Summary: “Why did it have to be in a cupboard?” That’s the question President Laura Roslin keeps asking herself…Spoilers… um, not really. If they’re there then they are minor.
A silly fluff fic because we all need a break from angst!
Rating: K+
Category: Humour
Characters: None
Genres: Humour, Romance
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Wordcount: 1621 Read Count: 718
“Ow, ow – and no!”
“What?” Adama looked at the President as innocently as possible – hands around her waist lifting her a few feet off the ground.
“Put me down Admiral this instant or I’m not going to do it at all!” She looked upon him sternly, the deep green of her eyes flickering to the surface – burgundy hair falling over her shoulders.
He complied, lowering her to the ground in protest. “You weren’t going to anyway…” he muttered challengingly watching as she fixed her jacket, subconsciously flicking her hair in a manner that was very seductive to the eyes of Bill.
“Maybe not,” she straightened, his hands still lingering not far away, “but that’s beside the point.”
“Well, do you have a better idea?” He hinted to the only exit high in the ceiling – the door firmly locked into place behind them sealing them within the small room.
Laura surveyed the cramped confines for any other alternate escape. She checked the walls, their dull grey exterior giving nothing useful to her situation. The Admiral was indeed right, there was one exit – and one exit only. That exit was seven and a half feet above their heads.
A wicked grin spread across the president’s face as she calculated the size of the air-conditioning duct – her mind plotting deviously.
She turned to the Admiral who was making no effort to help – seemingly quite content at being locked in a cupboard.
“You could go.” she said, eyeing him. Adama looked ceiling-wards at the narrow opening.
“You couldn’t lift me.” he grinned without skipping a beat – knowing it was true.
Laura didn’t falter, “I’m prepared to try -”
Adama didn’t doubt it… Thankfully he, being the military mastermind that he was, had already hatched an escape route. “Twenty years ago maybe I would have fit through that hatch…”
She conceded, throwing her arms up in frustration – searching the gods for a reason as to how she had ended up in this situation.
Adama was back to his original plan.
“So, can I – or not?” he motioned to lift her again, not game to touch her until she agreed – lest she bite.
She rolled her eyes theatrically, making certain he saw. “Alright, alright. But I want it made known that this whole thing is your fault – if you hadn’t wanted that stupid,” she paused, unable to finish her rant, “what was it?”
“Series Four Strike sidearm.”
“Whatever.” she slid her shoes off, placing them to the side. Adama watched unashamed. “Frakking cupboard.” she continued offloading, “What kind of frakked up cupboard doesn’t have a frakking clothes rack? Frakking cupboard…” Roslin muttered as she searched for a place to hang her jacket.
“It’s not a cupboard,” corrected Adama bravely, “It’s a weapons hold. There’s a difference.”
“Four walls – one door, small space – ridiculous escape, very bad look if caught locked inside. No difference.”
The Admiral couldn’t stop himself grinning, he put it down to the President practically undressing in front of him. “Keep looking Admiral, it’ll be the last thing you see…”
“Honest, my back is still turned.” he lied as she slid her stockings off.
So what if it really was his fault? The President requested an escort to a press conference and he got caught off guard. He probably could have asked – well, anyone really for a sidearm – but then he wouldn’t be trapped in a confined space with the President now would he?
Okay, so locking the door was as accident but – oh gods thought Bill, she’s not wearing shoes – or stockings. It was then that he realised she was standing, arms folded impatiently, in front of him. Bill dragged his eyes up from her calves.
“Hi.” she said, knowing exactly what he had been doing.
“Hi.” he replied dumbly.
He put his knee out for her to stand on, she did so – taking his hands at first for support before stretching out to reach the gauze over the entrance to the shaft.
“This is such a bad idea.” Laura said, struggling to remove the covering. Finally pulling it loose, she let it fall to the ground with a loud clank. No-one heard it.
Laura looked at the hole left behind wondering how the frak she was going to clamber into it.
Without warning the Admiral raised himself off one knee to a semi-standing position sending Laura’s head and shoulders through the opening.
“Oh!” she peered down the tunnel, light filtering from an opening down further. “Hmm… old man was right.” There really was an exit this way.
