Interview with the President

Ms. Kris Hill,

I'm wondering if you would be free to meet with

me tomorrow, say 0900 on Galacica? This is a request,

not a summons, and it is regarding a personal matter.

You are not obligated in any way, but I hope that you're

free and that I'll see you then.

Laura Roslin

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

And see, this thing happens to me when I'm nervous. Particularly around especially important or attractive people. My brain blurts out thoughts, sort of like a one woman Madame Apropos of Nothing comedy act of naughty one-liners. And a fair share of them make their way from my brain and actually escape via my big mouth.

I have red hair. Naturally red hair and the entire attitude that goes with it. Does that pretty much explain it?

So if I tried to tell you that being summoned to Mt. Olympus by Madame President of the Twelve Colonies, Ms. Laura Roslin Herself didn't make me nervous and create the opportunity for oh so many shoes to plant themselves firmly in my mouth, then I'd be Queen of Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire Land.

In fact, I was pretty sure that if I didn't cease my anxious habit of tapping my fingernails on my hardback notebook RIGHT THE FRAK NOW Racetrack was going to leave her Raptor without a pilot long enough to come back and break each one of my fingers. Before strangling me to death.

As if hearing her name in my thoughts, Racetrack shot me an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "I'll have you standing on Galactica's hangar deck in a few minutes, Ms. Hill."

Ms. Hill. What am I, her granny's old tea buddy or something? "It's Kris," I repeated. "Please call me Kris."

Her raised eyebrows clearly said whatever, lady. "Yeah, okay. Well sit tight, Kris. We're cleared to land."

Happy to get out of Racetrack's way before she could kill me, I took the outstretched hand that was offered without even looking and stepped down from the Raptor. It wasn't until I heard the rumbling voice say, "Welcome to Galactica, Ms. Hill," that I realized said hand belonged to The Man Himself.

"Aa … Admiral Adama?"

I only hoped I didn't look as brainless and stunned as I sounded. Of course, that was stupid of me.

He smiled as he politely extricated his rather large hand from my grip. I hadn't even realized I was still holding onto him, let alone with both hands. So much for not looking like a moron.

"Wow! Admiral! It's … your hands are …" Gods, somebody SLAP me! "Uh … hello."

"You look a little overwhelmed," he said kindly to the poor retarded girl he'd just helped off the Raptor. "Never been on Galactica before?"

Never been on an Admiral before, I said, on the inside.

Of course I'd been on Galactica. Hadn't everyone in this ragtag fleet been here for one reason or another? Little prod from Doc Cottle here. Little poke from a handsome Viper pilot there… A girl's gotta live a little during an apocalypse, right?

I'd just never met the Admiral face to unbelievably handsome face before. My Gods, the man was hot! "Yes, sir. During the exodus from New Caprica and other times for, you know, medical treatment and such. I just never expected … " To want to rip your clothes off right here on the hangar bay and spank you till you call me Mama. "… a personal welcome from Admiral Adama himself."

Now that I thought about it, why was he greeting me personally? I glanced around at the armed Marines. A nervous little knot grew in my tummy. I dunno, something about this whole war and all the bloody death had made me paranoid. I started counting guns and stopped laughing.

Then I did that thing I do. You know, where I say things. Out loud. "First a summons to Galactica from President Roslin, and now an escort from the Admiral of the Fleet. It's almost like you think I'm a …"

I stopped myself before blurting out the word clyon, but it hung there nonetheless. Suddenly I really wanted to be anywhere else, and sorta wondered if I had one red strobing eye popping out of my forehead. A nervous laugh escaped my lips as I searched the Admiral's eyes almost desperately. "Madame President's not waiting for me in an airlock, is she?" I said, sort of joking. Mostly not.

Racetrack smiled wickedly.

"Okay, that started out as a joke," I said, laughing because Racetrack made me want to cry. "But now I really wanna know. She's not, is she?"

To his credit, the Admiral's sense of humor was apparently as well developed as his biceps. (Yowza!) He chuckled deep in his throat. "No, she's in one of the ready rooms, but I guess that'll seem anticlimactic now."

"Somehow I doubt that," I said, falling into step behind him and trying desperately to ignore the big men with big guns following behind us. I'd never met the President face to face either, but knew she was a force to be reckoned with. If she were half as impressive in person as Adama was then I knew I was in for one hell of a meeting.

"Do you have any idea why you're here, Ms. Hill?" Adama asked, snapping my attention back to the moment. And drawing my eyes, which had been firmly fixed on his ass, back to his face.

