No Phoenix for Roslin

Chapter 8

[time: current]

Adama noticed that, on his way to the brig, he somehow hadn't moved beyond the port side reserve lockers. He caught himself staring at the hatch. Passing crewmembers frowned at him in much the same way they stared at Baltar when the doctor was once again gazing vacantly into nothingness.

"What?" He regarded Cally and the Chief, who had posted themselves by his side near the entrance to the locker.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Cally asked

He glowered at them.

"You seemed... preoccupied," the chief offered.

"For more than 15 minutes," Cally added.

Adama groaned inwardly, warily eying the entrance to the reserve lockers.

"Thank you. Carry on."

&&&

[time: 8 days earlier]

It proved harder to keep Saul totally out of the loop than Adama had expected. Though he hid behind his best stoic façade and Laura used her most off-putting political smiles to much effect, now and again one of them would drop the mask for a split second and derail the other's camouflage.

"Stop it!" the President hissed.

They were on their way to the brig for another round of interrogating the Cylon and he'd casually let the back of his hand come into contact with the back of hers every several steps, enjoying how a responding flush had crept up her cheeks.

"Madame President?" he asked conversationally.

She stopped in midstride and glared at him over the rim of her glasses.

"Madame President?" Billy turned and looked back at the two of them.

Laura cast Adama an exasperated look before turning to her aide.

"Is something wrong, Madame President?"

"I seem to have forgotten my notes on Cylon technology." Laura sighed. "I hate to ask, but would you mind..."

"No problem." It was obvious her aide was less than happy with this assignment, but he complied nevertheless.

Laura sent him off with her sweetest smile. "Thank you, Billy."

"Smooth," Bill congratulated her, stepping close. When she turned to him, he could easily imagine how the peeved look she gave him would have unnerved her former students. But before she could add words to her annoyance, Bill took hold of her hand and pulled her with him.

"What are you doing?" she whispered tersely.

He grinned at her. "Watch your step." He opened a hatch and helped her inside, closing the door behind her.

"Bill!"

"Yes?" He stepped inside her personal space, effectively defusing much of her annoyance.

"Where are we?" She raised herself on her toes, scanning the empty room over his shoulder.

"The port side reserve lockers," he murmured, distracted by the closeness of the curve of her neck. "Your museum."

She moved her head back as far away from his touch as she could until the door behind her stopped her. "You are an ill-behaved pain in the lower parts, Commander."

"Well, excuse me, Madame President," he calmly placed his hand against the hatch next to her ear, framing her against the door, "but I thought your little stunt in CIC required retribution."