![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prowler_pilotTitle: Mysteries and politics
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex
Fandom: BSG/SGA crossover (only BSG characters are present, but there are multiple references to the Stargate universe)
Pairing: established Roslin/Adama
Timeline: BSG: season 4.5 / SGA: no specific references, but in my mind this occurs after The Real World.
Summary: Just an A/R vignette set on Atlantis after the Galactica ends up on Lantea in our future.
A/N: This little piece follows “It was a dark and stormy night”, which I wrote, I kid you not, over 5 years ago. This is probably the first time I've actually written Adama/Roslin, despite their being one of my main OTPs.
“Did the Lanteans give you this?” Bill's muffled voice floated through the ajar door into the bathroom where Laura was still toweling her hair. They were due for a meeting with the leaders of Atlantis and politicians from their home planet – Earth, and the thought gave her a little jolt – in less than an hour, she took her sweet time in the shower, reveling in the strong spray of hot water and the lush scents and textures of the products Weir had handed over to her with an arched eyebrow and a smile on her face. The military-issued neutral soap alone had been an improvement from the algae-based mush they had on galactica, but the bottles of shower gel and lotion had felt like a gift from the Gods.
“Gave me what?” She emerged from the bathroom, still in her underwear, short hair sticking in every direction – she would have to ask Elizabeth for conditioner – as she dropped the wet towel on her desk. Bill was sitting on the bunk bed in his shorts and tanks, turning a book in his hands as he studied the object. She noticed that both his uniform and her suit had been retrieved from the floor neatly folded and stacked at the foot of the bed while she was in the shower. She blushed slightly at the thought of her behavior, but then again, Bill had been tucked away on Galactica for three weeks while she stayed in Atlantis and she had unceremoniously dragged him to bed the moment the door to her quarters had slid close behind him. Not that he'd complained.
She brought her attention back to the book. Bill was thumbing it carefully, feeling its weight and texture under the pads of his fingers, testing the differences with the books he had in his quarters. He ran his thumb over the square, unfamiliar corners, letting the point sink briefly into his flesh.
“Yeah, Weir gave it to me a few days ago.” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the rebel locks to no avail, and padded to the bed. “It's a mystery.” She said, a cheerful lilt to her voice. “It was written a century ago or so, in Earth time. Think Virgon about 3 centuries before the first cylon war. No spaceships, no cars, no technology to investigate either. Fascinating.”
“And you can read this.” He rumbled, opening the book only to see signs that he could not decipher. She had been on Atlantis for a few months now, and while she was not extremely proficient in the city's working language, she had picked up enough of it to start making sense of written texts.
“Not very well, I'm afraid." She admitted. “But enough that I understand what is going on. Mostly. Sometimes I bother the linguists who are working on colonial language.” She took the book from his hands and set it back on her nightstand. “Carson helps when I'm in sickbay. Weir as well sometimes.”
She stepped between his legs as his hands, now devoid of the book, went to her hips. “I take it you two are friendly.” His thumbs traced the arch of her hipbones, just above the hemline of her plain cotton panties, courtesy once again of the SGC. She hummed appreciatively.
“Oh, she tries very hard.” She said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “she's excited about colonial culture, and she's been trying to learn our language. She gets a bit...” she fished for the right word, “overwhelming at times, with all these questions. Especially on our life before the cylons.” She sighed. “Some things I'd rather not talk about. Or even remember. It gets frustrating.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis even though Bill couldn't see her.
“But they're good people. They will support us today. Weir is a skilled negotiator, despite being so remarkably sincere. She doesn't do manipulation, or at least I don't believe her capable of it.”
Bill listened attentively. “You know I trust your instinct. You've spent enough time with these people to get a good gauge of them.”
“Those Earth people, on the other hand, might be very different. Weir has warned me, and the expedition seems wary of them. She and Colonel Sheppard were nervous at lunch.” She grimaced in distaste. “They may be more of a problem that we've anticipated.”
“We have to play our cards well. They are the only ones who can help us get back to the fleet.”
“They will do what's in their power if Earth doesn't stop them. Like they've done before, with the supplies and the repairs.”
