1. Part 1  A New Beginning

Battlestar Galactica

Conference Room - present day.

"I think you can handle this alone -- if you can stomach it."

He still heard the bitter words even though the resounding clang of the hatch signalled the departure of the woman who had spoken them. His heart beat pounded in his chest and his throat went dry. He had failed. How many times would he have to save that woman's life before she acknowledged him? If he could not reach out to her then there would be no salvation for Gaius Baltar.

He had watched Laura Roslin carefully from the moment he and the Cylons had entered the dimly lit room. Her composure had seemed perfect but he never missed the details. Her body had been stiff and although her hands had appeared calmly folded in front of her, her knuckles were white. If _he_ had seen her anxiety, then so had the Cylons.

_"Laura ... if I ... it's good to see you."_

If only she had been able to look at him. Then he could have expressed his relief at seeing his own people again, his sincere regret over what had happened to them on New Caprica and … over what he had done to her. Adama had been in his face almost immediately. The Admiral had put his body between Laura and her nightmare. So maybe Adama knew. Baltar quietly envied the man his stubborn strength.

If only he had had that kind of strength those long months ago.

New Caprica

11 months before the Occupation.

Laura sat alone in a small clearing at the edge of the river. The water gurgled over a shallow grouping of rocks as it slipped down toward the lake in the distance. A light breeze stirred strands of her auburn hair as she gazed out over the mist covered river.

It was late spring. The air was thick with the scent of rain and water soaked vegetation. The bird calls were loud and erratic and insects hissed and chirped from the tall grass that surrounded her. An ant crawled over the skin of her dew drenched bare foot.

She pulled the oversized wool coat tightly around her shoulders and inhaled the faint musky scent that was Bill Adama. She smiled gently as she remembered his pushing the coat into her hands on _Galactica_. Technically, it was a part of his uniform and intended for formal outdoor events. He had said that he had no use for it on _Galactica_ and that if he needed it on New Caprica, well, it would already be there. The emotion of that last goodbye still weighed heavily on her heart. Her decision to settle was the right one but it still felt like she had left her life behind.

It was ungodly early; the landscape had been nothing but shadow when she'd slipped from her tent. Since her remission, sleep had seemed such a waste of the time she had been given.

She had come to the riverbank every morning for the last week and had each time had been disappointed. The cloud cover had always been total.

But not today.

Today she could see what to her mind's eye was a three foot high band of open sky just above the horizon but below the ever present blanket of grey cloud. As morning approached, the sky brightened and shifted colour from soft pink to a warm gold. Her breath caught when the edge of the horizon was kissed by the faintest line of bright yellow orange light.

She heard the thump, thump of jogging feet behind her. She smiled. "Don't you ever sleep, Thrace?"

The feet came up beside her and she felt their gentle rhythm through the ground as Kara jogged in place. "How'd you know it was me?" She asked between breaths.

Laura didn't look at Kara; her attention was consumed by her first sunrise in almost a year. It was made more precious by the fact that she should not have been alive to see it.

"I'm a teacher," she said at last. "We have eyes in the back of our heads."

Kara snickered. "Right." She was silent then and made no move to continue her run. Kara didn't strike Laura as the type that stopped to watch anything just because it was beautiful. Yet, she enjoyed the girl's company and they shared the brief touch of the sun's warmth before it passed into the cloud cover.

"Wow," was all Kara said.

Laura smiled and finally brought her gaze to Kara's face.

"I could get used to this." Kara said lightly. "Have a good day, ma'am."

"You too, Captain."

And she was gone.

_Colonial One_

20 minutes before the New Caprica Ground Breaking Ceremony

"Be careful with that!" President Gaius Baltar followed the progress of his newly requisitioned and custom made bed with great interest. The men who carried it were large and sweaty and they left an odorous trail towards Baltar's private quarters. There was an obnoxious scraping noise as they struggled to fit the bed through the oddly shaped door frame.

"Mr. President?" The voice came from somewhere in front of him. He didn't turn.

"Careful!" Baltar shook his head in disgust. "What does it say about us when even the President of the Colonies can't get decent help?" He turned back towards the small grouping of ministers that had gathered around his desk and sighed. "Yes, look, I have an inspiring speech to deliver in twenty minutes. Can we move this along?" He winced as he heard his bed hit the floor with a resounding _thunk_ and couldn't resist another glance over his shoulder.

Felix Gaeta cleared his throat. "Environment Minister Salis," he added the title for Baltar's benefit, "I believe we left off with you."

"Yes, thank you." Salis coughed nervously and adjusted his glasses. "We have been coordinating with _Galactica _to schedule a mining survey to take place next month." Thin and athletic, Salis looked as if he would be far more comfortable coaching a Pyramid team. "We just need final approval."

_They're going to get it wrong. I know it. I specifically requested a firm mattress. I have no intention of near suffocating while I sleep nor do I want anyone getting too comfortable. Was that something about a mining survey? Yes. Fine. _"Put it on the agenda for tomorrow's Quorum meeting, Mister Gaeta."

"Yes, sir."

_I'd better practice that frakking speech_.Gaeta and the ministers were talking over each other. Baltar gave them the same level of attention that a large animal gives to the flies on its back.

