ellymelly’s fanfiction

“The curiosity of unaccounted time is little more than a deep, creeping silence awaiting inevitable disturbance…”

TRAP DOORS June 1, 2008

Title: Trap Doors
Info: M
Featured: Laura finds a secret door in her office – various people end up trapped inside of it. Set sometime in season two. No spoilers.
Category: Romance, Humour
Characters: None
Genres: Action/Adventure, General, Humour, Mystery/Suspense, Romance
Series: Behind Closed Doors

Chapter One: Paper Jungle

Author Notes:
One should never be too inquisitive of unknown doors.
Newly re-instated Laura Roslin examined her desk in despair. A paper jungle, five pronged and dangerously high, gently swayed as the air conditioner fanned across the room. She continued to watch as a loose sheet of paper twitched, its edge lifting up with the caressing current.Exhausted from a day spent relocating objects from one nondescript location to another, she reclined into the warm leather of her chair, observing that in spite of her efforts, she was hemmed in on all sides by boxes, files, and a strange Caprican statue that reached up toward the ceiling of her office with desperate, twisted iron arms. Laura frowned, where the hell had that come from?

With an elegant finger, she reached out and prodded the un-gamely idol. It wobbled, shaking like the hands of an angry priest, and then quickly developed a significant lean-to. The air conditioner hurled another wave of chilled air its way and the statue tilted over the point of no return.

It crashed into the side of the room first, before sliding along the wall and slamming into the ground with an almighty thud.

A clear space emerged where the statue had been.

“You all right Madame President?” screamed her aid, Billy, from the other room. It was clear from the way his voice hitched that all of his bodily functions had been set to pause whilst his hears pricked, desperate for a response.

Madame President Laura Roslin smiled, an evil grin satisfying her features. She flicked her green eyes up toward the curtain. “I am now,” she hissed.

Laura spent the next half hour filling all available draw space with incredibly useless documents. Still, it didn’t seem to matter how long she spent with her nose buried in paper, the piles around her office continued to multiply.

Toying with the idea of an indoor bonfire, she heaved one of the heavier boxes up onto a nearby shelf which bent under the weight. She actually felt bad – of all the beautiful things that had been destroyed by the apocalypse, all this crap had survived. It was like cockroaches, great big piles of paper cockroaches.

The President took a brief rest by stretching her arms skyward and sucking in a deep breath. She ran her hands through her thick hair, and pulled it up into a ponytail – holding it there for a minute while her neck cooled off.

It was at that precise moment that she spotted it – a small outline on the wall beside her desk half concealed by a portrait of some war hero with scary eyes and a fierce demeanour. Laura’s hair swung around her shoulders as strode over to the wall, strangely drawn to it as if she were a moth flickering toward the warmth of a flame.

“Odd…” she whispered, standing in front of the wall. With sore arms, she shifted the heavy painting to the side.

Its absence revealed a definite hexagonal marking in the wall behind. Laura placed her hand in the indent, testing its strength with her sharp finger nail. The paint flicked away easily, leaving a definite gap between it and the rest of the wall.

“A door…” Laura backed away a pace or two. There it was; a door in the side of her office that she had never noticed before.

Laura looked from the enormous pile of filing boxes and then back to the door. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head, “a filing cabinet…

Sure enough, she soon located a bulge in the newly found door that had once been a handle. With a crate of files in one arm, she managed to push it down, twisting it a little to the left and then lifting its delicate metal exterior toward her. Laura then leant against the door, stumbling as it pushed open.

The first thing the President did was to sneeze as the musty odour of tragically old air roared out. It was dark, and difficult to make out anything about the room through the cloud of dust. Laura kept her free hand pressed against the door as she bent forwards and took a cautious step into the small room.

It was very dark. The light from her office penetrated only a little way into the room, but it was enough for her to locate a space to the left of the door for the heavy weight in her arms. She dropped them on the floor, shoving them back up against the wall. Yes, this place would most certainly do for emergency storage.

