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Bill Adama placed his hands on the tiled wall and leaned into the hot, stinging spray of his shower. It had been a long day. The tilium ship was having processing issues again due to half-assed maintenance. If they could get away with jettisoning the busted rig, he would, but fuel seemed vitally important when running for your life. Several ships Captains were accusing Galactica of hoarding food rations and he developed a splitting headache trying to explain that crew members required a higher calorie intake than a bunch of civies that sat around on their asses all day, waiting to be saved.
All he wanted now was a hot shower, a good book, and his rack.
He exited the head, running his fingers through his semi-wet hair and headed towards his bookshelf. A novel seemed like too much effort for his present mood. Poetry required more thought than he was willing to exercise. Margaret Shirleena’s Libran Short Stories would hit the spot. He thumbed through a few pages as he approached his rack. When he reached to pull back the blanket, he stopped. Something was off. There were a few wrinkles in the blanket that he knew weren’t there this morning. He pulled back the blanket and found the sheet was askew. He racked his brain. There was no way, in forty-five years of service, that he left his rack out of reg this morning.
He checked the rest of the bed, looking for any evidence he could find but came up empty. He threw the book on the bed before striding across the room and pushing open the hatch to confront his marine detail.
“Are either of you aware of anyone coming into my quarters today?” he asked.
The marines exchanged nervous looks before answering in unison.
“No, Sir.”
Having realized the way he phrased his question sounded more like an accusation, he clarified.
“I’m not accusing either of you, I just thought maybe you’d have heard something,” said Bill.
“No, Sir,” they repeated.
With that, Bill closed the hatch and returned to his rack. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he was just overly tired, having only gotten four hours of sleep the night before. With all of the possible ‘maybes’ that floated around in his head, he decided to let it go and went to sleep.
3 DAYS LATER
Bill had just finished clearing the remaining dishes away from his working dinner with the President that was interrupted by another lengthy conversation with Chief Tyrol about worker rotations. He was on his way to the head when he glanced towards his rack and stopped. One of the corners of his blanket was flipped up. He knew he made it perfectly this morning before he left. He’d been paranoid about it since the first time he found that his rack wasn’t properly squared away.
He pushed through the hatch and regarded his marines.
“We’ve got a problem, gentlemen,” he told them. “This is the second time in three days that someone has messed with my rack.”
“Yes, Sir,” they responded.
“Now, I don’t know if this a prank, or an attack of some kind, but I want this mystery solved quickly,” Bill ordered.
“Yes, Sir.”
With that, Bill slammed the hatch and spun the wheel. When he was a rook, he had to put up with this kind of hazing, but as the Admiral, someone had a lot of frakkin nerve to think this was funny. Or maybe it wasn’t a joke. What if one of the remaining unidentified Cylons had put a recording device in his rack? Or worse, an explosive device? He could be one pressure sensor away from lights out.
He carefully strolled over to the rack, casting a wary eye over it while listening for any kind of ticking sound. He carefully lifted the blanket off and found nothing. Next, the sheet came off and nothing.
He pulled his pillows out of their cases, still nothing. He carefully dislodged the fitted sheet, nada. Finally, he lifted and flipped the mattress, still clean. He stared at the mess that was now his rack before grabbing a pillow and his blanket. He may not have found evidence of sabotage, but he still didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in his own rack. So, the couch it was until the perp was found and dealt with.
3 DAYS LATER
Bill had returned to his quarters for a file before a meeting with the President and found his bed made. He had left it in the same state from when he trashed his rack previously, so now the perp was taking it on themselves to straighten his mess? This was getting out of hand. He checked with his marines, but they were as stumped as he was. They had asked around and no one had seen anything suspicious.