I can't believe I actually miss the Cylon. If she truly is a projection of my subconscious I suppose it's too much to ask for some measure of control over her.

Who knew being important could be so damned boring?

_Today, we pledge to rebuild our civilization after such a tragic and unforgettable loss. We cannot abandon our past and we will no longer run from what lies ahead. We will not live in fear. We will seize our future in a firm and resolute grip and build it here together. This is our new home. _

Maybe Laura Roslin actually likes boring.

Then I break ground. I must remind Mister Gaeta to have the shovel ready. Nothing would be more embarrassing than not having the bloody shovel. Okay … round of adoring applause then … Thank you. Let this day be remembered … maybe long remembered? … as the day we broke ground for our new tomorrow. Sensational.

Now … what I could really use is a good fr--.

The room had gone silent. All eyes turned to Baltar and he realised that he must have said that last bit out loud. "Free drink," he finished quickly. He tried a small self deprecating laugh and shook his head. "I could … ah … really use a free drink is what I meant. Really. We can continue this stimulating discussion tomorrow. I _am_ keeping people from an open bar." 

He managed a forced smile as everyone filed out and went to check on his new bed.

New Caprica Ground Breaking Ceremony

8 months before the Occupation

Bill Adama sat in the sand. The wind blew the tiny grains across his bare feet and he dug into it with his hand. It was warm in his clenched fist and he watched as it slipped slowly from his grip and into the wind.

He felt rather than saw her as she sat beside him.

She was talking to him, simple pleasantries and mild taunts, but he was focused on the tone and pitch of her voice. There was a softness to her speech, there beneath the warm alto that could so easily command as seduce. It resonated in that place that he had long kept guarded from Laura Roslin, the woman that he could not, dared not, have.

Her eyes were a pale green in the sunlight and her cheeks were ruddy and flushed. She smiled easily and often.

He had felt the heat of her body even before she placed a hand on his arm. He responded to her banter automatically, even corrected her, but he never paused in his exploration of this woman who had been President.

The deep red of her dress was striking against her pale skin and he found himself openly appreciating the soft curve of her left breast and the inviting shadow where it met her right. Even as he complimented her dress, he imagined the soft weight of her breasts in his hands.

His head snapped up when she pulled the wrap around her shoulders and he racked his brain for the reason why he was responding so intensely to her. The planet. Open air. Sunlight. The lack of her well tailored business suit and professional demeanour. They were all small parts of the answer and yet they paled before two simple observations.

He realised that he had never known Laura Roslin when she hadn't been in pain. Whether it was the invisible weight of an entire civilization pressed down on her shoulders or the raw physical agony that had been her cancer, pain had hung in her voice, had dampened her movements and hardened her features.

The woman beside him, whose face was bright with a slightly embarrassed smile, was truly free.

Everything that had ever been a barrier between them seemed to fall away with the loss of a single word: President. He felt blood begin to work its way down towards his groin and knew he had to distract himself. He watched people mill about, watched as Starbuck started the day frightfully early and studied his first blue sky in years. Anything to avoid her clear eyes and her open flirting. Yes, she was flirting and he adored it. He just wasn't sure he was ready for it.

Baltar gave a reasonably inspired speech. When it was over and the party started in earnest, Bill followed Laura about without much conscious thought. He wasn't sure but it felt like he was staking a claim. This vision in red? Yes. Mine.

Baltar stood and sipped a poorly made Caprican Sunset. He was elbow to elbow with his Minister of Public Security and a host of other government officials and body guards.

"Do you see that?" Jarek Markos said from beside him. The minister was more freight train than man. He had a wide face and thick jowls that reminded Baltar of those tough little dogs whose skin seemed overly generous for their faces. The simple effort of talking was enough to turn Markos' skin a bright shade of red.

Baltar ran his eyes over the frolicking crowds. Aside from some fetching women he would make an effort to get to know later, he didn't see what the man was referring to.

"What?" He asked finally.

Markos pointed a thick finger towards a quieter area near the tents. A woman was standing there, her back to him, in an incredible red dress. He knew who it was and he took his time. He ran his eyes over every dip and curve of her body. _God … I never did have time to find out if you really are a redhead._

"The former President and the Admiral."

_The Admiral? Where? _Baltar glanced at Markos and then back to where Roslin stood.The Admiral was indeed beside her and he looked as stuffy and boring as always in his lumpy uniform.Roslin didn't seem to find him boring, in fact, the way she was smiling …

"I'd bet my next weeks rations that they're frakking." Markos' announcement made Baltar choke on this drink.

"Are you being serious?" He mopped at the wet stubble on his face. _Adama is as out of shape as an over-washed sock. Roslin would never … hmm … I have a mind to take that bet. _One look at Markos' widely spaced blue eyes confirmed that the man was indeed serious. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

Baltar let his eyes continue to wander the crowd. _Now there's a sight. _Playa Palacios had joined in the folk dance.

"Someone should keep an eye on them. The last thing we want is interference from Roslin."

"Wonderful speech, Mister President" A brunette in a deliciously tight fitting flowered dress reached to shake Baltar's hand. He took her small hand in his and shook it gently and longer than necessary.

