#when Bae Looks Spiffy

Honestly I don't know which theory is cuter - (1.)that Sergei is indeed a total lightweight or (2.)that he goes along with it because it spares him from admitting it only took like 2 hours of her undivided attention to get him from this:

to this:

Bill Adama: “You ever think about the times much on New Caprica?”

Laura Roslin: “I try to think about the good times, yes, I do.”

Bill Adama: “One in particular stands out in my mind.You were wearing your really bright red dress. Said you wanted to build a cabin.”

Laura Roslin: “It was Baltar’s ground breaking ceremony. I got a little silly that night.”

Bill Adama: “You ever wonder what would’ve happened if the Cylons hadn’t have come back?”

Laura Roslin: “I think given Baltar and the terrain we couldn’t have made a go of it. What about you? Do you think you would’ve stayed on Galactica, or do you think you would’ve settled?”

Bill Adama: “It’s pretty hypothetical, isn’t it?”

Laura Roslin: “It is. Until it isn’t.“ *laughs* “Did I just say that?”

Bill Adama: “It’s worth just seeing you laugh like that. We’ve been at war so long sometimes we forget what we’re fighting for: Raise our kids in peace. Enjoy one another’s company. Live life as people again.”

Laura Roslin: “Like that night on New Caprica. That’s really what we are talking about here now, isn’t it?”

Bill Adama: “That and other times.”

Laura Roslin: “So if the Cylons hadn’t come back…?”

Bill Adama: “But they did.” *pause* “We have certain responsibilities.”

Laura Roslin: “Yes, we do, Sir. And… I will be back in a few days, and if you’d like, we can talk more about that night. Bill? The answer’s yes. I absolutely would’ve built the cabin.”

I was searching for this, lolz. I remember reading it before I watched For All Mankind and I was absolutely intrigued. This and all the wonderful gif sets got me to watch. So, kudos to all you fic writers who expound on characters and create such delicious explorations of character. ❤️

Sergei absently exchanged the blue marker for another colored marker from the tray, began shading in the sine wave. Orange. In lines like strands of hair. Margo’s hair. The memory of it soft through his fingers, of the scent of her hair, her skin, clean and warm, the sweet, strong smell of the brandy on her lips.

He moved to the negative half cycle, the white of the board again alternating through a fall of orange hair. He wondered when her hair had turned white. Did it happen slowly over the last eight years? Had the long, cold, lonely winters she wasn’t used to, hadn’t, couldn’t have prepared for, slowly leached the color from her hair, from her life? She was not meant for a cage, no matter how gilded.

Automatically, he filled in the last positive half cycle, the orange strands thinning and fading as his mind continued to wander and his pressure against the board slackened. Or had her hair turned white all at once in a shock? Was it upon learning of the bombing? Worry for her colleagues? Aleida? Did she blame herself? Was it something that happened after? Something they’d done to her? He froze. Lefortovo…

“Uh, Mr. Bezukhov?”

Slowly, he blinked, the whiteboard and the classroom refocusing around him.

“Mr. Bezukhov?”

Sergei turned, taking in the students behind their desks, their faces, some smirking, most disinterested, a few studious. Right. He had a class to teach. A life she’d paid for with her own. He owed it to her to live it. This thought had sustained him through the years, kept him moving forward, moving on. It didn’t matter that she was alive. It shouldn’t. It couldn’t. 

“So, as you can see, the current is not always constant.”

Margo, I wanted to ask, will you be at the ICSE conference in the UK this summer?I’m not sure. Why?

Can you tell me that you could pass up on this gorgeous man reclined on a sofa? Pshaw!

As @historysquib calls them, a Palate Cleanser fic:

Margo entered her office and shut the door softly behind her. Turning, she slumped against the door briefly and released a sigh. It had been the most tiresome of evenings. Three hours building support for a new proposal by the recently defected Sergei had been needlessly tedious. Margo was well practiced at moving political levers, but new Russian defectors had a break-in period for trust building in the wider political sphere that could not be abridged.

She turned to her drinks cabinet and turned on the lamp above it. She considered how many fingers of brandy that loss of time was worth, before finally settling on a light pour–any more would turn her out like a light as tired as she was. Margo pondered what she would ideally need to relax: a stiff drink or… Her thoughts trailed away and found their home on her sofa.

On her sofa Sergei reclined with a hand thrown back behind his head. The other hand was draped across his chest and trapped a creased report that threatened to slide to the floor. His relaxed countenance flooded her heart with warmth as she crossed the room towards him. She flicked on the lamp at the side table behind his head and observed his slumber. He looked markedly improved from his Lefortovo stay. His hair had grown back in, disheveled from his repose on what she knew wasn’t the most comfortable of couches. He seemed to be managing his traumatic stint in jail by leaving his frail self behind with wild hair, wilder beard and a filling out of his frame. It was an improvement of his physical health and image that she made no secret of liking.