9 DAYS LATER
After coming back to his quarters two more times and finding his rack messed with, he had an idea. The perp seemed to show up every three days while he was on shift. Today was the third day from the last incident. He’d had enough, his anger making his face hot. He called the CIC and let Saul know that he would have to cover him for the day since he wasn’t sure what time the perp usually arrived. Bill grabbed a book, borrowed a sidearm from a very nervous looking marine, and an empty water glass and camped out in the head. He dimmed the lights and left the door cracked so that it would seem like he’d left for the day. He filled the glass with water and sat down on the floor, using the bulkhead to lean on and began to read.
2 HOURS LATER
Bill woke with a start. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, reading in a dimly lit room. That was asking for it. He rolled his neck to try to rid himself of a newly formed kink when he heard a sound. The sound of a rustling blanket. The perp.
“Got ya now,” he mumbled to himself.
Bill levered himself off the floor as quietly as he could. Setting the book aside and grabbing his side arm. He stood at the cracked door but couldn’t see anything, and then he heard it, a sigh.
He opened the door slowly and crept into his sleeping area, gun at the ready. When he was close enough, he rushed forward, his gun pointed at the head of his rack.
“Don’t move,” he shouted before quickly dropping the gun at the sight of a naked Laura Roslin, clutching the blanket to her chest and quickly moving back against the bulkhead.
Before he could question why the President was naked in his rack, the marines rushed through the hatch with guns drawn. Bill turned quickly to cut them off before they came around the corner into his
sleeping area.
“Sir, we heard you yell,” one marine said.
“It’s fine, Hastings. I have it under control,” he assured them before handing the sidearm back to the marine, “I’ve solved the mystery.”
“We’ll take him to the brig, Sir,” Hastings said before rushing around Bill and into the sleeping area. Bill tried to stop them, but it was too late. They had their guns trained on the President of the Twelve Colonies. A naked President of the Twelve Colonies. Both marines began to studder and sweat, unsure of what they were supposed to do here.
“Ma’am,” Hastings squeaked out, “We’re going to need you to come with us.”
“Admiral?” Laura called out, not enjoying three guns being pointed at her in less than two minutes.
“Hastings, at ease,” said Bill as he guided the marines back to the hatch. “I can take it from here,” he assured them before shoving them out the hatch.
“Not a word about this,” Bill commanded.
“Yes, Sir,” they replied as Bill closed the hatch.
*
By the time Bill got back to the sleeping area, Laura was tearing through the room with the blanket wrapped around her as she searched for her clothes and shoes.
“Laura, stop for a minute.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Bill grabbed her arms to stop her movement, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“What are you doing here?” Bill asked.
“I was taking a nap,” she replied.
“Naked?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to wrinkle my clothes,” she answered.
Bill chuckled and Laura took it as she was being mocked.
“I’m glad you find this funny, Admiral,” she said, jerking out of his grip.
“I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” he said.
She stopped and considered his words. He looked sincere.
“I shouldn’t have been sneaking into your quarters,” she admitted. “I just need a nap occasionally, and it’s impossible to get any rest on my ship because I don’t have a bedroom door and people just wander in and out, making demands. It’s comfortable and quiet here, and you have books and a real shower,” she continued to babble as tears began to pool in her eyes.
“Laura, you can use my quarters for whatever you want. You don’t have to ask,” he replied. He was trying hard to hide his smirk. She reminded him of a toddler pushed past the point of exhaustion, trying to justify her actions. It was cute.
He began steering her back towards his rack as she continued to apologize. If someone had told him during the decommissioning ceremony that one day, he would be putting a naked and babbling Laura Roslin in his rack, he would’ve laughed in their face. It’s amazing how getting to know someone completely changes from your first impression of them.
It only took seconds after her head hit the pillow for her to fall asleep. Bill made sure she was tucked in properly and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He could get used to something like this. Tucking her in after a long day spent saving humanity. Having dinner together and reading on his couch. Of course, the fact that she was currently naked was leading to other thoughts as well. Thoughts of mouths and tongues and hands and soft, pale skin and parts that were pink. He abruptly turned away at that last thought, adjusted his pants, and limped away. He’d save those thoughts for later.