"Thank you. Can I get you a drink Miss --?" Baltar used his grip on her hand to draw the woman's arm over his own.

"Just Annie, please." She smiled widely.

"Just Annie, what a lovely name." She giggled then. _What had Markos been saying? Right_. "Well, Mister Markos, I do think you have the right idea. I leave the matter in your capable hands. Right now," he ran his hand over Annie's warm fingers. "I intend to celebrate like everyone else."

Markos was pleased. "As you wish, Mister President. Enjoy your day."

6 hours later.

"I've got people who want to get off the ship … move down here."

The settlement was dark but the party showed no signs of winding down. Laura lay with him atop a pile of heavy sandbags.

"Can't say as I blame them, I mean, what are you gonna do?"

He knew what he wanted to do. Even lulled by the weed and buzzing from the alcohol he was acutely aware of every place on his body that made contact with hers. His hand wandered over her back and traced lazy circles on the fabric that had lost its stunning red hue to the darkness.

There was only one other time he had felt this impulsive. _Colonial One_. His promotion. His chemical heavy brain refused to accurately remember how long ago. She had sat hunched and her hands had clenched repeatedly against her knee. He remembered his pride and a deep aching sadness. That day, as he had watched Billy Keikeya all but carry Laura to her quarters, he could not have imagined this future.

Laura shifted against him and stroked a warm hand over his chest.

He had never forgotten that first kiss. He could still feel the softness of her lips and the tremors that had run through her body. He had liked to think those tremors were caused by pleasure. He had known they were the result of pain.

Maybe it was this bittersweet memory or the effects of the alcohol that made him bold. At the moment, he didn't care. He felt for signs of resistance as he pulled her more fully onto him and sought her lips in the dark. She didn't hesitate. His hands buried themselves in the warmth under her hair. He followed the heat from her gasp and captured her mouth in a gentle yet open kiss. Her slight moan prompted his heart to abandon its regular rhythm.

All coherent thought slipped unhindered from his mind. Only sensation remained.

He savoured the feel of her lips, the soft press of her breasts against his chest and the light touch of her fingers where they slid through his hair. His back was cold and damp where it was pressed against the sandbags. The chill made him achingly aware of the heat that radiated from Laura's kiss, from the slightly rhythmic press of her body.

After several minutes of fervent exploration she settled back against his shoulder and he removed his hand from the soft fabric covering her breast. There was no need to rush things, no urgency in this new future. They simply held each other and fell asleep out on the sand.

Continued in part 2.


	2. Part 2  Fragment

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Thanks to SVR and Ellisandra for awesome beta work.

New Caprica

6 months before the Occupation

Laura stood outside her tent and looked up and down the dull row of dark green shelters. As near as anyone could figure, it was summer. Yet the wind was bracing, even in the morning, and temperatures were mild only on the rare sunny day.

Some families had made attempts to customize their makeshift homes. One tent had colourful strips of material tied to its main support brace. The colours flapped and swirled in the wind. From another she heard the faint clinking of tiny pebbles against an empty ration can. The sound was just perceptible below the ever-present drone of the public address system.

_Which way? _Laura closed her eyes and tried to picture the school tent, but she could not focus. The wind roared by her ears, people were chatting, arguing and children were laughing and screaming. A dog barked in the distance. Everything was louder and somehow more vivid. Her mind fed her a jumble of images and sensations.

_The blush on Bill's face when she'd pulled her wrap around her shoulders._

_A concrete floor, damp and cold against her naked skin._

_The press of the edge of Richard's desk against the back of her thighs._

_A blonde Cylon, her hair as bright as the sun, stroking her face._

_The wet heat of a long desired kiss._

_The glitter of Bill's uniform buttons and rank insignia in the sunlight when she had waited for him to wake._

She shook her head and turned her face into the bitter wind. The images faded.

_I can get through this._

She took a deep breath, wrapped her arms across her middle and opened her eyes. She had just spotted a familiar looking young boy running recklessly through the sea of legs in front of him when she felt Maya's hand on her shoulder.

"Good morning, ma'am." Maya said gently and shifted Isis against her hip.

"Hello Maya." Laura reached to brush her finger over Isis' cheek. "And good morning to you too, little one." Isis let out a wet sounding giggle and swatted at Laura's hand. She then tucked her head against Maya's chest and away from the wind.

In that moment, Laura felt grounded and the two women set off towards the school.

Battlestar Galactica

6 months before the Occupation

His comm buzzed for the second time. I feel like crap. Why didn't I just tell Saul to go away?

Adama leaned out of his rack and groped for the receiver. It slipped from his hand as he went to open the line and he groaned at the clatter when it struck the bulkhead. He sat up. He felt an unwelcome twinge in his back as he reached over to collect the phone.

"Go," he said automatically, breaking the string of confused greetings from the crewman on the other end. He worked the fingers of his other hand into the muscles of his lower back and tried to stop the spasms.

"Sir? Sorry to disturb you, sir, but President Baltar has moved up the time of your meeting to 06:30 hours."

Adama glanced at his clock. 05:15. Fifteen minutes before Jaffey -- no, Manchin now -- would bring his coffee and breakfast.