Gods, how I hated being called Ms. Hill, it has such a spinster ring to it. "It's Kris, sir."

"Pardon?"

"My name," I said. "Please call me Kris." When he looked slightly confused I shrugged, "It's a thing…"

He nodded. "A thing. Is that like an issue?"

"Exactly. And honestly? No, I have no idea why I'm here. The earlier airlock joke notwithstanding."

He chuckled again, a low and sexy sound like rocks rumbling. "Kris, huh? I take it you're not much for formalities or titles, yet you keep calling me 'sir'."

"I'm all about respect where it's due and titles are fine. But Ms. Hill is not my title, nor does it make me feel particularly respected. It simply makes me feel old."

He stopped walking long enough to smile down at me and I couldn't help but smile back. Amazed yet again at how powerfully handsome he is. "You should try being the one everyone refers to as The Old Man," he grinned.

I laughed. "It's a term of endearment, sir. Your people … they don't serve you because they have to. They serve you because they respect and genuinely feel for you. They love you."

Adama stopped walking so abruptly that I nearly slammed right into him, which – under other circumstances – would've been fine by me. But the expression on his face, so serious as his eyes bore into mine, made me almost shiver with certainty that my big mouth had once again gotten me into trouble and that I had spoken way out of turn.

"You're a civilian," he said, barely above a whisper. "How could you possibly know something like that?"

Wondering secretly if a person can get airlocked for simply pissing the admiral off, I decided to just be honest with the man. "I watch people." When he only continued to stare at me I elaborated.

"Everyone's so busy trying to stay alive, to fight another day. Me? I'm along for the ride. I'm a writer, sir. I'm not a Viper pilot, not a soldier. I'm not a politician. I can't pick up a weapon and fight in this war. I'm a civilian. So I watch people. I see people, the beauty that gets lost in the struggle to stay alive, the tender moments, the acts of random kindness or incredible bravery that we just don't have time to stop and stand in awe of because if we do, if we stop long enough to blink, the Cylons will catch up to us and it will all be gone.

"So I figure THAT'S my war, Admiral. To see the beauty, the bravery, the kindness … the very things that make us a race worth saving in the first place, and to write down and record as many of them as I possibly can. So that history remembers.

"And so that WE remember what it is we're fighting for. That's how I fight in this war!" And after realizing that somewhere along the way I had raised my voice a little, I added a belated, "Sir."

A slow, stunning smile crept across his face and his voice, gruff and husky as old leather, seemed to be teeming with approval when he said, "That's exactly why you're here, Kris. Remember those ideals when you're in the company of Laura Roslin." He gestured to the hatch ahead. "Are you ready to meet the President?"

"As long as she's not standing at the controls of an airlock…" Gods, blurt, blurt blurt.

I'd seen Laura Roslin in pictures and on television and I knew she was pretty, so I expected that. What I didn't expect was for her to be take-your-breath-away beautiful. I also didn't expect to find her seated not at the desk in the room, but instead perched rather becomingly on the corner of it, her long legs crossed and draped over the front.

I watched the Admiral's eyes take the scenic route, starting at her high heeled shoes and dragging themselves up over her shapely legs and across her very girlish figure before finally landing on her face and meeting her eyes.

She shot him a beaming smile in return.

Hmm … interesting. I'd heard the rumors, of course. Who hadn't? Everyone gossiped about Adama and Roslin being hot for each other. In the great high school that was the Colonial Fleet, they were the Prom King and Queen – everybody was speculating about their private business. Personally, I'd always thought it was no one's business, but if they were going at it like cats in heat, good for them! The frakking world ended. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em, and all that. But standing here in a room with the two of them, the sexual tension was palpable.

I was half waiting for little balls of fire to erupt. Or for Adama to pounce on her right there on the desk. And to my own surprise, all I could think was DAYUM! Just let me watch! Which was weird, even for me.

But I was pretty sure that wasn't why I was there.

Adama took my elbow and pulled me forward slightly as Roslin rose gracefully to her feet.

"Madame President, this is Kris Hill, formerly of Caprica. Kris Hill, President Laura Roslin."

She extended her hand and I was grateful when my own didn't tremble as I shook hers in greeting. "It's an honor, Madame President."

She smiled, professional but warm, at me as she made eye contact. "Thank you for coming, Ms. Hi-"

"Kris," Admiral Adama cut in. "Just call her Kris."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"It's a thing," we both said and the Admiral shot me a wink.

