Work Text:
A godsdamned disgrace was what it was. Could the whole fleet have lost their frakking minds? Saul shook his head silently. Lee Adama had always been out of bounds, what with his handsy “friendship” with Starbuck and his questionable sense of loyalty. And now his father, too? Did it run in the godsdamned family or had something gotten into the water? Saul had seen the Old Man whispering to Laura before she left for Colonial One after a meeting and frak if there wasn’t a secretive twinkle in her eye.
Laura Roslin was a fine woman, even if Saul objected to her alleged presidency. Of course Bill would have taken a liking to her, working as closely as they did. Not that it excused anything, but she was a major step up for Bill from his usual romantic choices, and that included his children’s mother. Maybe Bill was growing up, finally, in his old age. Maybe they all were.
Even Lee was less of a prima donna than he once was, and less squirrelly around his father too. Saul wasn’t inclined to credit Starbuck for much, as she seemed to do just fine garnering praise without him, but maybe she wasn’t so bad at keeping Bill’s son in line.
Didn’t mean they weren’t up to no good though, the CAG and his hot shot problem pilot. Colonel Tigh didn’t even know what to bust them for, and gods know he tried. One time he caught them alone in the briefing room, lying behind the podium. Lee’s boots were off, thrown on the ground carelessly near the steps. Two pairs of legs stuck out to one side.
“What the frak is going on in here?” Saul had snarled as he strode angrily toward them.
Kara stood at attention. “Colonel Tigh, Sir.”
“Sorry Sir, I can’t move right now,” said Lee. “Kara, can you help?”
Lee had his sleeves rolled up and his wrists were inside the projector compartment in the podium.
“Sir, Lee was trying to fix the projector and his hand is stuck in the machine. We’re waiting for Hot Dog to get back here with some tools to disassemble the podium.”
Saul grumbled. This wasn’t as bad as actually catching them in the act, but it wasn’t as satisfying either, and seeing the CAG in such a pathetic predicament didn’t inspire confidence in his crew.
“At ease, Lieutenant. What the frak happened to your boots, Captain Adama?”
“Kara took them off for me. I had an itch and I’m stuck.”
“An itch. On both feet?” Saul doubted it very sincerely.
“Sorry Sir. The pilot’s head is contaminated with foot fungus and it keeps going around. Everyone’s itchy.” Lee scratched one foot with the other.
So that explained why boots were showing up everywhere. Tigh had suspected an epidemic level of fraternization, and thought it strange that the boots weren’t placed outside of hatches, but strewn around haphazardly. That seemed damning too. Even the orderly practice of inappropriate relationships appeared to be breaking down.
Foot fungus was an odd sort of good news. “Your boots are on, Starbuck, do you have some maverick strategy for outsmarting this plague?” Saul laughed wryly.
“I wear flip flops in the shower and rinse my feet with vinegar afterwards. I tried to get Lee to do it but he says he doesn’t want to smell as bad as I do.”
Hot Dog hurried into the room with a tool belt borrowed from the flight deck and Kara started unscrewing the podium, straddling Lee’s body on her knees as she did. If Saul had walked in on this they would have had a much harder time convincing him that he hadn’t caught them doing something, even with Hot Dog looking on.
“Godsdamit, Kara, don’t sit on me so hard. You don’t even know how badly I have to pee,” said Lee.
“Shut up or I’ll have Hot Dog put tape over your mouth. There are bolts in the back I can only access from here and you’re blocking my light.”
“No tape, Hot Dog, and that’s an order,” said Lee.
Saul turned and walked out of the room, not wanting his presence to dignify the situation any further.
He had to wonder if Kara and Lee were setting up scenarios like this to antagonize him. Once he’d seen them standing face to face with Kara’s back against the wall behind a viper on the flight deck. Lee’s hand was on the wall over her shoulder and they were surely kissing. But when Tigh got close enough, he overheard their fight.
“If you do that again I’m revoking your flight status. I don’t care how many Raiders you took out, it was reckless and directly against my orders.”
“I couldn’t hear any orders, Sir, because my damn comms got knocked out. And you can’t revoke my status because you need me too much. And… you know it. Sir.”
Saul was fifteen feet away now and staring at them directly from the side. They were yelling inches from each other’s faces, but there was not exactly any evidence of this being a lovers’ spat.
“Okay, fine, you know what Kara? I do need you. I need you to live and fight another day. So can you dial things back even five percent? Twenty percent would be better.”
“Since you admitted it, Lee, I’ll give you five percent, but no more. So don’t frakking push your luck.”