"Alert the hangar bay to have a Raptor prepped and ready in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Adama put a hand over his eyes and reached to turn on the light over his rack. He winced at brightness that slipped through the gaps between his fingers.

As he moved to the head he slowly peeled off the alcohol stained remainders of his uniform. He turned on the shower and didn't wait for it to heat up before he stepped fully into the stream of water. His whole body spasmed at the chill, but his head cleared. He rubbed the military issue soap over his aching muscles while the water slowly heated to scorching. The transition was familiar.

The memory was blurred at the edges and seemed to threaten to slip away if he focused all of his attention on it. He soaped his hair. The mind numbing after effects of weed and alcohol had left him with the memory of an intense mix of hot and cold and a lingering impression of her body, soft and yielding, under his hands. _Laura._

Desire. Regret. Fear. The same litany of emotions he always seemed to experience in her presence warred automatically for his attention. Only this time there was something more. He turned his face into the scalding spray. Hope.

The memory may have been fleeting but he knew … _knew _… that Laura had responded to his reckless advance.

She was drunk. High. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more. When you see her again, nothing will have changed. You can take comfort in that.

He turned off the taps and rested his head against the slick tile. Steam continued to rise around him.

Maybe I don't want that comfort.

Grabbing a towel, he drew it roughly over his skin. His mind was threatening to indulge in what that night might have led to and he was already halfway hard.

A knock at the hatch signaled that his coffee had arrived. It jarred his mind into military mode and he made quick work of donning a fresh uniform and collecting his breakfast. He turned his thoughts towards Baltar and the impending meeting.

He downed the coffee and stuffed a crusty piece of toast into his mouth.

Colonial One 

1 hour later.

"Mmm… yes … right there." President Gaius Baltar was stretched out on his leather sofa, naked to the waist. A woman leaned over him. Her long black hair occasionally made teasing contact with his skin. Her chest strained against her low cut blouse, its styling was similar to a maid's, and she continued to work the muscles of his back with long, lean fingers.

"Mr. President!"

_Why in God's name are you yelling?_ Baltar realized that the same voice had been begging for his attention for some time. He lifted his head fractionally and fixed Gaeta with an annoyed glare.

"What?" _God, woman, don't stop._

Gaeta looked mortified. "Sir, Admiral Adama and Minister Markos are waiting."

_Oh. Frak. _He sat up abruptly and pushed away … _Rachel's? Diane's? … _hands from where they hovered over his skin.

"So sorry, dear." He ran his finger down the outside of her arm. "This will only take a minute." He was momentarily distracted by the sheen of the massage oil on her fingers and the heaving cleavage now at eye level.

"Sir!"

Reluctantly turning his head, Baltar began a frantic search for his shirt and ended up on his knees beside the sofa to reach for it underneath. He could feel her gaze on his rear.

_Wait. Am I the President or not? _"Tell the Admiral and Mister Markos that I'll see them when I'm ready."

"But sir, the schedule change, they've been waiting almost half an hour."

_So Adama will be even grumpier than usual. So what. You've really got to shake all that military discipline, Mister Gaeta._

"And?" He glared at Gaeta from the floor.

Gaeta took a step back.

"I'll tell them, sir."

"Good." Baltar dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He took his time shrugging back into his shirt and allowed … _definitely Diane … _to do up the buttons. The fabric stuck slightly to the oil on his back. He kissed her chin gently. "I'll be back."

He pulled on his suit coat and glanced at the tie that was strewn over the arm of the sofa. He decided against it.

When he finally crossed into his office the Admiral's glare could have killed him where he stood.

"Thank you both for coming." _Keep a straight face. Just get it over with._

Markos nodded. Adama's expression remained unchanged.

"Right then. I'll make this quick. Admiral, you've met my Minister of Public Security?"

Adama glanced to where Markos stood with his hands braced on a chair. "At least three times before, Mr. President," he said, somehow managing not to sound disrespectful. "He's brought me up to speed on recruitment and training efforts for the civilian police."

"Excellent," Baltar leaned his hip onto his desk and scooped up the papers that Gaeta had left for him on the surface. He handed them to Markos. "You will provide Mr. Markos with any support or material that he may require."

"Understood." Adama nodded almost imperceptibly.

_Well, that was easy._

"You know," Baltar walked casually around his desk and sat down. "It pleases me that you and Mr. Markos are getting along so well. In fact … we've decided … well … I've decided that any further communication between this office and the military will take place through him."

Adama's cheek twitched. "That's hardly practical. There are times when I will need to contact you directly."

Baltar grabbed a cigarette from a worn box on his desk. He lit it, sat back in his chair and regarded Adama through the smoke. "Yes, of course … you're right. Only I'll decide when those times are."

"The Cylons –"

"Have been gone a long time. I don't need you to approve of this arrangement, just to follow orders. That is what you do … isn't it?" _I'm pissing you off aren't I? Must you always stand like that …have you any idea what psychologists would say about where you've got your hands folded?_

"Are we done here?"

"Ah, ah," Baltar waggled a finger at Adama and indicated Markos. He turned his back on the Admiral and reached to extinguish the cigarette. He could hear the drone of Markos' voice as he parted the curtains to his quarters and left the room entirely.

