When Caprica was a sheet of black and winking holidays lights blotted out all the stars, on the corner of 9th and Main Street Bill Adama stood. He watched flakes of snow fall over her skin, over her cheeks, nipped red from the cold, and her eyes flickering to the package in his hand.
Something inside him warmed.
“What I would give for government shutdown,” Laura gasped, her breath curling in front of her. “Gods. They haven’t even salted the streets.”
“Better watch your step.”
Her heels looked all too fragile over the thin layer of snow now dusting the sidewalk, and she seemed to notice his careful attention.
“Mmm. And that wouldn’t be one of your commands, would it?”
“It might be.” His smile was small. “If you want it to.”
“’If I want it to,’“ she repeated.
They held each others eyes for a moment, never minding the gentle stream of last-minute holiday shoppers dashing past them, never minding the obnoxious red, pink and blue holidays lights flashing to the tune of “Frosty the Snowman,” or even the too-strong cloud of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting from a bakery down the street. It’s now or never. Bill extended his hand, and with a subtle, understated surprise, she took it.
“Brought you something,” he told her. “Thought of you.”
It wasn’t wrapped. She flipped it, traced her gloved finger over the gold-embossed etchings, and read along. “Searider Falcon… I lost mine years ago and was never able to finish it, my gods. How did you know?” She guessed right away from the slight wear, the way it stubbornly wanted to open to page 95, that this was his own personal copy. She lifted her eyes. Her mouth was open a second before the words came out. “Commander, I can’t take this.”
Snow sprinkled over her hair. Her nose was slightly red. Bill kept the image locked in his memory, and now, she smiled under his gaze.
the reason they give is TOO CORRECT in simplest way. & & sometimes simplest is the only right ANSWER. rational framework is the only way to make sense of this development , result of an application he hadn’t actually been expecting to be REJECTED. first , world lost & & then the struggle to find his place in this new reality of RUNNING & & HIDING & & SURVIVING from day to day. slowly , but surely , he is finding the pieces with the help of others ( with lieutenant thrace & & captain adama , role model figures of contrasting leadership that nonetheless paints intricate dance in the hierarchy aboard galactica ). but it’s NOT ENOUGH. it should be. he’s working with one of his lifelong idols — dr. gaius baltar — a dream come true. EXCEPT IT’S NOT. he’s used to being the smartest , the most valued , the most needed as top expert in the colonies on molecular physics. but there is no need for his experience with ATOMIC CATASTROPHE blowing it all apart. now , it’s all about the cylon detection apparatus ( & & there’s only so much he knows about bioengineering ). so it only makes sense to try the only other avenue he could POSSIBLY gain some sense of life fulfillment in — protecting the innocent with bone & & sinew & & HERO’S HEART.
but they tell him that he can’t because the labwork counts as an ESSENTIAL POSITION , to which they can’t afford to displace his skills elsewhere. makes sense , then. but HEART has a hard time accepting this when every day , he watches the viper pilots march around the ships & & train for BATTLE. watches how they commit , how they dedicate , how they PERSEVERE & & he can’t help but feel like he’s not doing enough puttering away about a PETRI DISH , pipet held gingerly between soft fingers.
& & now ? well , he’s somehow got it into his THIUCK SKULL that the admiral will have a listening ear. though maybe this isn’t the case if he isn’t here to report on advancements in dr. baltar’s experiments. but SPINE STEELS at the thought of backing down now , determined to at least exhaust all options before he relegates himself , once again , to a half-meaningless existence. ( is this the passion that laid within brother’s chest when he left them all to GUARD THE GALAXIES ? ) brother’s ghost stands nearly in his shadow as he clears his throat , hands twisted behind his back & & uncertain of where to START.
❝ — sir. ❞
“Oh, you know how I love a good fight,” she divulged. He could picture her brushing her forehead as she said that. “And, admiral, while we’re on the topic of confessions... hearing you say it most certainly helped.”
“Works both ways, Laura.”
A pleasant hum came from the other end. He heard a smile in it. “Yes, indeed.”