Roslin gave us a look that clearly said Are you both having a meltdown? But she simply smiled and said, "Well then thank you for coming, Kris. Can I offer you something to drink?" She gestured to a chair for me as she took the one behind her desk and began to pour glasses of ice water from a glass pitcher on a tray.

I supposed my immediate response of You got anything from Captain Thrace's stash? was probably a bad idea so I simply accepted the water and said, "Thank you."

She glanced up at Adama. "Will you be joining us, Bill?"

I smiled before I could stop myself. It wasn't just that she'd called him Bill. It was the way it rolled off her tongue and slid off her lips like some intimate caress that made the moment so sexy I almost felt like a voyeur.

I say almost because voyeur implies an unwanted witness, and I was invited to this peep show. I found myself wondering if their feelings for each other were this obvious to everyone, because they had done nothing whatsoever unprofessional, they hadn't so much as come within touching distance of each other, or if it was just in plain sight for me because watching people is what I do.

"I have a couple things to check on," he said. "I'll catch up with you later." He smiled kindly at me. "Pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure has been mine, Admiral." And I meant that. Few men lived up to the legends that preceded them. Admiral William Adama was a beautifully rare exception to that rule and in the few moments I'd spent in his company I realized that I'd already come to believe that if anyone could save us, it was this man. I glanced at the President and adjusted that thought – it was this man and this woman, this team, because it only required a small minute in their presence to see that they were indeed a team.

Adama nodded briefly toward Roslin as he turned and left. "Madame President."

She nodded in reply and then turned her considerable gaze in my direction.

Suddenly there was no buffer, no distractions. It was just the President of the Twelve Colonies and ME. It was like all sound everywhere ceased and it was silent in the room. The President's big green eyes were staring -

RIGHT.

AT.

ME.

"Nope … that's not intimidating," I blurted. Because, as I said, I do that.

She laughed, and I fell instantly in love with the sound. She can be one scary bitch when she has to be, but never let it be said that Laura Roslin doesn't know how to laugh.

"Sorry," I said with a giggle of my own. "I tend to blurt when I'm nervous."

She smiled warmly. "Ah, blurting and I are old friends. But there's no need to be nervous. I have no intention of trying to intimidate you."

"You're under the impression that you have to try?" I blurted again and glanced pointedly at the armed Marine posted at the door.

She chuckled. "He's here for me, not for you."

"You mean, like, in case I try to stab you to death with my pen?"

The Marine stepped forward and Roslin held him off with a raised hand. "You really weren't joking about the blurting thing, were you?" she said with a wry smile.

For the love of the Gods, someone shut me up! "No, Madame President, I wasn't. But for what it's worth, it only happens with people I either find very attractive, or have a great amount of respect for."

Her brow rose as she seemed to ponder my statement for a moment and then the second I saw the wicked grin play across her face I was already wishing I could suck the words back in.

Too late.

"And which am I?"

Both, actually, which is hitting a big fat ten on my WTF-O-METER! But when I looked into her face, a face that had brought comfort and hope to so many of us during the darkest of times, I managed a much better, more heartfelt answer.

"The latter, of course. I respect you, not just for your office but as a woman and a human being as well. I voted for you because you're a strong and devoted leader. But I respect you because at the end of the day, even when we've all been forced into doing horrifying and ugly things in this terrible war, you're still able to look at your people and see what they need, even if it's as simple as a laugh from their President. And I think that's beautiful. I think you're beautiful, Madame President."

To my surprise there was a flood of shiny tears in Roslin's pretty eyes and she took a moment to remove her glasses and swallow them back before she spoke. I felt tears fill my own eyes at the slight quiver in her normally strong and resolute voice.

"I'm not sure how to properly thank you for that," she whispered, smiling warmly at me. And if it's possible to hug someone with your eyes, that's what happened next. Laura Roslin's expression was as warm and encompassing as any hug I've ever experienced.

"You just did," I whispered back.

"Well," she said, her voice clear and strong after taking a sip of her water and replacing her glasses, "I can see I made the right choice in asking you to come here."

"I'm sure there's some protocol for the way this meeting is supposed to go, but I guess my blurting has made me appear as if I don't have a professional bone in my entire body."

"On the contrary," she said, twirling a pencil between her fingers, "I find the lack of pomp and pageantry refreshing. And I did say this wasn't an official summons from the President, which is why we're not on Colonial One and you don't see my aide seated off to the side taking notes or handing me files. My request to meet with you was entirely a personal one. I realize you don't know me and therefore can't separate Laura Roslin from President Roslin, but I still hope you didn't come here today out of a sense of obligation."