An impish smile on his face, Baltar sauntered up to Diane and slipped his arms around her waist.

"So," he said softly and paused to nip at her earlobe, "where were we?"

New Caprica

School Tent

5 months, 3weeks before the Occupation

The tent was large compared to what the colonists were using for their homes. Tables had been begged and borrowed from every ship that was willing to spare them. Baltar had replaced almost everything in her office in a matter of weeks and she had been able to lay claim to her desk. It sat at an angle at the front of the room. There was always a healthy dusting of chalk along its edge as it sat near the bank of blackboards that had been lifted from a storage room on the _Galactica._

Early on the kids had enjoyed kicking sand at each other under the tables. There had been several _accidentally _dropped writing utensils for the purpose of snagging a few handfuls to be slipped down the backs of, or generally tossed at, nearby classmates. Laura had put a stop to it quickly. The near impossible task of washing all the sand from the tables and chairs was an excellent deterrent, especially when the guilty students knew that their friends were out having fun.

It had been a long time and she had forgotten how consuming the job could be. Every minute of the day there were students at her elbow. They asked for help, begged for stories or field trips or just an ear to listen to the excited retelling of something that had happened at what passed for home. It was as rewarding as it was exhausting.

At the end of another day, she collapsed into the chair behind her desk. She watched the slight tremor in her hands as she sifted through the papers on its surface, looking for the seating plan.

_Corina Avalon, Adam Brooks, Henry Edom, Peter Grey, Nathan Icaria, Lucia Kalamata –_

Laura stopped when the names seemed to blur. She sighed. Halfway through today's algebra lesson all of her students' names had dropped from her mind. She had made it though the lesson. Barely.

She set the seating plan back down on her desk and closed her eyes. She leaned back in her chair, pulled off her glasses and rested them as quietly as possible on the desk. She pressed her fingers to the bone next to her right eye. A little more pressure and she could almost pretend that her searing headache was bearable. _You won't be able to ignore this_. _You should go before--._

Someone cleared his throat.

She took a deep breath, slowly dropped her hand and opened her eyes. _Frak that hurts. _She blinked rapidly and tried to force her mind to focus on the face in front of her.

_Wally Grey._

Laura's already churning stomach sank. Playing the political game always came with a cost, in this case a long and dear friendship. She found Wally's eyes and waited for him to break the silence unsure of how he would react to her.

"Look," Wally shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He had lost weight but not his bad taste in shirts. "I'm just here about Peter."

_So I'm not forgiven._

"All right," she said quietly and folded her hands on the desk.

"I … um … probably should have told you this sooner … somehow I just figured he would take care of it himself … twelve year olds …" He shook his head and gestured to the tables behind him. "Peter sits in the back row?"

Laura glanced surreptitiously at the seating plan and nodded. Wally sighed.

"He won't be able to see a thing from there. He ruined his glasses on the pyramid court … he knew better … and I haven't had any way of replacing them since the attack." He paused and she caught a hint of a smile. "Don't suppose you know if any optometrists survived?"

Her gentle laugh echoed loudly in her ears. She winced. "I'll move him closer to the front."

"You all right, Laura?" Wally still looked uncomfortable but he didn't leave.

She ignored the question and the fact that Wally appeared three times taller than he should. "What have you been doing, Wally?"

"Me? Well … someone must have convinced Baltar that I'm still useful to the government. I'm in charge of verifying the inventory of our supplies and preparing plans for their distribution. I've been through half of the grounded ships. It's slow work." Wally's voice was as monotonous as ever.

The tables in front of her were tiny and they were moving. Her heart began to pound. _Wally, you have to go._

"Any surprises?" she managed.

Wally snickered. "Some. The _Gemenon Traveler_ carried live chickens. They claim it was for religious purposes. Nothing religious about that smell." His smile disappeared. "Peter's not giving you any trouble is he?"

Laura could do no more than shake her head in the negative. The tent expanded. Contracted. At some point, ancient text appeared on the blackboard.

_No. Not now. Not in front of Wally._

"I swear that kid is always doing at least three things at once." Wally continued, oblivious to Laura's discomfort. He's been like that since he was two." He looked away from Laura. "It's been worse since the attacks."

Her head picked that moment to ache with frightening intensity. Her ears began to ring. She couldn't suppress a gasp as she dropped her head into her hand. Someone was talking but the throbbing and ringing would not subside enough for her to understand the words.

She felt a warm hand on her back. She forced her eyes open and struggled to recognize the woman leaning over her.

3 days later

Everything is slow, blurry. The light fades to darkness and she is left with the voices. She wants them to go away and they won't. They are not normal; they are atrophied somehow.

