet in the confines of Galactica. This was something she had little of aboard Colonial One. Certainly, she had made herself as comfortable as possible – it was her “home,” after all, but she made the decision long before not to become too comfortable.
At first, it was because it all seemed surreal; surely someone would come along and tell her it was all a mistake, that Adar -- or even the 42nd in line -- was still alive. As time dragged on, however, the reality settled heavily upon her. Then her cancer became the reason. She had so little time left, and so few belongings. Why should she bother making a home when she had to get her people home?
Kobol changed that somewhat. Since then, she had been drawn into a tentative friendship with Bill Adama. She found herself visiting more, staying longer, and taking refuge as he offered it. Their time together was filled with companionable silences, punctuated by sometimes playful, sometimes intense debates. Laura found she was coming to enjoy his company. She tried not to think about the implications of it… or the implications of being curled up on one end the sofa, with him stretched out on the other.
A knock on the door broke her from her thoughts. Her eyes were already on him when he looked up, closing his own book. Smiling, she waved him off. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. Pushing herself to her feet, she padded across to the door. She opened the hatch to find her assistant, Billy Kekeiya, hovering outside, lips drawn taut.
“Madam President,” he said and pushed past her into the room, “there’s something you should see.” Laura could only stare after him. He nodded abruptly at Adama, lips thinning further as the admiral buttoned the last of his uniform buttons.
From beneath his jacket, Billy produced a portable vid player, placing it atop Adama’s desk. He powered it up and inserted a small disc. “This went live about half an hour ago.”
Laura watched as the black screen flickered to life. A familiar face took shape from the pixels, and she frowned. The blonde woman on screen was Kaitlynn Ryan, lead anchor for the mid-morning newscast, a show that would have ended about the same time as Billy’s arrival. Laura noted that Kaitlynn was clad in a dark blue suit, her expression all business as she looked directly into the camera. “…and now Caprica’s own Michelle Chang brings us footage from around the fleet that may put a whole new spin on the recent political turmoil.”
The scene changed, and Kaitlynn was replaced by a tall, thin brunette with angled hazel eyes and a darker complexion. She held a microphone just below her chin in traditional style, and also looked directly into the camera. “Good morning, Kaitlynn,” she offered as a greeting. “I’m standing aboard the Cloud Nine, stationed on one of the stellar observation decks. Behind me, against the stars, you can see Colonial One, the President’s home vessel, running alongside the protector of our fleet, the Galactica. It’s not an abnormal sight; Colonial One, like the rest of the fleet, obtains her water rations at regular intervals from Galactica. Rumors have begun to circulate, however, that it’s not just the ships that are passing in the night.”
Laura felt her throat tighten at the cliché, and she knew immediately what would follow: a carefully edited montage of her interactions with the now-Admiral Adama, complete with color commentary, making things seem much more intimate than they really were. Her attention was transfixed; she heard nothing but the rushing of her own blood in her ears, felt the beat of her own heart.
She chanced a sidelong glance to Adama, taking in the muscle ticking slightly in his jaw, and the white knuckles which gripped his coffee cup. His whole body was tensed, as though ready at any moment to spring into action. It was abundantly clear he was angry, but with whom? With her? With the reporter? With himself? It was an answer Laura was sure to get later.
With some effort, she dragged her attention back to the screen. The images flickered past, one by one. Chang continued her narration, offering a voiceover, as the image changed yet again. The president barely stifled a gasp as, on screen, she stood opposite Bill in one of the many corridors of Colonial One. She knew what was coming next.
On screen, Bill reached up gingerly and tucked an errant lock of mahogany hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes, further amplified as his eyes came to rest on her slightly parted lips.
The reporter’s voice flooded the president’s ears. “…which leads us to question,” she began, “whether our recent split was politically motivated, or a symptom of a lover’s quarrel.” The screen froze at that moment, blinking back to an image of Chang aboard Cloud Nine. “This is Michelle Chang, reporting live from aboard the Cloud Nine. Back to you, Kaitlynn.”