Laura back tracked from the room, skirting out of the way as the door swung shut. She quickly rounded up another armful of filing boxes and then opened her secret door again. Her load was heavier this time, and she found that she had to lean against the door as she shifted into the room, huffing under the strain.

The President mouthed a couple of very un-presidential words as the contents of her arms tipped over, spewing over the floor of the poorly lit room.

“But – frakking frak of frak!” she dropped to her knees after the pile, crawling forwards.

She heard it straight away – the sinister whine as the secret door snapped shut, trapping her inside.

The world around her became a void – well, a dusty void of nothingness. It was the blackest of blacks. Not even a crack of light.

Laura blinked.

Chapter Two: The Admiral’s Meeting

The Admiral knocked gently on the President’s door.

“Come in if you can,” mumbled Billy, not bothering to glance up over the neatly stacked documents in front of him. Indeed, his desk was the only point of order within Colonial One, a fact which he appeared to be keenly aware of as he straightened his page to be parallel with the edge of the wood.

Bill stepped through the door, avoiding several ill placed boxes as he navigated his way into the anteroom. “Morning Mr. Keikeya,” he said, struggling over to the desk. “Quite a job you’ve got here.”

Billy cast a disdainful glance at the state of the room. “We don’t speak about it,” he half replied, his pen flicking angrily while he signed a miscellaneous document. “You can go straight through, the President is expecting you – well, I told her to expect you. It’s quite possible that you’ve been forgotten. She has been very quiet in there for the past half hour.”

The Admiral nodded and then quietly placed another file on Billy’s desk. He managed to slip it under the edge of one of the piles. The collective weight of paper held it there, allowing it to defy gravity as the rest of its bulk hung out over open space.

Billy ignored it.

“I’ll just – go through…” The Admiral, still watching to make sure that President’s aid didn’t bin his highly important report on Cylon Basestars, forgot to look where he was going and promptly stumbled forwards over a large box. At the last minute, he tried to step over it, but his body had already decided to splatter itself on the floor.

Bill groaned, his stomach resting on the sharp edge of the box. “Ugh…” he moaned, rolling off it on and onto another pile of folders. At least they were softer than the box.

Billy ignored him.

* * *

“Worst design in the history of designs! Seriously, where is the frakking handle?” Laura muttered darkly to the room as she ran her hands all over the wall she hoped was a door. She had given up bashing on it long ago, presuming her hands to be black like the infuriatingly small room she found herself trapped in.

“Guh!” she sighed, her head hitting the wall harder than she meant it to.

Deciding that she was probably going to be stuck for some time, she fumbled around for the box of files she had been carrying. Finding it, she tipped it upside down, emptying its contents so that she could use it as a primitive seat.

Someone would come for her – they had to. She was the frakking President. Presidents do not die trapped in frakking cupboards.

Madame President Laura Roslin folded her arms across her chest and stared into the darkness – a distinctly bad mood settling with the dust.

* * *

The Admiral listened at the velvet curtain outside the President’s office for several minutes before plucking up the courage to stick his nose through.

“Madame President,” he said politely, parting the curtain. His military hardened eyes scanned the room – or more correctly, what was left of the room. Towers – that was the only way he could describe them, towers of paper straddled the walls. They leant inward casting menacing shadows over the carpet. Bill eyed the one closest to him.

“Talk about your fix-er-up-er…” he whispered, placing one of his paws on it for stability.

If the President was in this room, he would have a hard time finding her amidst the veritable jungle.

* * *

She was in the middle of delivering a whispered, vicious tirade to the wall when she heard a loud swoosh swiftly followed by a crash.

Swearing ensued as someone attempted to catch a pile of papers as it disintegrated mid-flight.

“For the – FRAK!” the voice said.

Laura’s eyes snapped to the ‘door’.

* * *

Bill could hardly make out his own form from beneath the white.