_I'm afraid the mass is malignant._

_Laura … oh Laura, I'm so sorry. There's been an accident._

_… And unto the leader they gave a vision of serpents, numbering two and ten …_

_My parents are going to meet me in the spaceport. On Caprica City. We're going to dinner. And I'm having chicken pie. And then daddy's going to read to me. Then I'm going to bed._

_Laura, honey, it'll just be you now. You've always been strong … just … promise me you won't spend your life alone._

_My father's been shot_

_Lords of Kobol, we trust in your benevolence and praise your righteousness. Give the people of this fleet the wisdom to see the goodness and the strength of your servant, Laura Roslin. Amen._

_What are you waiting for? Restrain her and do it. _

Her muscles go limp and she slides from her makeshift bed to the sand lined floor of her tent. She doesn't like the floor. She doesn't want to be there but she can't stop herself. She hates the sand. It's all over her. She tries to reach to brush it away only her mind can't make her hand move. She tries her other hand.

Nothing works.

There is a blinding flash and suddenly she is walking alone. Sand shifts under her bare feet, searing her pale skin.

The horizon is endless.

The sun, its disk hanging oppressively low over the sand, has turned the sky white. The landscape shudders as it throws off the endless pounding heat.

She has so far to go.

Even though her eyes cannot perceive it, she knows that her destination lies ahead of her. It will be blue and green and cool and it will be home.

Seconds feel like hours.

There is no breeze, no sound.

The heart of the day offers no distraction. No respite from the blazing sun.

Sweat runs down her stomach and her arms and the back of her legs. It stings. She feels the sun scorch the salty liquid from her skin and feels the resulting blisters as they form and bubble and crack. The pain is beyond reason.

Still she walks on.

Her head begins to swim, spin, and her heartbeat races in her chest. Her stomach roils and she tastes the tang of bile in the back of her throat.

The sand is deeper now, heavier, and hotter and the muscles in her legs are cramping. Her vision is reduced to flashes: blues and oranges and reds as deep as the red of her blood.

Her skin is suddenly on fire and she knows that she has fallen. She is taking in sand with every breath. The grains are gritty and sharp and she can feel her throat begin to bleed. She wants to cry in frustration but there is no moisture left in her for tears.

Slowly, slowly she begins to sink.

The hiss of the sand rising around her is deafening. Its weight increases increases increases until it's crushing on her back. Consumed with panic, she opens her mouth to scream and the sand rushes in. Its weight settles in her lungs. It's dry and it's heavy and it's choking. She can feel the sand crawling slowly through her heart with the blood. She is choking and her heart is failing and --

"Laura."

She recognizes the voice. It is soft and rough and male. Her mind clings to it like a lifeline and the panic begins to ebb.

"You're shaking."

She is almost slippery in his arms; her body is so drenched in cold sweat. Shudders run through her. His touch and the press of his body against hers can do little to still them. She pushes her hands against his chest and he doesn't resist. He lets her push away and watches confused as she struggles to back away from him.

It was noon. On one of countless dreary days. A mining survey team had been scheduled for planet fall and on the last minute he had decided to join them. Frak Baltar and his protocols, he was not going to submit a landing request only to have it languish for weeks on Markos' desk. This was Admiral's prerogative. Plain and simple. His personal life wasn't anyone's business.

The rain had been light. Tory had tried to stop him outside of Laura's tent.

_"You don't want to go in there, sir." Her grip on his arm was tight._

_"Why?" He fixed the young woman with a hair-straightening glare._

_"Miss Roslin has asked that her privacy be respected."_

_It was then that Laura screamed._

_"Like hell."_

He had nearly torn the sturdy green fabric in his haste to open the tent.

Now as he knelt across from Laura, her breathing loud and ragged in the space between them, he tried to decide what might have caused this.

She was preoccupied with the floor of the tent near her feet. Her head was cradled in her hands and she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Laura –"

"We're here. Admiral Adama and Tory Foster. Laura, you're in your tent," came from Tory behind him.

When she looked up this time she saw him. He could read the recognition and her embarrassment on her face.

"Go away, Bill," her voice wavered slightly. She cleared her throat and ran her hand over the ground, but did not touch it. "Frakking sand … I can't get away from the frakking sand."

He didn't move. She didn't look hurt and Tory seemed to know what was going on. He didn't want to leave her shaking on the floor of her tent.

"Can I get someone?" He said at last.

She had her face pressed against her knees but lifted it when she realized that no one had left.

"No!" Her voice was harsh, sharper now that he'd ever heard it. She sat back fully onto her heels and tried to relax her shoulders. Seemingly shocked at the sound of her own voice, she took a deep breath and started again.

"No, please." There was a long pause. "I'm sorry, I can't think. I just need to be alone. I'm all right Bill … I will be all right."

He studied her eyes then. They were calm; they held his gaze effortlessly and kept him from seeing the woman with the wild hair and clinging nightgown who continued to clutch at her legs.

_You don't look all right, Laura. Even when you were sick, you never looked like this. I never saw you like this. _The mental correction stung. He knew that Laura had suffered with the cancer but she had kept so much to herself. He pictured her like this in her tiny personal space on _Colonial One_ and his chest ached. _Maybe Billy had been a comfort to her. _

He folded his hands in front of him and lifted his chin. _She doesn't want your help._

"Will I see you at the blessing?" he asked. New Caprica had been graced with its first native resident. A ceremony had been planned to mark the occasion.

She nodded her head and didn't offer any further words. It took all of his strength to turn from her. He grabbed Tory's arm as he stepped from the tent and they stood out in the now pouring rain.