In a few moments, they said their good nights, and the phone finally clicked in its receiver. There was nothing to distract him now. The papers stacked high on his desk seemed to scold him and he theorized he could probably take the most important files, shuffle into bed and skim them through, but he tested the theory before. It didn’t work so well. Damn, another phone call sounded good right now.
A knock came at his door and roused him from his thoughts. Bill glanced at the time.
2100. Someone so late?
“Come in.”
When the hatch squealed open, he slipped his glasses back on, half-expecting it to be Lee or Saul.
He didn’t expect Ray.
“Doctor,” he greeted. There was a certain look to the man’s face, almost like he was nervous or uncertain, trying to find the right words... Billl noticed his hands were behind his back, and the admiral’s steely eyes settled. “I’ll take the shot... and assume this is about the Cylon Detector.”
HE VERBALLY RECALLS TO HER, HER BEHAVIORAL PATTERNS AS IF IT’S A TRAVESTY! she sees nothing wrong with choosing immerse herself in her work. death is inevitable & a natural part of life. her views keep her comfortable with the idea that it will one day claim her as it has her parents —— it’s all a matter of WHEN. with the state of the galaxy they are in, she has no time to simmer in self-depreciation or sentiments ; grief & emotions are dead weight. siobhan is not the type to cry openly & she doesn’t. every emotion of hers has been fine-tuned behind meticulously created walls & barriers. numb.
she & matteo watched her father calmly go through her mother’s last days, making sure she was comfortable. his skin, wrinkled like old LEATHER was stone-faced. strong. he taught her (almost) everything he knew. she models herself after this.
again, there’s an unsettling period of silence floating between them. red, yellow, green & blue lights from the medical monitors wink & coats her in a filter of ARTIFICIAL colors. something about her suddenly makes the air colder than the ice cream tucked between her thighs.
❛ perhaps transparency on my part was a mistake. i would prefer not to make this into a melodrama, if you don’t mind, ❜ her voice steady, plucks the carton & caps it before setting it atop the nightstand next to her. the spoon atop.
they do not & will not agree on alec’s fate, so she doesn’t want to argue about it. it’s exhausting.
❛ the doctor projects i can be discharged from here & back into the field no later than the day after tomorrow. ❜
He wasn’t berating her for it. She was doing what he always said. You take the punches, and you live with it. When Zak died, crushed under thirty tons of metal and lowered six feet under, he stood in the command room the next day. When he thought Lee died, nuked with nothing left to lower, he stood up straight. He gave his orders.
The monitor’s glow washed her in a muted blue, made her look like she was sinking. They gleamed over his glasses and masked the look in his eyes.
Siobhan, orphaned and building her walls. Siobhan was pushing him out.
“We hold on to what we have,” he rumbled. Matteo. Lee. Each other. “We’re all that’s left.”
In his passive quietness he had hoped she’d give him room, but he also knew the thick skin was her armor and a mountain of equations her medicine. But to send her out there, not just to work, but to be Pathfinder after everything... He did not budge in his seat, not even as she dropped her carton and spoon off.
“Got a drive core down on Galactica. Not looking too good.” When he finally spoke again, his words came out breathy. “Call it a gut feeling... but thought you could get down there, work out the dents,” he suggested. “The crew could use it.”
ONE : there is literally no one in the world that kara respects more than william adama. if he asked her to shoot herself in the head, she would without hesitation. she looks up to him, but doesn’t try to model herself after him because she knows she’d fall short and crash and burn.
TWO : they celebrate certain caprican holidays together. nothing major, especially with all the goings-on around the ship, but count on kara to find a ten-minute window during the festivities to either stop by his office and share in a glass of water, or count on her to find him during one of the rare canteen celebrations to say something quietly.
THREE : william adama is listed as the emergency contact on every single form kara’s signed since meeting him and joining his team.
FOUR : kara likes to pump him for information on his own time in the service as a viper pilot. he’s told her about some of his signature moves he used to pull, which she’s adapted into her everyday combat maneuvers as an ode to the only father figure in her life that ever stuck around.