“She’s going to airlock me,” he whispered, managing to stand up. “Where the hell is she anyway?”

The Admiral suddenly frowned when he heard a series of bangs come from within the room. Maybe there was a bit of space dust out there – except, he could have sworn that it had come from the non-space side of the room.

There it was again. A loud, steady ‘bang’ followed by a, ‘Little help in here!’

Hmm… Bill thought, that sounded very much like – “Madame President?”

“WHO THE FRAK ELSE!” it replied, followed by more bashing.

The Admiral took a few steps forward, his ears pricked. His senses led him deep into her office until he was standing in front of a wall staring at a very scary portrait of the Colonial Dictator Baax Lap. “Madame President?” he repeated.

Although he couldn’t see it, Laura was splayed over the door on the other side.

“I’m in here!”

Bill leant closer, the brilliant mechanisms of his mind turning. “You’re in the wall?”

“Yes – taken over by the overwhelming urge to be at one with the ship I tried to walk through it and ended up embedded in the metal – no! Of course I’m not in the frakking wall!”

Bill frowned for a second time. His blue eyes glistened in the brightly lit office. “Uh, then where? You haven’t gone omnipresent have you?”

“Door Bill – it’s right in front of your nose!” she banged harder for good measure.

“But, there is no door.”

“Trust me on this one, there is a door.”

The Admiral had to lean extremely close until he found the hairline fracture that seemed to form a vaguely door-like impression on the wall. There even turned out to be an indent that could be construed as handle – if he could only get it to work.

“Open the door already,” demanded the impatient voice.

“It –”, he struggled, lifting up the metal and then proceeding to juggle it about awkwardly. “It’s not that easy.”

“You have to kind of – shift it to the left.” Laura heard it click. “Good, now push! Harder now! Come on be a man!

“I am pushing.”

“Clearly not hard eno-ah!”

Two bodies landed in a heap.

“I said, ‘push’ not ‘thrust’,” mumbled Laura as she tried to blink away the intensity of the light pouring in from the open door. “Frak – ” she finished, as the Admiral’s began to feel very heavy pushing her fragile body into the concrete.

“That’s a little inappropriate Madame President.”

Laura sighed and shook her godly head, “I didn’t mean it as a verb.”

“Right,” Bill did his best to roll off his superior.

“Wait!” Laura stretched out her hand futilely as the Admiral rolled off her. “Gods damn door!”

The door in question squeaked irritably as the light dimmed violently. It shut with a slam, locking them both inside.

“You didn’t get the door!”

Chapter Three: Imaginary Voices

Admiral William Adama blinked rapidly as the darkness closed in. From his sprawled position on the concrete he could hear the President breathing angrily beside him. The way she ran her tightly clenched fists through her hair seemed to reverberate off the walls and paint her expression flawlessly onto his mind. It was not a particularly bright picture…

“Oh,” he whispered, “that door.”

Laura rolled onto her side, freeing herself from the Admiral’s stray leg.

“It’s okay,” said Adama, forcing himself to sit up. He sniffed the air, attempting to get his bearings. “All we have to do is find the handle,” he continued, kneeling in front of the door. He began his search by placing his palms at the bottommost point of the door and then ran them upwards, fanning out across the door’s span with his other hand. “It’s here somewhere.”

The President rolled her eyes dramatically, not bothering to interrupt.

“So – no handle. That doesn’t matter. You just need to be strong enough to push open the – it won’t – doesn’t seem to – why can’t I – it’s stuck!”

The figure behind him sat up and straightened her mane of red hair. “Reeeeeally…”

“No,” Adama shook his head, “this is a serious health and safety issue.”

“Uh ha,” Laura replied, untangling a knot it one of the auburn strands. “I’ll make sure I raise it with the ship’s manufacturer when next I see them.” She heard the Admiral grunt with satisfaction. “Pity they’re extinct and all.”

“To whom shall I address my complaint and inevitable litigation?”