Taking a seat near him on the coffee table, she set aside her brandy and removed the report from his grasp. Briefly scanning the report, she replaced it with her hand, she called to him softly, “Sergei.”

Sergei mumbled some indiscernible Russian in response and shifted slightly. Margo shook his hand lightly and called to him again. He blinked awake and smiled at her.

“Did you need your Soviet expert?” Sergei groggily asked.

Margo leant forward, “Something like that,” she drawled before placing a soft kiss on his smirking lips. Sergei responded slowly, kissing her softly in return. His hand came up to caress her face before sliding into her hair. Margo pressed a light kiss to his lips before she eased back to her seat beside him. She glanced at the time on her wrist and looked at him shrewdly.

“Were you waiting for me or for the resolution on your proposal?”

He grinned at her and levered himself up, leaning towards her to plant a kiss on her cheek before whispering into her ear, “Both, naturally.”

He drifted more kisses down her neck before she halted him, both hands clasping his head and redirecting him up to face her.

“Sergei,” she chided, eyes semi-serious. She was tired and needed to go to bed. The sooner she could maneuver him out of her office the better. She would get no rest otherwise. “I need to go to bed and you need to go home.”

“Ah, but home is where you are, Margo,” he replied quickly. “I cannot sleep without you.” He made to continue his onslaught of her neck, but was forestalled by Margo’s halfhearted evasion.

She snorted and shook her head, “And just now?” She gestured to the sofa.

"A convenient rest of the eyes,” Sergei rejoined. Margo raised her eyebrows. “It may have gotten away from me,” he amended with a shrug. He pursed his lips before smiling that absolutely obnoxious, and in no-way devastating, grin at her.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded in response. “I'm off to bed.” She took off her shoes and bent to retrieve them. Sighing gratefully at their removal.

"Do you need help finding your way there? Perhaps an expert on navigation could help?” Sergei murmured with no small amount of cheek. “Perhaps another Soviet first?”

Sergei stood up and took her shoes in one hand and her hand in the other, pulling her to her feet.

“A Soviet first?” Margo questioned, exasperated.

“Exploring the bedroom of the NASA director, a first for all man-”

Margo interrupted him with a slap to the back of the head.

“Ah, woman!” Sergei cried in mock pain.

Margo walked briskly forward, leaving Sergei behind. She hesitated at the office door while Sergei stood rubbing the back of his head. The smile on his face sent shivers up her spine. She couldn't and wouldn't send him away no matter what she threatened and he knew it.

“Perhaps you are right. A Soviet first,” she said with some emphasis. At that she turned the lock on her office door and briefly stopped at the threshold of her bedroom, “You coming?” She called behind her.

Sergei followed diligently, carrying her shoes.

Good news, he ran away from the KGB, he's fine now

This illustration was inspired by For All Mankind, an Apple TV+ series which explores what might have happened if the space race had continued and where humanity would be now.

© Zara Picken 2024 www.zarapicken.com

#SHORT QUEENS Quinta Brunson and Sabrina Carpenter during Quinta's opening monologue for Saturday Night Live | 3rd May, 2025

Very clever. This will work for us.

Sergei lounged comfortably in his living room. He was seated in a comfy armchair, the fabric of which he idly stroked with his hand.

The warm light from the floor to ceiling windows gave the room a welcoming glow. To bathe in sunlight after so long in the cold–it was a balm to his soul.

Beyond the windows, the backyard stretched out of sight, the lush grass and sprawling oaks swayed with a gentle breeze. Head tilted back, he listened to a lively piece played from a new album bought at a recent trip to Neptune's.

Wrapped in sunlight, music, and safety, Sergei felt at peace.

“Sergei!” He heard Margo call from the kitchen, “Did your mother call about dinner this evening?” She moved into the living room to stand before him.

He smiled, his eyes drifting open to soak in the sweetest light in his life. Margo wore a red dress that hugged her figure and set off the red of her hair. She was a vision.

“Yes, Margo, we are expected at seven,” he replied. He grasped her hand, squeezing her delicate fingers, before raising them to his mouth for a gentle kiss. Margo smiled softly at him and bent forward to replace her hand with her lips.

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I didn't recall that Adama had Reader's Digest Condensed Books in his quarters. Which makes me giggle quite a bit. I feel like the set designer did Adama dirty here. 🤣

I'm sure he could romance Laura with just about any book, but Reader's Digest Condensed Books? That would be a tough route for seduction.

ONE SET PER EPISODE: BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 1.06 — Litmus