Independent Admiral William “Husker” Adama from Battlestar Galactica
Rules | Dossier | Verses
“This is the admiral. You've heard the news, you know the mission... Look around you. Take a good look at the men and women that stand next to you. Remember their faces for one day you will tell your children and your grandchildren that you served with such men and women as the universe has never seen...
I'M PROUD TO SERVE WITH YOU. GOOD HUNTING.”
Put a name in my inbox and my muse will have to admit how they feel about them.
“Like hell,” Tigh groused. “Just what we needed, another Gaius frakking Baltar. Least she doesn’t squirm, I’ll give her that.”
They stepped over a ledge in the ship and Bill didn’t steal any sidelong glance from his best friend, but he knew just by secondhand nature that Tigh was probably looking over his shoulder right now, catching one last glimpse of her straight back before she rounded the corner. Siobhan and her talk of astrophysics, aeronautics, Newton’s Third Law–whatever. If there was a pulse nestled in Tigh’s temple, he noticed.
“Seen a lot of things,” he started. “Never seen her squirm.”
“Figures she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
The admiral made an airy sound. “Something like that.”
“And what’s the story on this one?”
For a moment, flashes of Alec’s face came to him. Ellen’s. A swell of pain and nostalgia bubbled in his chest, but he did not hesitate.
“Her father and I hit it off. High school buddies. Served together.”
“With the way she was talking? Never would’ve guessed,” Saul confessed, raising a brow.
“She’s hit some rough patches. Two million light years from home... dad dies… not a day passes, and already she’s Pathfinder.” She lost everyone. Almost everyone. Bill could imagine little Siobhan, hardly four feet off the ground winning first place in the 5th grade science fair, Alec, Ellen, and Matteo by her side. Just her and Matteo now. Them and Bill. “She’s made of tougher stuff. Half our age. Twice as smart.”
“Wouldn’t count on it.”
“You’re right.” Bill spotted the glowing holograms in the command room. “Make that three.”
Put a name in my inbox and my muse will have to admit how they feel about them.
“Captain Apollo…” Her voice was a whisper. He used his finger as a bookmark, felt her toe brush against his thigh, then looked up. “Captain Apollo…”
“Something on your mind?”
Laura’s curious smile reached her eyes. “’Mr. Adama, Quorum delegate.’ How’s that sound?” she asked. When his brows furrowed, she hummed. “Mmm. I know. Not the same, is it?”
“You don’t want to ask that.”
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. Then she didn’t. “Try me.”
The bed sighed under his weight and Bill studied her behind his glasses… Lee, a little boy who always got into fights. He grew up and his body finally caught up with his passion and anger; taller than his dad now and twice as bruised. The admiral thumbed a bent corner of his page. It felt fake.
”Lee’s been through a lot. Had to put himself together with the pieces left. Probably lost some on the way,” he finally said. Absent dad. Relentless mom. The Olympic Carrier. Pilots dying. Kara dying. “CAG, adviser, delegate–name’s changed. Not the reason… We hold on to ourselves, remember what we’re fighting for. End of the day… we could all use a little bit of that.”
And Lee, he reminded them. On bed, folded in on herself like a best-kept secret, she gazed to the ceiling.
“Impressive career leap.”
“People don’t change,” he sighed, “just because you turn on the light.”
Laura was quiet, contemplative. She reached out and drew a line down his arm. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
No. Lee’s better. He didn’t say anything, but when his eyes, that stormy blue, founds hers, she must’ve known the conversation was over. He opened the book again. She let him.
“Chapter seven… She was already there, waiting for me like guilt–never-ending, always there, can’t be washed away with the bottom of a bottle…”
mMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM how u feel abt that Laura....Roslin....??
Put a name in my inbox and my muse will have to admit how they feel about them.
“She throws the hard punches. Plays for keeps.” He took his seat on the couch. “Think we can agree on that.”
That’s not all. Laura Roslin, 5′6″ and prone to giggles. Bill’s eyes slid to his friend, but he thought about her and the shape of her smart mouth, the way her legs crossed behind her desk.