“My guess would be the President,” said the President.

Bill went to open his mouth, then thought very carefully. Silence joined the darkness as his jaw hung open, locked somewhere between repressed anger and a delirious fear of small enclosed spaces.

Laura exhaled sharply. She was moving about in the darkness, shuffling various items out of her road while her knees complained about the hardness of the floor. Crawling forwards, she located the file box and dragged it across the floor. Finally, she hauled herself onto it and dusted off her knees, relieved to be a foot and a half off the ground. It made her feel ever so slightly superior.

The Admiral couldn’t quite work out what all the noises meant. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Laura re-adjusted the box, shifting it a little closer to the door in expectation of it randomly unlocking itself.

“Sitting down in a more human fashion,” she replied, tapping the box. “You can continue to freeze your arse off on the concrete if you like.”

Bill, now standing, realised that the President must have found a box of sorts. “I – are there more boxes?”

“Might be – but there’s a bunch of files next to this one which would be just as warm.”

Files…? “Why are there files?”

“I was filing,” she snapped back, almost too defensibly.

“In a strange dark room…” Bill said, groping around in the dark for files. Finally his hand hit something. It was soft and warm. “That’s not a file, is it?” he inquired tentatively, not daring to move his hand.

Roslin glared. “That would be my chest.”

“Oh,” he lowered his hand. “What’s this?”

“An approaching airlock.”

He apologised half heartedly and withdrew his hand to a safe distance. Soon after, he located the files and began to draw them up into a mound.

“What are you doing here anyway,” asked the President, listing to the Admiral shuffle about.

“The wall was screaming so –”

“No,” she waved her hand out of habit, “before that.”

“But – you arranged the meeting, Madame President. About the Cylon Basestars. You said that it was vital to the security of the fleet. I prepared for it all morning.” Laura Roslin remained very quiet as the Admiral’s tone dropped to a heartbreaking sigh. “You forgot about our meeting?”

“I did not,” she replied defensibly, doing her best to banish a twitch of guilt. “I just forgot to remember.” Why did she care about how the Admiral spent his morning anyway? Of course it didn’t make her breath falter slightly at the thought of him sitting at his desk, guiding a pen across the back of his hand as he read over her words. What was this anyway, an inquisition of her psyche? “I’ll give it a look as soon as we get out of this frakking mess. You put it on my desk, right?”


“You put the file on Billy’s desk?”

“I thought – isn’t that what aids do?”

“It’s more, ‘aiding and abetting’ in his case. At the moment he’s involved in an intimate relationship with the shredder.”

An uncomfortable silence settled as both universal leaders ran out of things to say. Laura quite enjoyed it. She had always been one of those strange souls that relished the peace that a silent room brought – granted, this particular peace was a little disturbing but it was better than a room full of crazy people smoking and role playing.

Adama’s ears twitched. Darkness. Silence. Death. “How much oxygen do you think is in here?”

Laura raised her eyebrow in the Admiral’s direction. Who would think of such a thing? “Admiral…”

“No food either,” he continued, his stomach suddenly rumbling aloud. “So what – that gives us about two weeks until our bodies are no longer able to break down our tissue into nutrition?”


“Water,” he breathed finally, as if Earth had suddenly materialised in front of him. “Two to three days. The headaches will set in first followed by a two bottle Ambrosia hangover. We’ll be highly irritable, sensitive to noise, light, dust, oxygen – existence really. Then again, if we’re too busy dying of starvation we won’t notice the thirst so much as the apathy sets in. Think about it, we’ll be literally too lazy to have sex – which has long been my preferred method of death. Oh but wait, that doesn’t matter because we’ll die of dehydration first so, sex is probably still on the table.”