I couldn't help but laugh. Did this woman own a mirror? She had an unmistakable air of authority about her that simply could not be denied. Not feel obligated? Hell, if she'd asked me to airlock my own mother I'd probably have done it and then saluted her! But I could see in her eyes that she was sincere. She really didn't want me to feel like my presence at this meeting was the result of an executive order.

"Let's just say you're not an easy person to say no to," I finally said.

Judging from the look on her face, this was not the answer she wanted. She removed her glasses, folded the frames in and tucked them rather attractively in the vee of her blouse, never breaking eye contact with me. "Tell that to the Quorum," she said with a sardonic smile, "I'm beginning to think that's their favorite word where I'm concerned."

I rolled my eyes at the thought of those windbags. "Blowholes! They just like to pontificate. It gives them the illusion that they matter." My eyes widened as I realized I'd just said that aloud. "There I go with the blurting again."

President Roslin laughed, a laugh that made her eyes sparkle. "Your blurting is not entirely without merit." She studied me for what felt like forever and I forced myself not to squirm. "Most people censor their thoughts around me. Measure and weigh their words carefully before they speak. Do you have any idea how tiresome that can be?"

I spent way too much time … entertaining pilots who pretty much say whatever the frak they think to have any idea what that was like, but somehow I didn't think President Roslin needed to know that. "I can't imagine," I finally said.

"That's why this little get together is informal. No protocol, no official procedures…"

"You mean other than the search I got from your Marine that was so thorough he really should've bought me dinner first?"

She smiled again. "You see? Uncensored. I like that. And yes, I mean other than that."

"Pleased as I am that my Blurt-A-Thon is amusing you, and as much as I'm enjoying your company, Madame President, my own curiosity is going to eat me alive pretty soon. Of all the people in the fleet, why did you ask to meet with me?"

She looked at the Marine standing watch at the door. "Corporal, please wait outside."

The young man looked as surprised as I felt and he glanced briefly at the pen I was holding in my hand as if it really were a weapon before saying, "Ma'am?"

Roslin stood and folded her arms across her chest, then regarded my suddenly dangerous writing instrument with mild amusement. "If Kris promises not to stab me through the heart with her pen, would you and your rather large weapon wait outside the door?"

"He's holding, like, an UZI! And he's worried about my Bic Clicker?" I spouted.

Roslin's brows rose as she looked at me, and she said, "Shh!"

So I totally did!

She turned her I'm in no mood for bullshit gaze on the poor Marine. "Corporal?"

"Of course, Madame President."

They both looked at me expectantly and this time my eyebrows rose. "You're serious?"

"You're the one who brought up stabbing me to death with your pen," she said, seeming to enjoy the whole thing that made me wonder if she was as twisted as me. "What? Don't you have a promise line in your blurt repertoire?"

"Better than the airlock, I guess," I muttered under my breath as I got to my feet.

"What?" Roslin asked sharply.

"Nothing!" Gulp. "Okay, I'd say I can't believe I'm doing this, but really … it's no more bizarre than the rest of my life so I should've expected it." I put my hand over my heart and cleared my throat. "I, Kris Hill, promise not to stab, slash, puncture, poke, jab, or otherwise assault President Roslin with my pen. I further promise not to write on her person, scribble on her desk, or draw horns on the photo of herself and Admiral Adama sitting on that stand over there."

The President seemed to be struggling to hold in a giggle, which I found highly amusing. "Good enough for you, Corporal?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, shooting me what was clearly a Don't MAKE me come back in here look before heading out the door.

President Roslin sat back down and I followed her lead. "Okay … aside from a good dose of terminal embarrassment, I still have no idea what I'm doing here."

To my utter amazement she turned and picked up a small stack of books and set them on the desk between us. They were MY books. I felt the color drain from my face as the shock washed over me and my voice, when I finally found it, shook. "The President has read my work?"

"Don't look so stunned. Your stuff is quite popular."

I knew it was being read, but I had no idea it was THAT popular. "It's just something I do as an escape, Madame President. A way to step out of reality for a little while. I never imagined you'd be … "

"What?" She smiled warmly at me, her manicured finger lightly skimming the cover of my most recent book. "You don't think that the President needs to escape now and then just like everyone else?"

I was having trouble remembering to breathe. "It's not that, Ma'am. It's just … I never imagined you'd choose to do it with something I wrote. I'm … well, I'm overwhelmed to be honest."

"You look like you're going to fall out of your chair. Are you okay?"

