Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D. Moore and the Sci-Fi channel. This is what happens when my funny bone nags at me.

It's Just a Rack

Laura shifted uncomfortably in the small space between Bill and the wall. "Why do they have to make these things so narrow?"

"That's a military matter," he remarked, scooting as close as he could to the edge to give her more room.

"Then there's something the matter with the military," she teased.

He raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

She sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "That this bed is too frakkin' small."

He snorted. "Actually, it's a rack."

"Why do they call it a rack? Isn't a rack something you hang towels on? I mean it's not like… never mind, that would be a hammock, but even then, you don't really hang people in hammocks either."

"It's just a rack."

"Well, they should've extended it by about three feet."

"It takes some getting used to."

"I have to admit, it's better than my cot. But it's still too small. Are all the beds, excuse me 'racks' on this ship this narrow? Are the ones in the family quarters like this? If they are, how are you supposed to… well, 'you know' on something like this?"

He chuckled heartily. "There are ways. Do you want to find out now or later?"

Propping herself up on her elbow, she swatted his arm playfully, but she was blushing. "That wasn't where I meant to take this conversation."

"There's the couch or the floor," he mentioned.

She frowned at him. "I am not sleeping on the couch or the floor, and neither are you." Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. "The floor, honestly. Do I look like I'm in the mood to go camping?"

"At least I didn't offer the desk or the shower. Now those might've been uncomfortable."

Lying back, she giggled. "Bill Adama, you are incorrigible tonight."

One of his hands found hers and they laced their fingers together. "Are you done complaining?"

"For now. It'll be the bed, and no where else," she replied.

"Rack."

"Fine, 'rack' then."