“Irritability, hangover, increased sensory perception, and delusions. It probably won’t be long before the paranoia sets in. Insanity – that’s always something to be concerned about. I mean, no offence Madame President but you’re not the most stable object in the universe. It’s quite possible that you could snap a nerve or something and lash out at me. You could suddenly see me as a potential food source to ensure your own survival and it’d be one less breather taking up the available oxygen which gets me right back to suffocat-”

“SHUT THE FRAK UP!” she reached out and shoved him off his carefully constructed pile of files.

“I knew it,” he muttered, rolling off the pile and hitting a nearby wall. “We’re going to spend our last hours frakking.”

Laura bent forward and gripped her head tightly.

* * *

“I’m starving…”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You are forbidden to speak, remember?”

The Admiral had reconstructed his pile several meters away from the President’s grasp. “I know, but we must have something between us.”

The President frisked herself. “I’ve got a little Chamalla.”


“If this is going to be twenty questions…”

The Admiral shrugged. “I was just going to say that it possibly wouldn’t be the best idea to get wasted whilst trapped in a cupboard of unknown size and origin.”

“Well that’s it I’m afraid seeing as you already ate my moss and wheat bar. Do you have to contribute to the food pile?”

“Uh –” the Admiral fished about in his unbuttoned jacket. “Breath mints. Fat free.”

“The dust has more nutrition.”

“Lee said that I should watch my weight.”



Laura turned her head to the back of the room and mumbled something about spoilers.

“What was that?” said Adama.


“No – that.”

Laura heard it too, the distinct sound of something stumbling through her office, whispering to themselves as piles of papers fell across their path.

* * *

Vice President Gaius Baltar yelped and jumped out of the way as a scantily clad Number Six blew on a towering pile of paper, knocking it to the ground in front of him.

“Do you have to?” he whispered, doing his best to find the carpet amongst the paper.

“Yes,” she replied, extending a perfectly curved leg in front of his path. Baltar hit the floor with a thud sending his glasses flying.

“Sorry dear, I didn’t see you there,” he apologised, doing his best not to irritate her already violent mood swing.

Six lay down beside him on the floor, lowered her mouth to his ear and then began whispering various Cylon secrets. She paused mid sentence, her eyes lifting to a disturbing portrait of the original Cylon god. Six was sure that she could hear something coming from the wall near the President’s desk. It was a banging – no, voices – or, she couldn’t really hear properly because Baltar was moaning something about being crushed to death.

“Can you hear something, Gaius?”

Baltar tried and failed to roll out of her grip, “Says the imaginary voice…”

“I’m serious!” With that, she rolled off him and lifted him off the floor, shoving him forwards through the room. He landed splayed against the secret door.

“Madame … President?” Baltar could feel the banging beneath his hands.

“OPEN THE DOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”


“Get me out of here before the President goes – ow!”

“Help them Gaius – it’s what god wants.”

“I was going to…” replied Baltar, doing his best to follow the instructions being yelled him by a set of insane people.

“You kind of have to – shift it to the left. THE LEFT, the – ”

This time there was a complex tangle of human limbs hurled into the little room with significant force as Six decided to help her boyfriend out by kicking the door in as he lifted the latch. Baltar managed to turn his head back in time to see Six wave goodbye.

Everything went black as the door locked shut.

“Bloody effing frakked up toaster!”

The Admiral wasted no time in pinning Baltar to the ground.

“What in the gods are you doing?” Baltar tried to wriggle free.

“Frisking you for food.”

Chapter Four: Damaged Goods

“You’ve got to stop touching me,” whimpered Baltar, as the Admiral searched every inch of him for edible objects. His bear like hands quickly located a notepad, greasy comb and a pen in the scientist’s upper pocket, the latter was quickly snapped in half as the Admiral’s hunger grew.

Laura was off her chair in a flash, guessing Baltar’s position by the constant objections he hurled at the darkness. “I’ll get his arms,” she whispered to Bill. Together, they were able to subdue the panicked entity.

“Why is everyone touching me?” Baltar yelped, feeling the President’s hands stroll over his body and forage in inappropriate places. “Stop touching me! I’m not a touchable object!”

