Title: Error in Judgment; Part 1:Setting Priorities

Author: Grace O'Malley better make it R

Characters: Adama/Roslin

Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.

Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:

Spoilers: Set after "You can't go home again," but not really spoilers, as such.

Author's notes: I'm intending "Error" to work more as a series of stories, rather than chapters in a single story. So, each one should be complete on its own, but hopefully when I'm done they should also fit together. At this point, I'm not sure how many there will be. I have ideas/notes for 2 more, but I could get inspired or discouraged, depending on how the rest of the season goes...

"...you're both officers and you're both honorable men and you're both perfectly aware that you are putting the lives of over 45,000 people and the future of this civilization at risk, for your personal feelings. Now, if the two of you, of all people can live with that, then the human race doesn't stand a chance. Clear your heads." --Laura Roslin in "You can't go home again."

Adama surveyed the members of his crew milling around in the empty cargo area. It wasn't much of a crowd. It wasn't much of a celebration either, just an informal mixer to break up the cycle of fear and loss and endless work. With nothing to drink but water, and nothing to dance to but a mishmash of musical recordings lovingly hoarded and courteously donated by his crew, matters were unlikely to get out of hand. Starbuck wasn't exactly on her feet, but she was out of bed thanks to a wheelchair and a few accessibility ramps left over from Galactica's short career as a museum. As soon as he and Tigh had put in their brief appearance and left the scene, Starbuck would hold court and the fun could begin.

"Mending fences?" Tigh spoke for Adama's hearing only.

"What?" Adama followed Tigh's gaze to see Laura Roslin entering the room on Lee's arm.

"So you didn't invite her?"

Adama couldn't smell whiskey on his friend's breath, but the slight glaze in Tigh's eyes told him everything he needed to know. "I suppose Lee did. Lords know why. She'll just make everyone nervous."

But reality gave the lie to speculation. His crew, unsure how to behave in her presence, stopped their conversations and came to attention. One by one she put them at ease: shaking hands, smiling, offering a few words. He couldn't hear exactly what she said, but he could hear the laughter in response, as well as see the relaxation that seemed to ripple outward from her wake.

"You know, she's not bad looking when she's not busy trying to tell us what to do."

Adama didn't respond to Tigh's comment, but he took advantage of her preoccupation to look her over thoroughly. She'd gone for a bit more festive look than her usual buttoned-down suit by leaving off the jacket and twisting her hair up into some kind of knot. She looked trim and pretty, and he felt a definite pang when she looked up at him from halfway across the room and smiled.

Lee guided her over to greet them.

"Madam President."

"Commander; Colonel. I hope I'm not intruding. I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank your pilots and crew in person for all they've done for the fleet. And don't worry--I won't be staying long." She offered a dazzling smile that made Adama feel like the center of the universe, even though he knew it to be a politician's coin of the realm.

"It's never an intrusion to see you, Ma'am," Tigh said.

She blinked at him, then smiled uncertainly. "It's kind of you to say so."

Lee cleared his throat loudly. "Madam President, may I get you some water?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Captain."

Chief Tyrol turned up the music. An empty space opened in the center of the floor, only to remain a desolate vacuum of a few moments' duration. First one couple showed courage, then another backed them up, and before long the entire floor was moving despite the continued presence of "The Old Man" and his XO--not to mention the President of the Twelve Colonies.

Adama felt distinctly uncomfortable, but he couldn't see how to leave gracefully while the President remained. He wondered where Lee had gotten to with her water; once he returned, they could say their good evenings and escort her back to her shuttle. Tigh was attempting to speak to Laura Roslin, but Adama couldn't hear over the music.

When the song finally ended, Tigh failed to adjust the volume of his voice in time. His shout must have carried to the furthest corner of the room, "Madam President, would you care to dance?"

Adama had come to believe that nothing could ruffle her smooth surface, so he nearly laughed aloud to see her blush.

"I...thank you, but--" she started to stammer out what sounded like a refusal.

Tigh interrupted her, "Ah come on! Let's show them how it's done."

"All right," she relented. "All right. Why not?" She put her hand on Tigh's proffered arm and let him lead her out to the dance floor, but her back looked stiff and she glanced around nervously.

Whether by accident, or by deliberate intervention on the part of some observant crewmember, the next song approached the slower, romantic end of the spectrum, as opposed to the previous more energetic piece.

"That's not good." Lee had returned to stand at Adama's shoulder, looking out at the dance floor. "I hope he's not drunk."

"Lee--" Adama retorted irritably, "Colonel Tigh is my friend and your superior officer. Whatever you and Kara may think, he's no fool. He's just trying to put her at ease."

"Is he?"

Father and son stood for a moment watching Tigh awkwardly herd Roslin around the dance floor. The other dancers gave them plenty of room. She appeared to be trying to cooperate with his navigation, but when a hand slid down from her waist to rest on her bottom, she shied away and forcibly replaced it to its former position.