Slowly, Laura moved to the nearby desk chair and lowered herself into it. Her mind burned with the memory of that moment in the corridor, reappearing every time she closed her eyes. The world had seemed to melt around them. Then, just as now, she heard nothing but the beating of her own heart, the rush of blood in her ears. She felt lost as he watched her, brushed her hair gently behind her ear. The magnetic pull of his eyes, of his hand against her cheek – both were almost irresistible in that instant. Laura suspected that, had it not been for Billy’s timely interruption, there would have been much more substance to the morning news segment.
She was suddenly aware of his presence at her side. “Laura?” Adama asked quietly.
“I’m fine, Bill. Really.” Flashing an unconvincing smile, the president shifted in her chair. “Just...taken by surprise.”
She watched Billy as the younger man looked to Adama, and then back to her. “I don’t think you’re the only one, ma’am,” he commented. He cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll make arrangements to shuttle back to Colonial One.”
He hurried out of the room, and Laura heaved a sigh. She had to admit that she had permitted Bill Adama more liberties than most – as he dared to touch her, she had allowed it, come to crave it, if she let herself admit it. Unlike the religiously faithful, he wasn’t afraid to touch her; the reverence in his eyes wasn’t because he believed she was the dying leader of scripture. It was for a wholly different reason that sent a jolt through to her core at the mere thought.
The admiral finally broke the silence, and his voice was a mixture of humor and remorse. He didn’t want to discuss it, she knew, because saying it aloud might make the thing between them real, but if anything, Adama also recognized the ironic humor in the situation. “Well, Madam President,” he said, “how do we handle this?”
A crooked smile crept across her lips, spurred by his own. “We can’t deny it, can we?”
“We can’t confirm it.”
Laura hesitated before speaking. “I can’t simply tell them that the President’s personal life isn’t a news item – not when it could be viewed as affecting command decisions.” She sighed, removing her glasses and folding them to their compact size. Her index finger circled the noseguard. “It must be abundantly clear that the leadership of this fleet is not in question – regardless of any...personal feelings or relationships.”
Without looking, she could tell by the rustle of garments and the small shift of his feet against the deck that he was now standing with his arms folded across his chest. “You don’t think they’d latch onto the ‘personal feelings or relationships’? It certainly caught my attention.”
The president sighed wearily. “At least it would be speculation on their part and not confirmation.”
“And what about on our part? Speculation or confirmation?”
Laura knew the question was coming, but she still wasn’t prepared for it, wasn’t prepared to answer it. She stood, glancing about for her shoes and avoiding the eyes she felt bearing down onto her. “I should go. I’ll have to make a speech. Or hold a press conference.”
As she stepped away from the chair, his hand came to rest on her forearm, voice offering her name. “Laura.”
More powerful than any weapon housed aboard Galactica, the low, intimate timbre of his voice stilled her. His hand slid down her sleeve and – slowly – their fingers intertwined. He brought their joined hands to his lips and Laura felt the gentle warmth of his lips against the back of her hand, lingering a moment or two longer than necessary. She allowed her eyes to drop and savored the connection.
At once, she was aware of his feelings for her – as if she had any illusions before – and aware that sometime in the last ninety seconds, they had crossed an invisible line from which they couldn’t return. Part of her was screaming. She knew the political firestorm an actual relationship could touch off. She also knew Doctor Cottle’s latest prognosis meant only weeks remaining in a short lifetime. Still another part was screaming, too, but for entirely different reasons, most of which had nothing to do with logic or reason.
And then she heard Captain Apollo’s voice, dredged from her memories of Kobol. I’d like to think, he had said, that following your heart is never a mistake. She only hoped she could trust the advice so earnestly given.
“And on our part...we should be more careful in public.” The smile across her lips slid into a lopsided grin and she squeezed his hand. Then, slipping her hand from his, she stepped quickly into her shoes and out the door before he could formulate a response.
Realization dawned quickly on the admiral, eliciting a smirk as he lowered his head. He idly kicked at the pile of the rug with his toe, his lips pursed. His gaze wandered back to the door, eyes retracing her steps.
She hadn’t said anything about in private.
***
Comments/constructive feedback welcome!