“You’re intangible?” she replied, confused.

“I’m – yeah. That could work for – ” his voice lifted a few octaves. “Me…” he squeaked.

In the darkness, the President grinned maliciously. “I think you’ll find the scientific term is ‘damaged goods’.”


The President released Baltar. “He’s got nothing,” she muttered, pulling the Admiral off him as well. “We’re just wasting precious calories.”

“I can think of better ways to spend calories…” replied Bill, blinking back the darkness.

“Uh…” the President sighed, pushing the Admiral off. “The closer death inches, the hornier they get.”

Baltar shifted his arse into reverse, backing through the darkness until his back hit a stray box. Its weak cardboard ripped and was quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of files showering the floor around him as its over packed contents toppled. “Who put all these frakking boxes in here?” he said, rubbing a lump on his head where one had attacked him.

“I did,” snapped Laura, as she returned to her own upturned filing box. The Admiral breathed heavily and crawled onto his pile of papers in hungry disgust.


Bill knew the answer to this one, “The President was fili-

“Because I was filing…” The President’s lips pursed. She turned to Bill’s rough location and glared. “Don’t answer for me.”


“S’cuse me?” she said.

“Creepy –” Baltar ran his hands over the items that were littered around him. “Hording things away in a secret hole in the wall. Who even has a secret room? I know what I’d do with a secret room – and it’s not this.” Thankfully he didn’t see the others faces contort as they tried not to imagine the contents of Baltar’s secret room. “Probably contains design plans for a better airlock,” he continued, his hands finding something curious. He picked up the object and ran it between his fingers, “And – is that a photograph of me?”

“Photograph?” the President lifted her nose curiously. She didn’t remember filing any photographs.

“Smooth upper surface, waxy finish, small, hexagonal shape, roughly palm sized, yeah – I’d say it’s a photograph. Considering that little feel fest earlier, it must be of me.”

“Because the universe is in love with Gaius Baltar.”

“Well, it is… I took a poll.”

“Of what?” Laura’s irritation grew, “Rocks, trees, gas, bits of misshapen metal…”

“Indeed, and you should hear what they had to say about your Presidential skirt…”

Adama clasped his hands over his mouth in an effort to prevent speech. He didn’t want to start thinking about Presidential skirts – especially with the President present.

“I would never agree to that,” she whispered in Adama’s direction.

The Admiral decided that it was time to duct tape himself.

“Why you schizophrenic little sheep!”

Baltar gulped. It seemed that President could read everyone’s thoughts. Either that or his Brain Mouth Filter had been seriously damaged. “As opposed to ‘drug induced stupor’,” Baltar bleated back.

Roslin flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I prefer ‘prophet’,” she hissed, before lunging off the box in Baltar’s direction.

“Woah – ” Adama outstretched his arms into the darkness, separating the two equally psychotic forces either side of him.

“Admiral –”

“Yes Madame President?”


The Admiral withdrew both his arms quicker than a vision of Earth. “Sorry,” he muttered, “– dark.”

The President retreated to her box and took a moment to compose herself. “I have no idea as to the contents of this room,” she said honestly as she picked something off of the ground, sniffed it, and then threw it into the darkness. “I only found this place a couple of hours ago before I decided to –”

“Use it as a filing cabinet?” Baltar filled in. “Just my luck to end up with a compulsive orderer at the end of the universe. You probably even file your post it notes.”

“I’ll file you in a minute!”

Baltar looked around at the darkness. “I AM filed!”

* * *


The general noise of the CIC buzzed contently as the vaporous remnants of Ambrosia played in the air around the Colonel. Starbuck clasped her hands behind her back and waited patiently for a response.

“Mmm…” His head snapped up from the document he had been staring absently at. “Oh right,” he said. “Starbuck?”

She tilted her head to the side, “Affirmative.”

“Have you seen that greasy head scientist of ours? I regrettably need him for some calculations.”