Lee winced. "We have to put a stop to this." He tried to hand Roslin's abandoned glass of water to Adama. "I'm going in."

"No," said Adama. "You already owe him an apology. Go talk to Starbuck. Have a good time. I'll take care of this."

A path cleared for Adama without him having to give it any thought. Tigh must not have seen him coming, for he didn't react until Adama put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm cutting in," he said though a smile in name only.

Tigh had the presence of mind to look embarrassed. He straightened up his shoulders, but stopped short of saluting, which would have drawn even more attention. "Certainly, Sir." He gave Adama a hangdog look and added, "I think it's time for me to call it a night."

Adama grunted in response.

Laura Roslin had been standing there, watching the interaction intently, with a half-smile on her face. "Good night, Colonel Tigh. Thank you for the dance."

"Thank you, Madam President. The pleasure was all mine." Tigh managed a graceful half-bow, turned and walked away.

"Would you agree, President Roslin, that we shouldn't waste the music?" The invitation came out far more arrogant than he had intended, and Adama mentally kicked himself.

"I think, if we're going to dance..." She inclined her head in his direction and smiled. "You should call me Laura."

"Laura," he echoed, and relaxed into a genuine smile. "William." He held out his hand and she took it.

She stepped closer and put her other hand on his shoulder while he laid his free hand against her back. They began to sway, then step in time to the music. Another slow song; the crew was humoring him, and after this song he'd really have to leave before their fun evening was totally spoiled.

He was amazed at how delicate Laura felt in his arms. As if she might break if he failed to take care. This strong and confident woman who'd faced him down and reversed his thinking on more than one occasion. Now he was close enough to feel her warmth and sense her pulse. With his face near hers, he caught the subtle scent of her perfume. He had no idea what it was. Some fragrant blossom from Caprica, perhaps, probably extinct forever thanks to Cylon nukes. But now it would be forever melded in his mind with the closeness of her body.

The dancing, however, wasn't going quite so well. Lost in his reverie, he hardly noticed that he kept stepping on her toes, moving back, and then pulling her in closer again.

"Commander--I mean, William." She gave him a kind, indulgent smile. "You don't really want to dance, do you?"

"I have an idea," he said. He held out his hand, but she took his elbow.

He led her briskly out of the party and straight past the turn into the corridor leading to the bay where her shuttle waited.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking slightly alarmed.

"I want to show you something that I think will interest you."

"Okay, but please slow down a little. These shoes are comfortable enough as far as heels go, but they're not made for race walking." A smile deepened the laugh lines around her eyes, and her skin glowed with a slight flush of exertion.

"Sorry," he said, and slowed his pace to an unnatural stroll. "I'm used to needing to get from one place to another as quickly as possible."

"I understand. But tonight--at least for now--we've no need to hurry. Actually, now that we're alone, there's something I'd like to ask you about."

He felt, rather than saw, her manner shift from informal to professional.

"Yes?"

"I can't think how to put this delicately, so I'll be blunt. How big of a problem is Colonel Tigh's drinking?"

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"I try." She didn't smile.

"I've known him for more than forty years, and it's never interfered with his ability to do his duty."

"I see."

"I'm not sorry for what I did."

She looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Searching for Starbuck."

She nodded.

"I do regret how much it cost though. I just thought we should clear the air on that."

"William--" She stopped in her tracks. "It's done, and I have no wish to dwell on what can't be changed. Besides, don't think for one instant that I'm not thrilled to have her back. I know how valuable your pilots are, and I gather Starbuck is your only qualified flight instructor, which makes her all the more critical to all of us. But I do want you to think about something." She laid a hand on his arm, and he could feel her warmth right through the stiff fabric of his sleeve.

"Do you fully understand," she continued, "just how lucky you are?"

"Lucky?"

"Yes, lucky. Galactica is your home. You have a crew who already knows and respects you, a job that you already know how to do, and most of all...you have the two people you love most with you--where you can see and touch them every day. Have you thought about what it's like for most of the survivors? There are a few intact families in the fleet, but most people were traveling for business or to visit someone... And they are alone. Surrounded by strangers. Living in unfamiliar, cramped and uncomfortable conditions, wondering how long before the water, food, and fuel run out. And if the Cylons attack? These people lack even the small comfort of being in a position to fight back."

"I take your point."

"Good." Then just as suddenly as it had fallen, the dark curtain between president and commander lifted. "Now, what is it you wanted to show me? Please lead on."

Adama had never been much of one for small talk, but he felt constrained to try. "How are your allergies?"

"Allergies?" She gave him a confused look.

"You wanted to see Galactica's doctor..."

"Ah, yes of course. Thank you for asking. He's been most kind."

"Kind? Doesn't sound like the Cottle I know..."

"Very well then. He's gruff and rude--but he seems to know his job." She looked up at him with an arch grin before adding, "Did you choose him yourself?"

