Author's Note: I have been re-watching the BSG (2003) series and my muse has made a sudden reappearance in my life which has led to this short story being written. There will be a couple of chapters over the next few days-weeks. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated, however, I would ask that if you are not a fan of this pairing then perhaps it would be best to move along. This is not beta-ed so any mistakes are all mine and unintentional. Happy Reading for all those who venture on!

Disclaimer - Obviously, I don't have any rights to BSG because it definitely would not have ended after only four seasons! All characters belong to R.D Moore.

Summary: She had always been a stickler for the rules. That had definitely been part of the appeal of joining the military. She never crossed the line, if anything, she always made sure she was well behind the line. Four times, Dualla kept to the rules and the only time she threw the rule book out of the airlock.

Chapter 1 notes: Based on the episode '33'

Chapter 1: First Thoughts

She had just completed her 16-hour shift in the CIC. She felt battered and beaten after she frakked up on the Olympic Carrier early on in her shift. She didn't know what had happened; had they not received their jump co-ordinates? Did their FTL suddenly pack up? Did she not confirm with them that they were ready before Galactica jumped away? Had she just imagined the voice over the crackling static confirm that the board was green? Where was the Olympic Carrier now? So many questions swirled through her mind as she left the CIC – her mind finally taking a break to process the events now that she was off-duty. She did not know who else to turn to – everyone seemed so burdened and overwhelmed at the moment that she had decided that perhaps he was the best person to speak to.

She found herself standing beside the stairwell to the Commander's quarters. The lone Marine guard standing on duty, tiredly waved her past him.

She paused outside the hatch – hand poised in mid-air. What was she doing? The Commander was most likely asleep in his rack. He had completed a 36 hour shift at 00h00 and was due back on duty shortly. She should really let him rest. She remembered his 'open-door' policy but this dated back to before the attacks on the colonies.

She stood still. She had just worked up the courage to come here and now it had deserted her. She had never done this before. She had always been in awe of the chain of command and hesitant about speaking to senior officers outside of the work environment. She had tried to stay hidden in her duties, not wanting to draw attention to herself with heroics or clever talk. Do the best you can do – that was her motto. Her natural proclivity towards being mild-mannered and shy certainly helped with keeping a low profile.

Her heart pounded and her palms were sweaty. A nervous bubble rose in her gut and travelled upwards as she gave a quiet knock. Half-relieved that there was no answer, she was about to turn away when the hatch creaked on its hinges as it swung open. The nervous bubble was now stuck in her throat as she met the sharp blue eyes of Commander Adama.

"What can I do for you Petty Officer?" asked the husky voice.

Her voice failed as her mouth was suddenly dry; The words she wanted to say now lost in the nervousness she felt in his presence.

He smiled tiredly and stepped aside to beckon her into his quarters, his frame towering over her petite one.

She sat down and her senses suddenly became heightened as a second wind swept through her. Her curiosity was aroused by her surroundings given this was her first time in a senior officer's quarters. She took in the reports piled high on all available surfaces, the rack looked immaculate – like it had not been slept in which was probably correct she surmised given the blanket folded on the arm of his desk chair and the amount of paperwork everywhere.

He sat down behind his desk and began to shuffle some papers together into a pile.

It was then that she realised that she had probably just caught him straight out of the head; he was freshly shaved and the clean scent of soap and a tang of cologne hung in the air with perhaps a touch of sandalwood her tired mind thought. His dark hair glistened with water droplets but his eyes were unreadable behind the reflection from his spectacles. Her eyes fell on the single button that remained unfastened at the top of his tunic, bronzed skin peeping out. Her fingertips slowly coursed the grooves of the wooden desk they were sitting at. Her eyes travelled upwards and for one improbable moment she wondered if his face would feel the same as the wood under her fingers and what it would be like to kiss the worn, chapped lips. An irresistible urge swept through her at the thought of kissing him. The thought was sudden, strange, like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky and it was suppressed as quickly as it had arrived.

'Petty Officer?', he prompted again.

Her eyes dropped immediately from his face, trying to shield herself from his gaze as a heated flush swept through her with her forbidden thoughts.

"The Olympic Carrier, Sir." she managed to croak out.

He let out a long deep sigh and she released the breath she did not realise she had been holding.

"Tea?' he asked.

"Thank-you, Sir."

She sighed softly, hopefully, this would be the one and ONLY time she ever thought about kissing a superior officer.

–-