“Knocked me to the ground about a half an hour ago on his way to the raptor bay. Mumbled something about having an urgent meeting with the President.”

“Go fetch him back. Gaeta requires him. Break his legs if you have to.” Tigh turned, a rare grin cracking through his intoxicated exterior. “Indeed, it might be preferable.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

“Thanks for the lift Starbuck.”

“Lee Lee Lee…” she almost sang, striding down the hallways of Colonial One with the Admiral’s son in tow. “I’m not giving it back,” Starbuck leapt up and hit a rather ill looking light fitting. It swung dangerously as they passed. Lee wanted to do the same, but knew that he couldn’t jump high enough due to his inherited short stature. “I won it fair and square and I don’t care how long you trail me for – I will not be giving into you.”

“But –” he objected with his cutest expression.



“No,” she shook her head. A few minutes passed and the eager patter of feet continued behind her. Starbuck stopped abruptly and turned. “Why are you still following me?”

“I’ve got a message for dad – he said he was going to see the President.”

“Just how many people has she got filed away in her office?”

Lee shrugged.

“All right,” she sighed, continuing down the hallway. “Let’s go crash the party. Oh, and if you’re going to insist on following me, you can deal with Billy.”

Chapter Five: Cats and Rain

Billy was in a bad mood. There were ink stains from snapped pens splattered all over the carpet. Indeed, he hated that vile carpet and he was prepared to go to great links to destroy it. It didn’t bother him that he was wasting the last ink in the universe for his cause. He wanted President Roslin to see it vandalised so that she would be forced to request new –

“Can I help you?” Billy’s dark eyes flicked up at the pair of pilots standing over his desk.

Lee reached over and picked up a shiny paperweight off a pile of files. He smiled, turning the object over as he examined it. Starbuck caught his eye and shook her head, silently instructing him to put down Billy’s possession.

Billy watched, unimpressed.

Starbuck laughed nervously. “What’s up Billy?” she began, attempting to appear friendly.

“My blood pressure. Get to the point.”

“Can we see the President?”

“And the Admiral,” added Lee quickly, catching his sleeve on the edge of the pile. As his arm swiped up, it took the pile with it. The papers lingered in the air for a moment as six eyes watched, four in shock, two in horror. A passing fan of air from the air conditioner blew the hovering pile across Billy’s desk and onto the floor.

Starbuck shoved Lee who stumbled and fell to the floor.

Billy lowered his eyes back to the desk, deliberately moving one of the stray papers and flicking it onto the floor to join the rest. It landed on Lee’s perfect face.

Starbuck took this action as permission to pass. She grabbed Lee by the arm and dragged him with her, still on the floor.

* * *

“You mean,” declared the Admiral joyously. “I’m not going to die?” He turned around in the darkness, staring at nothing in particular. “I’m gonna live!” he screamed, dancing around on the spot. Considering there was nothing but utter darkness obscured by ill placed objects, the Admiral quickly tripped and fell. He ended up slumped over the box Laura had been using as a seat. He felt it deflated beneath him.

Laura was presently leaning against a wall. “If that was my box, you’re back to dying.”

“Sc-s’cuse me…” Baltar nervously raised his hand out of habbit. “Just to clarify –”

“Speak,” commanded the President.

“It’s nothing really,” he stumbled on, “but am I correct in understanding that this plan involves using me as a medi-kobolian battering ram?”

The Admiral slid off the box quietly and dusted off his hands.

Laura folded her arms across her chest. “Well, it doesn’t specifically have to be you, but you’d put up the least resistance.”

Baltar started shaking his head vigorously muttering, “I object to this plan!” over and over.

“You don’t get a vote,” muttered Laura right back.

“Why not?”

“Because there is no vote. This is not a democracy. It’s a dictatorship – and I’m the dictator.” She flicked her burgundy hair across her shoulder and tilted her head to the side.