“And with you.” He murmured, his hands drawing her closer so he could place a soft kiss on her navel. Her muscles fluttered beneath her skin at the contact. “I will always be grateful for that.” He looked up at her, assessing her. Part of her thought she should feel embarrassed to be scrutinized that way, but she had long ceased to feel self-conscious around Bill. “You look good.”
“Admiral Adama, have I ever not looked good?” She said in mock offence, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips in the most no-nonsense president Roslin stance she could muster while in her underwear. Of course, she was no longer 30. Or 40. Or 50, for that matter. But even four years on a spaceship with minimal resources, two different diagnoses of cancer and the diloxin treatments hadn't managed to destroy her body beyond repair. Her second miracle had come in the form of a singularity that had sucked Galactica in and spit her out 150,000 years in humanity's future. If she had not been on the ship for a routine check with Cottle, she would have probably been dead by now. By then. Or whatever.
He seemed unfazed by her attempt at humor as he eyed her form. “You look healthier. Stronger.” And she felt that way. Being rid of cancer had obviously been the main factor in her getting her strength back, but having access to actual food, fresh air and a gym had certainly influenced her recovery. “I can pay the price of not having you on Galactica with me if it means seeing you like this.” He smiled at her with a tenderness she had once regarded as a sign of weakness, but that she had now come to cherish. She still worried for him, that he would one day be crushed by the raw force of his own emotions, but she was glad that, at least this time, it would not be because of her. She was glad that she could still be there as the voice of reason when he needed one.
She mirrored his smile. “I miss you, too.” She stepped back to him to run her fingers through his thick hair. He took her hand in his and pushed off the bed, moving in to envelop her in a hug. Her free hand shot up between them, a threatening index finger at his eye-level.
“You are most definitely not touching me while you're still all sweaty. Off to the shower. I imagine Weir will want to brief us before the actual meeting.” He released her hand and smiled in surrender. “Yes Madam President.”
She went to her wardrobe to pick out a fresh suit. If they ever set foot on Earth – future Earth – a little shopping was in order. Four years of rotating the same three suits had taken its toll on the fabrics.
“There's a clean towel in the cabinet in the bathroom,” she called out, “oh, and Bill--for the love of Zeus, shave that damn mustache, will you?”
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex
Fandom: BSG/SGA crossover (only BSG characters are present, but there are multiple references to the Stargate universe)
Pairing: established Roslin/Adama
Timeline: BSG: season 4.5 / SGA: no specific references, but in my mind this occurs after The Real World.
Summary: Just an A/R vignette set on Atlantis after the Galactica ends up on Lantea in our future.
A/N: This little piece follows “It was a dark and stormy night”, which I wrote, I kid you not, over 5 years ago. This is probably the first time I've actually written Adama/Roslin, despite their being one of my main OTPs.
“Did the Lanteans give you this?” Bill's muffled voice floated through the ajar door into the bathroom where Laura was still toweling her hair. They were due for a meeting with the leaders of Atlantis and politicians from their home planet – Earth, and the thought gave her a little jolt – in less than an hour, she took her sweet time in the shower, reveling in the strong spray of hot water and the lush scents and textures of the products Weir had handed over to her with an arched eyebrow and a smile on her face. The military-issued neutral soap alone had been an improvement from the algae-based mush they had on galactica, but the bottles of shower gel and lotion had felt like a gift from the Gods.
“Gave me what?” She emerged from the bathroom, still in her underwear, short hair sticking in every direction – she would have to ask Elizabeth for conditioner – as she dropped the wet towel on her desk. Bill was sitting on the bunk bed in his shorts and tanks, turning a book in his hands as he studied the object. She noticed that both his uniform and her suit had been retrieved from the floor neatly folded and stacked at the foot of the bed while she was in the shower. She blushed slightly at the thought of her behavior, but then again, Bill had been tucked away on Galactica for three weeks while she stayed in Atlantis and she had unceremoniously dragged him to bed the moment the door to her quarters had slid close behind him. Not that he'd complained.
She brought her attention back to the book. Bill was thumbing it carefully, feeling its weight and texture under the pads of his fingers, testing the differences with the books he had in his quarters. He ran his thumb over the square, unfamiliar corners, letting the point sink briefly into his flesh.