I nodded stupidly. "I just can't believe you've read one of my books."

"I've read all of them, actually. Your articles, too."

I put my head between my knees. "That's not really helping the shock, Madame President."

She chuckled as she rose to her feet and came around the desk to lay a soft hand on my shoulder. "I said this is informal. Why don't you call me Laura?"

Yeah, that was SO not gonna happen. "You're gonna need to give me some time on that one, okay?"

She disappeared for a moment and returned with a glass of beautiful green liquid that I hadn't seen or smelled in a very long time. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"Ambrosia!" I inhaled deeply, the scent taking me back with great longing to better times. "Gods, I haven't had Ambrosia for … well, forever." I took a sip and my head immediately began to spin. "I knew you folks on Galactica were holding out."

"That's just one of the perks when you're on a first name basis with the President," she practically purred. "You get the good stuff."

I laughed and looked up at her warm eyes. "A couple more glasses of this stuff and I'll call you whatever you want!"

"Good, because we have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in."

Her tone had turned serious. Instead of going back behind the desk she sat in the chair right next to me. She pushed her long curls behind her shoulders and focused her gaze on me. I couldn't have looked away if the ship had been exploding around me, the moment was that intense.

"I'll just cut right to it. I'm dying," she said quietly.

I felt tears flood my eyes, but blinked them back out of respect. I wanted to hug her, but only did so with my eyes. "I know," I whispered, because I didn't trust my own voice. "I listened to Baltar's trial. What Apollo did … I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, and her beautiful dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. "No, I didn't ask you here to talk about that. It's about your books. Your characters. Not all of the stories are fiction, are they? You based some of the characters and their stories on real people, people you knew that died on Caprica. Am I right?"

Unsure where she was going with this, I gave a tentative, "Some of them, yes."

"It's your way of honoring their memories, their lives. Yes?"

I nodded. "But not all of my stuff is based on real people. I'm quite capable of spinning my own fiction."

"I have no doubt."

"I just think there are some lives, some people who leave such an extraordinary mark on the world around them that they shouldn't be forgotten."

She smiled beautifully, her bright eyes shining with emotion as she gently took my hand. "That's what I'm counting on."

Comprehension dawned and I suddenly wished for The Blurts to return because all I could mutter was, "Holy Gods … "

"Will you write my story, Kris?" She smiled, oozing charm that made me wonder how poor Adama ever denied her anything, and made a show of refilling my glass with Ambrosia. "I won't lie to you. It'll be quite an undertaking. Of course, you'll need to stay here on Galactica, find some way to amuse yourself when you're not with me – do you think you can do that?"

And I SWEAR she quirked a knowing eyebrow. Did she know I'd been to the pilot's racks a time or two? "I'm sure I'd manage."

"And I am fond of relaxing with a nice glass of Ambrosia, so there's that." She flashed me a wicked smile. "Of course, tensions are always running a little high on Galactica. I can't promise that you won't be searched again. In fact, I can almost promise that you will."

"Sweet talker."

"So," she said, removing her glasses and tucking them once again in her cleavage, "what do you say?"

Uhm … FRAK YES? Feeling a sweet Ambrosia buzz, my sass had returned. I waited until Madame President was taking a deep swig of her drink and then said, "Can I bunk with Colonel Tigh? We can play naughty wench and evil pirate."

Just as I'd hoped, her eyes widened with amused shock and as laughter forced its way up her throat she did a passable impression of a fountain. Ambrosia sprayed from her mouth and nose.

I giggled as I watched her wipe the shiny green drink off her face with far more dignity than should've been possible.

"That was payback for the having you searched comment, wasn't it?"

"Most definitely."

She nodded. "Noted. Now that you've seen me squirt alcohol through my nose, a most unpresidential thing to do, does that mean you've agreed to write my story?"

I smiled warmly at her, already very fond of her and we hadn't even begun. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Laura," she corrected.

My eyes widened. Not sure I could go that far just yet. "Madame President, I-"

"You what, Ms. Hill? You can't physically form the word Laura?"

Evil woman. "Call me Kris."

She folded her arms and smiled. "Call me Laura."

"I'm going to Hell," I murmured, then chugged the rest of my Ambrosia. "Okay, okay. I would be honored to write your story."

She stared at me expectantly.

"Laura," I finally added.

"Good," she said brightly, reaching for the phone. "Now we'll just see about getting you somewhere to stay." She flashed me a playfully smile and said into the handset, "Please get me Colonel Tigh…"