Bill was so turned on by this display of power that he stumbled over the destroyed box and forced himself to stand. “I could kiss you Laura!” he declared.

And he did just that – passionately locking the individual next to him in an embrace – except, the individual in question did not seem to be too pleased by this action and struggled to wriggle free of the Admiral’s bear-like grip.

“Laura?” said the Admiral, trying to work out why she would not want to be kissed by someone as important as himself.

“Yes,” she replied superiorly.

Bill blinked in the darkness.

“I’m the one on your left…” she added.

The creature that had been mauled by Bill was busy pawing its mouth trying to scratch off the feeling. “EEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” it screamed. “Baltar. Human. Scientist. Caprica. Ew!”

Bill quickly turned to his left and stood at attention. “Can I try again?”

The President frowned. “Not until you get a vaccination.”

“I hear voices…” whispered Baltar, still clutching his head and rocking backwards and forwards in distress.

“We know, Baltar,” said Laura.

“Shouldn’t we – talk back?”

Laura sighed and pushed off the wall. “The voices are in your head,” she said gently. “Cottle explained it very slowly to you, remember?”

“I hear voices too,” said Bill, sitting on the remains of the box.

“Oh great, Mr. Intangible is contagious.” It was then that a noise from the direction of the ‘door’ caught Laura’s attention. She elegantly strolled through the darkness, stepping over the two entities in her path. “Is that a younger version of you?” she asked the Admiral as the sound of crashing boxes came from the direction of her office.

* * *

“Frak me, Lee!” she yelled, as he vanished beneath a pile of boxes. “All you’ve got to do is remain upright.”

Lee crawled from beneath the boxes and set out across the President’s office in search of something. It appeared that he had decided to beat gravity to the point by not bothering to stand in a human manner.

Starbuck stepped over him and then raised her eyebrows. She spun around slowly to face the wall at the side of Roslin’s office. “That was your dad,” she stated, taking a step closer.

“Pardon?” said Lee, who was busy poking around an eerie portrait, looking for his packet of Viper Chews.

“It’s coming from right next to you – how can you not hear that?”

Lee stretched forwards, reaching behind the portrait, his ear practically married to the hidden door. “He what?” came his strained reply.

Starbuck paced over and clipped Lee behind his defective ears. “Good thing there is no sound in space,” she whispered into them.

Lee paused, “Why?”

Starbuck rolled her eyes and turned her interest to the wall. “Oh, and the President as well,” she said to the voices shouting out from behind it.

“The door!” They screamed. “Open the door! For the peace of the universe, open the frakking door!”

“All right… calm yourselves,” she said, quickly finding the secret latch and flicking it to the left. “If you don’t stop pushing on it, I won’t be able to open it!”

The figures leaning against the door backed off a couple of paces. A crack of light appeared, slicing through the darkness. The heavily dilated eyes of those trapped snapped shut, unable to handle the brightness.

“Ah, there you are,” said Starbuck, staring at the three individuals with their eyes tightly clenched shut.

“I found it!” declared Lee, deliriously brandishing his Viper Chews. Using the portrait, he hauled himself to his feet and backed out of the spider infested corner and straight into Starbuck.

“Watch it Lee! You almost knocked me –” Starbuck’s arms flailed about wildly. “Over…”


Everything went dark.

Three individuals opened their eyes and stared down at the space where two Viper pilots laid sprawled, knocked unconscious by the floor.

“It’s like the door of evil death,” whispered Baltar.

The Admiral shook his head, “Never met a trap door I liked… Search them?” he looked deliberately to his left.

President Laura Roslin nodded. “Search them.”


2 Responses to “TRAP DOORS”

  1. Jess Says:

    DUDE! LOL! I love your crack!Laura XD

  2. eosaphrodite Says:

    I don’t know if I’ve been reviewing this on SI–I forget. But I’m loving it. Especially Adama’s horniness when nearing his demise and the frisking Baltar for food. This is hilarious and you had better keep up with the posting. :-)

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