"What's going on?" He tried to keep his disappointment out of his voice. The sand was rapidly turning to mud.

She shook out of his grip.

"I'm not sure she'd want me to tell you. You weren't supposed to be planet side until next month."

He wanted to shake Tory, yell at her, anything that might get him a better answer. He would stand until he was soaked to the bone if that was what it took.

"It will pass, sir," was all she offered.

Continued in part 3.

Thanks and love to those who have reviewed ... it's very appreciated!


	3. Part 3  The Dinner

_See Disclaimer, part 1. Special thanks to my betas: SVR and Ellisandra._

_Colonial One_  
3 months before the occupation.

"Crop failure. Again." Baltar stabbed the report in front of him with his index finger. He grabbed a cigarette, jammed it into his mouth and lit it with a quick flick of the lighter in his other hand. In the process, his elbow sent a teetering pile of reports to the floor. He hardly noticed. "The sad irony, Mister Gaeta, is that I could have fixed that. Tested the soil. Engineered the crops. Instead I'm stuck here, answering to a thankless group of Ministers who do nothing but whine like spoiled children."

He took a frustrated drag from the cigarette and considered his office. It always smelled faintly of sex, cigarettes and mold. His home on Caprica had been built to capture the morning sunrise at its most spectacular and to showcase the landscape that the sprawling home had overlooked. It had been a refuge, an oasis of calm for a chronically busy and cluttered mind.

It wasn't that New Caprica lacked beauty. Not entirely. The mountains and valleys boasted some spectacular views that were made unnecessarily dull by the overcast skies. As President, he had yet to even begin to have the time to investigate the possibilities. He had promised the people solid ground under their feet and open sky over their heads and he had delivered. Now, it seemed, he was the only one still living in a metal box.

He had attempted to find his solace in the physical beauty of his many aides and consorts and everyday saw him sink further into their embrace.

Gaeta bent to gather up the papers on the floor. "It's not that bad, sir. There's no reason to lose hope."

Baltar snickered loudly. "I've waited nine long months for a reason." _Do you hear me? Have faith, Gaius. That's what you've always said. You never said anything about patience. _He ignored Gaeta's confused look. "Is this what I was meant for? To waste my time on failed crops, blown out power grids and lazy workers. This is God's almighty plan for Gaius Baltar?" _What have I done? What have I done to lose you this time? You're probably waiting, yes, waiting until I'm at my most desperate. Well you won't be disappointed._ "I almost wish she'd gotten away with it. Rigging the bloody election. Then at least I'd have been spared this." He swept his hand as if to indicate the entire planet and everyone on it.

Gaeta looked expectantly at him, as if he were waiting to say something.

"Yes, Mr. Gaeta. Rant over. Where are my pills?" The young aide produced the bottle from under the desk.

"You may want to wait before taking those, Mister President." Gaeta had not let go of the bottle. _Frak off. _Baltar snatched it away from him in disgust.

"Why?"

"The ceremony? The first baby born on New Caprica?'"

Baltar covered his face with both hands. He sat for a moment and then said between his fingers. "Oh give up, I'm not going. Find Markos, or better yet, Zarek." _Maybe I'll do nothing … maybe I'll just sit here and wait for a sign from God. _

"But the speech – I wrote it for _you_."

"You have time, Mister Gaeta. Make it less brilliant, shouldn't be hard." Baltar popped the lid on the amber bottle and took the pills dry.

* * *

Tent City  
3 months before the Occupation.

Laura stops. She knows this place. She knows this path, has walked it again and again in her mind. The sun remains oppressively low in the sky and her body is burnt and swollen from the endless radiation. She considers her blistered feet and how, even as she stands still, they sink lower into the sand.

She lifts her face, resolute in her decision to turn back this time.

An oracle stands before her and she stumbles backward. The woman's face is pale, sickly and gaunt and it's distorted by the waves of heat that rise from the sand. Her heavy robes are tattered and dry and she looks as comfortable as if it were a balmy spring day.

_You're not real None of this is real. _Laura blinked rapidly but the woman remained.

_Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see  
The distant scene -- one step enough for me._

The woman did not move, nor did she speak. Laura's tongue is thick and dry and clings to the inside of her mouth.

_Why? _Her mind answered the disembodied voice. _Why walk willingly to my death?_

The oracle extends her arms towards Laura. In her gnarled fingers she holds a steaming stoneware cup.

_It is an ancient story, embedded in the fabric of time. Have faith._

When the steam from the cup reaches her face, Laura's anxiety begins to bleed away. She accepts the heavy glass; it is cold in her shaking hands. There is no one to stop her as she brings it to her cracked lips. Though still steaming, the liquid that spills over her chin and down her throat is soothing and cool. Her heart rate slows. Her breathing calms. Fear, pain, other physical sensations, they slide from her skin until it feels as if they exist only in the shadow that follows her on the sand.

The cup is soon empty and the oracle gone. There are no prints in the sand, no signs that anyone ever stood before her.

