A/N: setting/time frame is end of S2, Res ship 1 & 2, immediately after last scene of the episode

I am still new to this fandom; apologizes in advance if there is a canon goof.

Nothing and no one belongs to me, and I'm not making any cash, coin, or cubits off this.

Billy the Bureaucrat

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He was almost at the transport when he heard rapid footsteps behind him. He didn't change his stride for a few beats as he assessed the risks within the known variables. Rapid but not running. Too light to be a warrior in full kit with heavy arms. He was slowing, turning around while his mind was forming the conscious thought: low risk, probably safe.

"Comman—sorry, sir. Admiral Adama!"

Billy was flushed, curls scattered and sweaty. Chagrin and deference worked against each other in his expression.

"What is it, Billy?"

Bill Adama was ready for a stiff drink and some rack time. Moving from plotting assassination to being promoted so quickly had left him with a bad case of the bends. Decompression from a heavy full tumbler sounded a lot better than dealing with Billy. Something about the young, earnest man seemed to leave him a little more conscious of his age, a little more tired.

Billy flushed along his jaw. He looked like he wished he hadn't seen that kiss. Or that his discomfort hadn't flummoxed him enough to forget what was important.

"In the, ah…when you got your Admiral pins, I…"

Adama waited for what he suspected was coming. He watched Billy take a deep breath.

"There's some paperwork that you have to sign, I'm afraid."

"Of course there is."

He thought something had been missing. Presidential kisses were no substitute for properly signed personnel paperwork.

"And…sorry…I left it back in President Roslin's suite. We…I haven't done this before, at this level. I may need to get some more forms copied from the manual."

Adama nodded to the transport pilot. "This may take some time, Lieutenant. Head back to Galactica. I'll request transport when I tie this up."

He followed Billy back to the President's office, retracing the steps he had just taken. He tried to focus on Laura's aide talking about authorizations and agreements and waivers, without much success. He hoped Dee knew what she was in for, if she and Billy continued their flirtation. Bureaucrats could be exhausting.

"Where's the President?" He looked around the empty suite.

"She had to lie down, sir, but she's still awake. If you could take these—" he handed a stack of forms and folders to the new Admiral, along with a pen. "She said she'd be happy to go over these with you, as long as she didn't have to, um…be upright."

Bill had to smile at the new blush along the man's cheek. The man was acting like a teenager who'd caught his parents french-kissing in the kitchen. Billy ushered him into the sleeping quarters of President Roslin.

"Bill?" She sat up, squinting her eyes against the light from the main suite.

"Madam President, there's some papers that have to be signed by Admiral Adama and yourself before everything's official."

His speech had sped up, Bill noticed, as Billy waved a hand towards the stack. "I'll just…leave you to it. Them. Sir, if you'll just leave those on the President's desk when you're finished?"

He was already out the door as he issued an apologetic "Sorry for the mix-up…."

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Laura sat up and reached for the box still in his hands.

"As long as you're here, shall I go ahead and see how they look?"

He looked at her game smile, her tired eyes.

"Sure."

He leaned forward so she could reach his collar.

Somehow, her fingers ended up at his lips.

His fingers went to her temple, then into her hair.

Their lips met again, with less ceremony this time, edging their weariness out of the way for a moment.

"The paperwork…" She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Frak the paperwork. It can wait."

"Yes, Ma'am."

He kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Got anything to drink?"

She motioned towards the built-in minibar. His pour was less generous than what he had planned on his return to his own quarters.

"You?" He raised the bottle towards her.

She managed a smile that was sultry and a little coy at the same time.

"Mind if I just have a sip of yours?"

He chuckled deep in his throat as he poured. If they'd been younger, (if she'd been healthier) that definitely would have been a possible prelude to a long sweet frak.

"Not at all."

He held the half-full glass of ambrosia as she sipped, their hands touching like old friends.

The drained glass went to the bedside tray.

The paperwork went to the floor.

His tunic went on the suit hanger, Fleet issue, that happened to be out of place, on the seat by her bed.

She laughed, breathy, light, as he tried to hang up his tunic while not straying too long from her drowsy warmth. Her eyelids drooped with sleep as he kissed them, one, then the other. His pants, her robe, stayed put this night.

He leaned back, comfortable for the first time in days, half-sitting next to her.

"I can't stay." He stroked her hair as he shoved out the necessary words.

"I know." She laid her head on his chest, ear near his heart. He could feel her cheek rub against his scar under his tanks, like her face was trying to learn its details.

"I'll stay till you're asleep."

He kissed the bridge of her nose, felt it crinkle as she smiled.

"I'd like that."

The paperwork stayed jumbled on the floor.

The thoughts of what she had ordered, what he had ordered, the ugly words of plots and assassination were discarded into dark corners of both their minds.

Listening to her breathing, shallow at first, then deeper, more even, lulled him into a half-sleep. He had a moment's wonder over how a regulation tunic hanger had found its way into her suite. Then she shifted deeper into his arms and his wonder went in other directions. He thought they worked damn well together.

And fit well together.

He could afford a cat nap. He was used to snatching ten minutes here, ten minutes there if he had to. He leaned his rough cheek against her hair and folded her hand into his.

.

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Billy rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger and looked away from the door. He'd have to remember to get the pilot's tunic hanger back to him tomorrow. An image came to his mind from the last year he lived at home…he'd walked in on his mother and father, kissing and grinning like a couple of teenagers. It was embarrassing, then. Now he realized their affection for the gift it was.

For the first time since the attack, he was finally able to think about them and smile. He hoped wherever they were, they could cuddle and kiss, and curl up together.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Reviews, comments, concrit welcome and appreciated.