“Madame President?” came the Admiral’s strained voice from somewhere below. “You’re getting kind of heavy.”
Right, climb into the tunnel… “Alright, I’m going now.” Against her better judgment Laura placed her hands on the cool surface of the air duct and – with a little help from below – she pulled herself up into the space.
Adama moved his hands from her waist – to her hips, down her exposed calves as she pushed off his hips and disappeared above until all he could see of her were two bare feet dangling over the opening.
Laura Roslin crawled forward then stopped – unable to believe what she was doing.
Bill heard nothing but silence. “Everything alright?”
Laura didn’t reward him with an answer. Everything’s fine – I’m in an air duct, this is just how I planned to spend my morning.
Her tirade was cut short by quiet, manly laughter. She could feel him grinning at something – he wasn’t allowed to be happy at the moment. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” came his curt reply, followed shortly by repressed manly giggles. “Only that – you have nice shoes.” Clearly having changed his mind mid sentence.
“And I better get those shoes back,” Laura resumed crawling, “I only have two pairs.”
“Now what would I possibly want with your shoes Madame President?”
“Don’t address me as ‘Madame President’ when I’m crawling through an air duct.”
He considered this, it was a fair point. Now seemingly alone he let his eyes wander back to her belongs.
Laura reached the opening directly above the door to the weapons hold. She positioned herself over it and pushed on the gauze – it fell alarmingly easily to the floor which was further down then she remembered. It was all well and good being helped up, but they really hadn’t thought this plan through.
“Admiral! It’s a long frakking way down.”
“You’ll be fine.” his voice echoed up through the tunnel.
“You’ll be fine.” Roslin sat on the edge, lowering her feet down first quickly followed by the rest of her body as she slid through the opening – failing to catch in the edge effectively on the way down.
She fell to the floor – hard enough to hurt, but no badly.
Laura lay looking up at the dark void she had fallen through. The Admiral could now be heard from both the air duct and the door.
“Are you alright Laura?”
“I’m fine.” Ow.
She stood up with one last look at the distance she had fallen before moving to the door. The President stood there, hand on the handle – a smile spreading ear to ear.
“Aren’t you afraid that I won’t open the door?” The whole thing was his fault after all – he could do with a little time out.
“You wouldn’t” said Adama from behind the locked door. When there was no response from Laura, mild panic set in.
There was nothing but silence.
“Madame President?” Nothing. “Roslin?” Just a whole lot of silence – he couldn’t see her form leaning against the outside of the door.
“Roslin? I know you’re out there. Laura open the door. Open the door please?”
Gaeta walked past, pausing momentarily at the Admiral’s pleas. Laura brought a finger to her lips signaling him to remain quiet. He nodded, grinning and walking silently on.
“Laura, don’t make me declare martial law! Okay, I didn’t mean that. Really, Laura I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re late for your meeting.” He paused, trying a different and hopefully more successful tactic. “And I’m sorry you – ah, we got trapped in a weapo-uh, cupboard… And that you had to crawl through an air-conditioning duct.” He breathed heavily, he really was sorry – not for all of it, but some of it definitely.
The ‘falling’ part – he was sorry for that. The stocking part, not so much.
Laura stood quietly, hand resting on the door – waiting for that victorious sound of the Admiral collapsing to lean against its surface so that she could -
Open it without warning.
Adama went flying out into the corridor, landing at the President’s feet. He looked up at a grinning President.
“Ow – that hurt.”
“Leaving that alone.” thought Lee as he walked briskly past the sight of his dad on the hanger floor at the feet of the President.
Both were laughing uncontrollably – neither making any kind of attempt to rectify the situation.
The President finally extended a hand to the Admiral of the fleet, he took it and soon they were both on their feet. She fixed the sash over his uniform, he tamed one of her stray curls.
“That never happened.” she smiled, thinking all trace of that little detour removed.
For a moment Adama thought seriously about neglecting to inform the President her shoes were missing.
The Admiral grinned devilishly.
“What now?” she narrowed her eyes – his gaze lowered to her delicately curved legs ending in bare feet. “Oh.”
She gave the cutest of smiles – so maybe it had happened after all.
*~*