Kara ducked under Lee’s arm and strutted away, carrying her helmet, leaving him hanging his head and leaning on the wall.
Bill looked nearly as whipped sometimes, when Laura gave his plans one of her polite, understated, and devastatingly articulate vetoes. The Old Man might puff up his chest, but he inevitably conceded. Tigh was glad Laura never joined them for triad. She was inscrutable and possibly a better strategist than Kara Thrace herself. The president never insisted on anything unless she was undeniably right or the matter was clearly within her jurisdiction. In every other case she advised powerfully from the sidelines, only showing her cards when she had an unbeatable hand.
It grated on Saul that Bill was literally under Laura’s command. If it ever became figurative as well, Saul was not going to sit back and abide it, no frakking way. And that’s why the tittering little conversation he’d witnessed but not overheard was more than a little concerning.
Protocol was falling to pieces all around him, and everyone seemed to have an excuse for the lack of decorum.
“Is there an urgent matter that you two couldn’t share with your XO in the meeting?” Saul said with a scowl to Bill after Laura boarded the Raptor.
“Nothing important,” Adama smiled.
“Seems like there is quite a lot of unimportant business on this ship lately. Everyone is thick as frakking thieves.”
“Maybe you’re right, Saul. I’ll keep it under advisement.” Bill patted his arm as they walked back to CIC, grinning as Tigh fumed.
The last straw was the godsdamned phone call.
“President Roslin, this is Galactica Actual.”
Saul watched skeptically as Bill snorted out a laugh and shifted his posture, cupping the mouthpiece of the phone in his hand and speaking quietly enough not to be overheard. The Old Man’s face was glowing, positively frakking glowing, godsdamn it.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll see you then.” Bill put down the phone.
“Is there a meeting I should know about?” asked Tigh incredulously.
“No meeting,” said Bill, adjusting his glasses and getting back to work.
Things had gone far enough and they were going to have to have this one out, Tigh decided. There was definitely a huge problem if he was suddenly the responsible adult on this ship. Even Dee was acting funny and that just didn’t sit well. She giggled more than usual and looked at Bill like she was keeping his dirty secret. Probably frakking was, too. Can’t hide much from Comms. The cat who ate the canary, yes indeed. Innocent green eyes, but clearly enjoying something too much.
Saul had made up his mind to storm into Bill’s office and was already on his way to deliver a piece of his mind when instead Saul was summoned via wireless to the Old Man’s quarters.
When Saul knocked at Bill’s hatch, Ellen cracked the hatch open and gods, every reason he could think of for her being there was worse than the last.
She swung the entrance wide and Saul muttered in confusion, “what in the names of the gods…”
“Happy Birthday!” cheered a dozen voices.
“Oh you did not!” laughed Tigh, as Bill pulled him into a loose embrace, thumping his shoulder.
“Of course we did. Look, Kara even took a Raptor to Cloud Nine to pick up some flowers.”
“Ho ho! Really?” Saul Laughed.
“And you know I hate Raptors,” said Kara from where she slouched against the wall, “so it must have been a special occasion.”
Bill placed a cup of something fizzy and red in Saul’s hand. Everyone else was holding a cup too. “Mocktail,” his old friend whispered. “Pirate Punch. Not so bad, if you ask me.”
Pretty good, actually, for a virgin drink.
Ellen came over to raise a toast. “To the birthday boy, sixty years young today!” She leaned close and crooned into his ear, “I wanted to jump out of a giant cake wearing only a bathing suit and heels, but, in lieu of that, I wore the silver and black matching set you like.” His wife bent forward enough to show some glittery lace at the cleavage. “All yours, later,” she winked.
“Laura abused her presidential powers to have your favorite kind of cake made for you.” Bill pointed to a fluffy frosted sheet cake with yellow sprinkles.
“Pineapple?” Saul hooted, “My gods!” He knew he was red in the face from a combination of flattery and surprise. It was a different kind of flush than from drink, and he supposed it wasn’t a bad way to start his sixtieth year.
“Sixty. This will be quite a birthday spanking,” announced Ellen.
“Absolutely frakking not!” Saul shouted back gleefully.
“Well if you’re going to be a spoilsport, I nominate Lee Adama to take it in your place,” Ellen countered.
“I second.” Kara piped up.
Dee took a conspicuous glance at Lee’s butt.
Lee kicked the floor and looked nervous. “I’d rather we didn’t.”
“To Colonel Saul Tigh’s birthday,” Adama raised his glass. “And many joyful returns.”
“So say we all!” The chorus of voices replied, and Saul looked down, shaking his head very, very happily.