“Yeah, Weir gave it to me a few days ago.” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the rebel locks to no avail, and padded to the bed. “It's a mystery.” She said, a cheerful lilt to her voice. “It was written a century ago or so, in Earth time. Think Virgon about 3 centuries before the first cylon war. No spaceships, no cars, no technology to investigate either. Fascinating.”
“And you can read this.” He rumbled, opening the book only to see signs that he could not decipher. She had been on Atlantis for a few months now, and while she was not extremely proficient in the city's working language, she had picked up enough of it to start making sense of written texts.
“Not very well, I'm afraid." She admitted. “But enough that I understand what is going on. Mostly. Sometimes I bother the linguists who are working on colonial language.” She took the book from his hands and set it back on her nightstand. “Carson helps when I'm in sickbay. Weir as well sometimes.”
She stepped between his legs as his hands, now devoid of the book, went to her hips. “I take it you two are friendly.” His thumbs traced the arch of her hipbones, just above the hemline of her plain cotton panties, courtesy once again of the SGC. She hummed appreciatively.
“Oh, she tries very hard.” She said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “she's excited about colonial culture, and she's been trying to learn our language. She gets a bit...” she fished for the right word, “overwhelming at times, with all these questions. Especially on our life before the cylons.” She sighed. “Some things I'd rather not talk about. Or even remember. It gets frustrating.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis even though Bill couldn't see her.
“But they're good people. They will support us today. Weir is a skilled negotiator, despite being so remarkably sincere. She doesn't do manipulation, or at least I don't believe her capable of it.”
Bill listened attentively. “You know I trust your instinct. You've spent enough time with these people to get a good gauge of them.”
“Those Earth people, on the other hand, might be very different. Weir has warned me, and the expedition seems wary of them. She and Colonel Sheppard were nervous at lunch.” She grimaced in distaste. “They may be more of a problem that we've anticipated.”
“We have to play our cards well. They are the only ones who can help us get back to the fleet.”
“They will do what's in their power if Earth doesn't stop them. Like they've done before, with the supplies and the repairs.”
“And with you.” He murmured, his hands drawing her closer so he could place a soft kiss on her navel. Her muscles fluttered beneath her skin at the contact. “I will always be grateful for that.” He looked up at her, assessing her. Part of her thought she should feel embarrassed to be scrutinized that way, but she had long ceased to feel self-conscious around Bill. “You look good.”
“Admiral Adama, have I ever not looked good?” She said in mock offence, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips in the most no-nonsense president Roslin stance she could muster while in her underwear. Of course, she was no longer 30. Or 40. Or 50, for that matter. But even four years on a spaceship with minimal resources, two different diagnoses of cancer and the diloxin treatments hadn't managed to destroy her body beyond repair. Her second miracle had come in the form of a singularity that had sucked Galactica in and spit her out 150,000 years in humanity's future. If she had not been on the ship for a routine check with Cottle, she would have probably been dead by now. By then. Or whatever.
He seemed unfazed by her attempt at humor as he eyed her form. “You look healthier. Stronger.” And she felt that way. Being rid of cancer had obviously been the main factor in her getting her strength back, but having access to actual food, fresh air and a gym had certainly influenced her recovery. “I can pay the price of not having you on Galactica with me if it means seeing you like this.” He smiled at her with a tenderness she had once regarded as a sign of weakness, but that she had now come to cherish. She still worried for him, that he would one day be crushed by the raw force of his own emotions, but she was glad that, at least this time, it would not be because of her. She was glad that she could still be there as the voice of reason when he needed one.
She mirrored his smile. “I miss you, too.” She stepped back to him to run her fingers through his thick hair. He took her hand in his and pushed off the bed, moving in to envelop her in a hug. Her free hand shot up between them, a threatening index finger at his eye-level.
“You are most definitely not touching me while you're still all sweaty. Off to the shower. I imagine Weir will want to brief us before the actual meeting.” He released her hand and smiled in surrender. “Yes Madam President.”
She went to her wardrobe to pick out a fresh suit. If they ever set foot on Earth – future Earth – a little shopping was in order. Four years of rotating the same three suits had taken its toll on the fabrics.
“There's a clean towel in the cabinet in the bathroom,” she called out, “oh, and Bill--for the love of Zeus, shave that damn mustache, will you?”