He thought about what those legs could wrap around and stopped himself.
“Smart, sure. Effective? Hell, even if you’re dead she’d still find a way to kill you,” Saul quipped. “You can wrap it up and throw on a pretty, pink bow, doesn’t make a lick of difference. I’d hate to get on her bad side.”
“Could be a problem.”
“What? Her bad side?”
“No. Just sides,” Bill clarified. He brought the whiskey to his mouth. “…She’s got a lot of that.”
For a moment, nothing. Then the realization slowly dawned on him and Tigh split into a wolfish smile.
“Don’t mind me saying this, Bill, but you’ve got it–”
“That bad?”
“You said it, not me.”
The admiral’s laugh rumbled and he felt warm inside, probably from the whiskey. A nuclear apocalypse, running from Cylons, a teacher as their president… “Should’ve been born earlier, Saul,” Bill rasped.
“And miss all this?” The XO raised his glass. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Dinner was finally over. Past the doors he could still hear Ellen howling the night away in drunken laughter, her heels clacking and wine bottle sloshing around. After tonight, forget the Christmas ham. He could probably use another glass.
“Start pulling Ellen into this, all that’s left... is an uphill battle. With a pretty bad pair of skates,” he sighed, looking down. If there were nightmares and years of much needed therapy sessions in Kara’s eyes, he tried not to see that. “Glad you could make it. Had some serious reservations.”
They’ll be there. The CIC buzzed. Condition one was set. Warning lights washed the room in a sea of blinding red and sirens screeched until his ears and all the contents in his head swirled, lapping at the walls of his skull. Over the comms, the screams of his pilots.
“Left, left!” one cried.
“Take the shot!”
“No joy! Lost visuals!” It was Hot Dog. Guns fired. The rumbling white noise of an explosion. “Winger got clipped!”
“Got us zeroed in! Get him off my tail!”
No one said a word. This was all they could do here. Standing, useless, Bill eyed madly at the digital, green screen of the DRADIS hoping to the gods he didn’t believe in that not one of those Viper icons would blink out. Just a little longer. Veins pulsing, chest tight, it was like his heart was set to tremble, an 8.3 on the Richter scale, and all he could do was listen to the static shrieks of his pilots–his family–and wish like hell that the next muffled boom wasn’t one of their own. They’ll be there.
On DRADIS, more icons winked on.
Cylons.
“Sir, Heavy Raiders inbound.” Dee threw her head up at him. “ETA: two minutes.”
“Sending out their big guns. We’re gonna catch hell,” Saul breathed.
“I wouldn’t count on that.” Bill stared hard at the screen and, at once, an ocean of relief swallowed him whole. Lee and Kara’s icons–Vipers 16 and 17–finally blinked on. “They haven’t met ours.”
❛ if we may speak off the record, ❜ pours him a cup of royal milk tea sweetened with a cube of soft caramel —— an antique white china set rimmed with gold sitting atop equally decadent saucer. pushes it over to him & lifts her own cup. sip. ❛ it is a business venture i do not wish to include tann in on. i do hope your office is not bugged. i often find that three's a crowd. ❜
Within the rustic, dimly lit walls of his office, there were two things out of place. The first was this gold-rimmed white china set. The second, just as pristine and smart, was dropping a cube of caramel into his tea.
“I often find that three’s a crowd,” Siobhan said, picking up her cup.
“Knowing you, so’s two.” And it wasn’t a jab. She always seemed to prefer working alone. No one to screw things up, no third-party mistakes to take into her calculations. Bill lifted his tea and seemed to inspect it for a moment. “Speak your mind.”
sees the lights on in his office at 12am. it's been a rough day in terms of case closures, so she knocks on the door, clears her throat, and lifts a plastic bag. "got you some chicken, sir," she says. drops it on his desk, winks, and leaves without a word. reminding him to get some rest won't do any good - kara knows he won't leave until he's done. :^)))))))))
She dropped the takeout down with an audible thud, tossed him a wink, then disappeared just as sudden as she came. It could have been a dream. Except in dreams he couldn’t smell the chicken, feel the warmth pass through the styrofoam box, or feel his forty-six-year-old joints popping at the knees in a chair in his office instead of his bed, so it wasn’t. The clock read midnight. He opened the packaging, broke apart the cheap chopsticks, and started.