He chose to grunt, rather than rise to her gibe.

They were in an area of the ship that, except for security patrols, wasn't much used by Galactica's skeletal complement. She glanced around nervously, as if wondering how they'd suddenly found themselves so isolated.

"Where are you taking me, anyway? Are you planning to lose me somewhere in the bowels of your ship, so you won't have me bothering you anymore?"

"Of course not. We're here," he said, suddenly wondering if his idea had been so good after all. He opened the hatch and waited for her to precede him. Emergency lighting barely illuminated large objects scattered within the cavernous space.

"Okay, we're in a big, dark room." She looked around the vast emptiness and shivered, then hugged herself in an attempt to rub away the goose bumps.

"Wait a moment." He sought and found the switch activating floor strips that outlined walkways in dots of light. "You've probably been here, you know--when you toured the ship...before... This is the starboard flight pod." He stepped closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder to lend her a little of his warmth.

She didn't evade the contact, but seemed to welcome the spirit in which it was offered.

He gestured with his free hand to point things out to her. "This was to be the main exhibit area of the Galactica museum. The gift shop was just over there. We're in the process of returning the pod to active status, but I wanted a few of the exhibits left on display. That's what I brought you here to see."

"By all means, lead on." She tilted her face up and to one side, offering him an amused smile.

They strolled toward a large, upright, rectangular object covered with a drop cloth. He flipped on a spotlight and pulled off the cover.

She gasped and stepped back away from his encircling arm before reason caught up to instinctive panic. "A Cylon Centurion." Saying the words out loud seemed to relax her, and she stepped forward to scrutinize it more closely. "This one must have been dead for forty years. I was just a young girl during the last war, but I still remember the nightmares--and the stupid, pointless drills we had to do at school."

"Did you ever see one of these when it was active?" he asked her.

"No. Of course not," she said, then turned to him with one of her soul-searching looks that he could neither deflect nor hide from. "But you did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I saw a few in my day." His voice cracked a little with the burden of memory.

"I know," she said. "I didn't have to see them because I had you, and others like you, to face them for me." She reached out and took his hand. "Thank you."

He stepped in front of her to hold both her hands, and worked up the courage to look into her eyes. "I wanted you to see it, so you'd know you can believe me when I tell you that we beat them before and we can beat them again. Humanity will survive. We will come back stronger and wiser than before."

With her lips compressed into a line, she slowly nodded acquiescence. "Please keep telling me that. When you say it, I can believe it."

If he'd stopped to think about it, he never would have done it. It wasn't that he hadn't thought of her as physically attractive--she was, and he did. And while not in the least flirtatious, a core of womanliness shone through even during her most adversarial moments. He had sensed...something...from their first contentious meeting, even if acting on that something had always seemed out of the question.

And so it was pure instinct that led him to put his hands around her face and lift it to his own for a kiss.

If he'd thought about the reaction he might have expected, it would most probably have been withering, to say the least. So he didn't think, and there was no rebuke. As it happened, they skipped right over playful to land squarely in passionate. His fingers in her hair, the pins scattering. Her eyes wide and filled with consent, then closed in concentration. Her hands snaking up his back to press him closer. Her perfume mingling with the heat rising off her skin.

He felt her breathing roughen and her breasts rise against his chest. When her knees gave way a little, he was ready to help support her weight. As tightly as they held each other, she had to be aware of his own state of arousal. Her breath caught and held when he cupped a hand over her breast, and he felt the nipple harden through the fabric of her blouse. He kissed his way down her throat, and back up to her ear, where he whispered, "Come to my quarters."

She said nothing for a moment, but closed her eyes tightly and pressed her hand to the side of his face. The spell was broken.

He took her face in both his hands and willed her to open her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You've no idea," she said, seeming to struggle for breath to speak. "How easy it would be to just fall into your arms and think of nothing else."

"But?" he tried to smile despite the ache consuming his entire body from heart to testicles.

"But..." She laid a hand on his chest, gently keeping him at a distance. "Someone has to...I have to...keep my priorities on our pitiful band of refugees. I don't dare allow personal feelings to...confuse...me."

He turned his face away. "I'm sorry. I should never have assumed--"

"No!" she interrupted him. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should never have let things get to..." She gestured helplessly. "Please forgive me." She turned her back to him and started to walk away.

"Laura, wait."

"It's okay." She waved him off without looking. "I'll find my own way."

"No, look." He took her shoulders and gently turned her toward the display case so she could see her reflection in the polished surface.

She took his point immediately. "Oh, Lords, look at me!" She laughed. "Thank you for thinking."

He helped her with her hair, and wiped away some smudges of makeup. She tucked her blouse back into her skirt, and checked him over thoroughly for smears of lipstick. Finally, with a wry nod of satisfaction, she said, "I think we'll do."

"I think we'll have to," he said. "We're all they've got.

The End