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Lee Adama was nothing like his father. He was young, handsome, charismatic, cooperative. The latter might be his most attractive quality. Certainly, it was the thing that drew President Laura Roslin to him.
That, and the cut of his jaw. The sharp angle of his cheekbones. The unbroken line of his nose. Unbroken, perhaps, but not for lack of trying. After all, the man was cocky, combative, and quick to anger. He’d surely seen his fair share of fights. But he’d won them all. That was the story his nose told. And his eyes—they were dark with determination and—at least in her imagination, when she let it wander in the solitary silence of the night—desire.
He was cooperative, alright. In her fantasies, when his lips found hers and he held her tight. But also in real life. He had been, ever since he’d found her in the eternal vacuum that was space; ever since he’d backed her claim, without question, to the presidential office and title. He’d quashed that treacherous journalist’s attempts to unseat her. She’d been vulnerable, then; he’d been her protector. Her knight in shining armor, if she had actually allowed herself to indulge in such a fanciful framing. And she might have, decades ago. When she was just a girl and Lee wasn’t yet a twinkle in his mother’s eye. But she was older, now, and wiser. Now, she was the protector and Lee was her personal advisor.
Or, rather, he would be soon. She just had to inform him of her idea, of the good news.
“Thank you for coming, Captain Apollo.”
Lee inclined his head, without a hint of the wariness another officer might have displayed.
“I am aware that you were in charge of the mission that destroyed the Olympic Carrier.”
Laura kept her tone gentle, and kind.
Lee’s expression was stark, his expressive eyes shuttered.
“I know what a hard thing that is to live with,” she continued, softly but without wavering. “For all of us.”
He blinked rapidly and looked away.
“I am struggling with it myself, frankly.” Laura’s confession was calculated to draw him in, to reassure. But she suspected she would have made it even if it hadn’t been the best way to accomplishing her end goal. The captain had such a warm, inviting presence. It made one want to strip bare and be seen. Metaphorically—and literally.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he managed at last, every word an apparent difficulty. “But a man has to accept responsibility for his actions.”
Young, handsome, charismatic, cooperative, and principled. Lee Adama spoke with surety and acted with conviction. Well, usually.
“He—he doesn’t second-guess the choices that he makes,” the captain continued, clearly struggling with said convictions now, in the wake of what Machiavelli would have called surgical cruelty. “He lives with them. Every day.”
Laura removed her glasses, but held Lee’s gaze. “You know, I remember when President Adar sent the marines into Aerilon.”
Lee’s eyes widened, focused on hers. He knew his political history, even if he’d have been a child at the time of the aforementioned event.
“Fifteen people died. In public, of course, he had to say all of the usual things: he was sure of what he’d done, he’d made the right choice, stayed the course. But he knew it was a mistake.”
Lee cocked his head, curious. He was as drawn to her as she was to him, even in this moment of principled uncertainty.
Laura willed Lee to hear her, to accept her guidance and reassurance. “He kept the names of the dead in his desk drawer. He said that it was imperative for a leader to remember and learn from the mistakes. Even if they can’t admit to them publicly.”
There were a great deal of things Laura couldn’t admit publicly. Including her attraction to this young captain.
Lee’s expression was grave; he was unaware of Laura’s idle arousal, inappropriate at all times but especially now. “Do you think we made a mistake?”
Laura smiled, slightly, sympathetically. The poor man, utterly at her mercy. “I don’t know.” She pulled the slip of paper from her blazer’s pocket, exposing the name of the now extinct carrier. “I don’t have a desk drawer yet, but I have a pocket.”
Lee’s eyes fell, almost reluctantly, from hers to inspect the proffered scrap. He began to nod, and then to smile, tucking his chin boyishly and casting his alluring face into shadow. And then he looked up at her again, admiration and—something more, perhaps?—in his dark eyes.
Laura smiled back at him, almost wistfully. He might never be hers, sexually. But he would be her advisor. That she knew with certainty. And that was something, at the very least.
“I don’t want to add to your burdens,” she continued at last, laughing a little. Her laughter had initially been intended to make her sound hesitant—self-conscious, even—but the truth was, it was genuine, now. She was amused by her own eagerness. Her desire to possess him, in whatever way she could. “However, I have a request.”
His eyes darted up to meet hers, his expression suddenly serious. Here was a man who would do anything for her, whether or not he realized it yet.
“I would like you to be my personal military advisor.”
“Wha—But—I’m sorry,” he stumbled over the half-formed words and then let out a slight, awkward chuckle. The sound made his excitement apparent—as well as his own confusion, and embarrassment. Lee Adama was arrogant in the cockpit, perhaps, but earnest as a schoolboy in her particular presence. “My father is the senior military officer. He—he should advise you.”
Laura suppressed a smile. She would never settle for the senior Adama when she could have his son.
“Oh no. No, no, no. I don’t mean to go behind your father’s back,” she assured him with a shake of her head. “Nothing like that. I’m not looking for military advice,” she clarified for her poor, confused young captain. “I’m looking for advice about the military. That little insight about your father making a gesture,” she continued, “it really helped me. It made me reassess the man—I would appreciate more of those insights. And you can keep your day job as the C-A-G,” she added, deliberately mispronouncing the abbreviated title.
He smiled, shaking his head. “I—It’s pronounced ‘CAG.’” His slight stutter was adorable. It spoke to his excitability, his susceptibility. He was, after all, so very young. And so very, very handsome.
Laura raised her eyebrows, maintaining her place on the tightrope between helpless and all-powerful. “Do you see why I need you?”
Lee smiled, closing his eyes briefly as he half-nodded. He was reluctant to acknowledge it, but she’d put him in a powerful position. A seemingly powerful position. At the end of the day, as his president and as an older, wiser woman, Laura still held all the cards. All the cards that counted.
“So, who’s going to tell my father?”
Laura hid her smile. Such a man, and yet still so scared of provoking Daddy’s anger. Lee Adama wasn’t a coward, though. And some part of him was eager to stick it to his father, of that Laura was sure. “Well—” She cleared her throat and stood.
Her captain followed suit, standing as close as military custom allowed.
“I was thinking that…” Laura inhaled the scent of him—clean, but with a hint of musk, thanks to the water rationing. “That would be your first assignment.”
He broke into nervous laughter and she allowed herself to grin, knowing that she finally had him. “Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”
She took his hand in a gentle shake that signaled the end of their conversation, as well as a new beginning.
A spark of electricity seemed to travel between their joined palms and his fingers lingered ever so slightly on her exposed wrist.
“Thank you, Captain.”
And suddenly, albeit with a reluctant backwards glance, he was gone—dismissed.
Laura pouted slightly, in the privacy of the presidential apartments. The knowledge that Apollo was hers now, hers to summon and command—and even, on occasion, to guide and comfort—it had aroused her. The Battlestar Galactica was still rationing water and yet she was as wet as the planet they hovered above. If only a certain captain would penetrate her depths and prove, by attempting to quench it, his thirst for her.