This was going to clog his veins full of GMOs and oil, but his men weren’t going to find him dead from starvation the next morning. That was its own victory.
Next Day
6:00AM. Walking down the halls of the precinct, Bill spotted Kara at her desk maybe half-slouched in a war with exhaustion she may or may not win. Should’ve went home sooner. A cup of hot coffee slipped beside her hand.
“Looks like you’ll need it,” he said. Then he disappeared just as sudden as he came.
Los Angeles. Navy veteran William “Husker” Adama is chief of police of the LAPD, well-known for making the hard calls, rolling the hard ball, never bending over backwards. At the heart of his station? His beloved Vipers, the hard-boiled Vice cops who lie in the city's underbelly with the coke-in-every-port drug lords or the local, slumming pimps. And the name they earned isn't just for show. Rumor has it that their sting and stakeout operations have a reputation of ending with the bad guys in cuffs faster than you can blow a red light. Lie in wait then strike--just like a viper. In between the undercover, fast cars, and good suits, some departments consider it the crème de la crème desk. It’s easy to get sucked into the life.
Then there's the political side. With Laura Roslin as governor, she and the LAPD don’t always get along. The red tape is something Bill obeys but finds nothing but a grating inconvenience, much to the surpise of no one. They have different viewpoints. Different methods. Whereas his greatest priority is on his men and the physical safety of the city, Laura has to deal with the public, working around the clock to appease them. They butt heads sometimes, but gods be damned if they don’t make one hell of a team.
Other Notes:
Bill Adama served three tours in Vietnam as a pilot (80s version)
Due to being married to his work and the dangers presented to the family, Carolanne divorced him when their eldest son Lee was eight. Bill only saw his sons once a week after the split. “Hardly a difference,” she’d say.
Zak Adama was killed due to a failed PIT maneuver during a high-speed chase. His fiance Kara Thrace was unable to help and the vehicle bursted into flames, killing him.
Kara Thrace is his hotshot heavy hitter. Per Bill's request, she transferred from NYPD's Homicide when her performance started slumping after the death of her fiance Zak Adama.
Saul Tigh, assistant chief, is one rank below Bill
He and Helena Cain, who works with the FBI, do not see eye-to-eye in most, if not all, cases whenever federal authority has the displeasure of becoming involved
Initially, Bill did not like Laura due to the political red tape. When he met her in the library, though, and found they were both regulars and both have a penchant for crime mysteries, he decided she's better away from the job...
Bill may seem closest to the Vipers because he spent most of his career working Vice as commander
The Vice department does, indeed, host department softball games and BBQs
Stepping out of the hug, Lee had on his tight-lipped 'that’s that’ face and shuffled off, giving Jane a small nod of acknowledgement before whisking himself away, maybe a little too quickly. Bill watched her there by the hatch. Admiral Adama, that old, bleeding heart. He adjusted his glasses and picked up a report.
“Guessed you might’ve missed that,” he noted to himself, peering up at her. His face stayed hard. “I’m a soft touch.”
"know what you're gettin' roslin for christmas yet, sir?" :^)
He stared. Kara stood by the door with a wolfish grin like she knew something. Maybe too much. He dropped the case file onto his desk for her and ignored how that red hair and smart smile flashed into his mind or how she’d look curled up on a sofa, bare foot, with a book and mug of hot cocoa…
“Perp came in. Goes by ‘Number Two.’ I want you in there, rattle his cage, see what falls out… If he’s hiding something, I want to know about it,” Bill said, opening a folder. A moment passed. She was still there. A Christmas song played down the street, lulling, and he kept his head low. ”Dark Day,” he confessed. “…Got a good feeling.”
imagine laura breaking out into giggles and bill, seeing this for the first time, is standing there, dumbstruck, hot under the collar as an arrow flies through his heart at 8000mph