Still clutching the cup, Laura begins to walk again. Forward. The sand, under her feet, grows deeper …

She was cold. She was sitting bolt upright on her makeshift bed, the blankets twisted around her legs. The tent was dark and quiet. Trembling, Laura rubbed her hands repeatedly over her arms and, for a few dragging seconds, allowed the fear to grip her mind and body. The path never changed. The result never changed. How foolish was she to hope? To think that she could have something that the Gods never intended. A future.

"Laura?" A bright triangle of light forced her to turn her face away as the tent flap was pulled back.

For a second she convinced herself that it was Bill, but the acrid scent of cigarette smoke told her otherwise.

She rolled up her sleeve, already knowing the reason he'd come.

"The worst of this should be over. Have you been able to eat anything?" The alcohol was cold on her skin. A rubber tube wound around her arm and she hardly felt the prick of the needle. She watched impassively as her blood flowed into the small glass vile sitting in his upturned hand. She almost expected to see sand.

"No."

* * *

Tent City  
3 months before the Occupation

"Mmm … so … what do you all think of this place – wish you'd waited for Earth?" Ellen Tigh sat back and turned a heavy glass tumbler in her hand. Adama watched the clear liquid inside nearly spill over the edge. Laura Roslin, Kara and Sam Anders, and Tory Foster all looked taken aback. When no one was quick to answer, Adama said:

"Kind of hard to make a comparison, don't you think?"

She rubbed a well-manicured hand over his forearm. "Of course, Bill, of course. Baltar really is a slave driver, though. Ordering people to report to designated work areas. Assigning tasks at random. No scheduled breaks, no pay … all for the greater glory of New Caprica!" She raised her glass in a mock toast and took a long drink. She licked her lips. "Don't you have any pull with him, Bill? He'd listen to you, you know? He really needs a good kick in the--"

"I'm sure the Admiral has his hands full coordinating the orbital patrol." Laura's voice was flat. She did no more than pick at her food. He had noticed that she just cut the overcooked vegetables into smaller and smaller pieces, but rarely brought them to her mouth. Though she looked significantly better than when he had last seen her, there was fragility to her, a nervousness that she had trouble hiding, at least from him.

Ellen's tent was somewhat larger than average and Adama wondered what kind of strings she had pulled to get the extra space. It always seemed that Ellen knew _somebody_. They all sat on cushions around a low wooden table. Shadows flickered over everyone's faces from the thick, drip heavy candles that filled every available space on the table and every other surface in the tent. Most were scented and the air in the tent was warm and thick.

The ceremony had been nice; there was something wonderfully hopeful about the birth of a child. He thought of the Tyrols, unable to come tonight because Cally was having a particularly bad time with the symptoms of her pregnancy. He remembered Carolanne's morning sickness very well; he had thought it was poorly named, as it certainly wasn't limited to the early hours.

Zarek had represented the new government and Adama tried to remember the last time he'd even seen Baltar.

Ellen had turned to Roslin. "Yes, well it's nice to see more than one person is where they belong. I hear nothing but good things from your students, by the way. They miss you, but we all know how awful food poisoning can be … I mean … I ate a bad cucumber once and I swear … I thought I was going to die. You're in your tent a lot though, I would think you'd be in the public bath most of the time."

Tory's mouth opened and Laura silenced her with a quick glare.

"If I could have made it there, I would have." Laura said, turning her glare on Ellen.

"Yuck." That was Kara. Her single word was enough to draw Ellen's attention.

"Hmm … you two lovebirds." She reached across the table and squeezed Sam's hand. How long until there's a ceremony for you? You have gained a little weight the last few months, Kara."

"Frak y—"

"Not anytime soon." Anders cut off his wife. His hand was firm on her shoulder and it kept her seated. "But we're hopeful for the future."

Ellen burst into a bright smile. "That's wonderful. Children are such a blessing, don't you think, Bill?" She took another long sip from her glass. "I hear Lee is _expanding_ into his new position." She giggled. "How are things up there?" She pointed at the ceiling of her tent and giggled again. "How's my Saul?"

Adama ate a watery green bean. "It's routine. We're working with a reduced staff so everyone just has that much more to do."

"You mean its boring," she slipped a hand over his shoulder and slid her fingers up his neck to his ear. Slowly, she ran them along his earlobe and the over the whorls of his outer ear. "Do tell him to come home, Bill." Her breath was against his cheek now. "Tell him what he's missing."

He grabbed her hand, meaning to guide it back to the table, but she just smiled and laced her fingers with his. "I've missed you too, Bill," she said sweetly.

Kara had finally managed to stand up. "Ellen, thank you for dinner. Sam and I are on the early detail tomorrow so you'll have to excuse us."

Ellen stood up and winked. "The night is young; I understand." She circled the table until she was close enough to Anders to speak into his ear. Even in the candlelight, Adama could see Anders' face turn a bright shade of red.

He coughed loudly.

"Um … right." He tried to step away from her but she had a grip on his arm. She used it to pull him down and kiss both of his cheeks.

"Lovely seeing you! Take care of that cough!" she called after the couple as they left the tent.

Adama had already stood up with Roslin and Tory and all three attempted to collect the dishes from the table.

"Oh … no, no, no!" Ellen was pulling the dishes from his hands. "I can handle this. Does anyone want another drink?"

Everyone looked at everyone else. A chorus of no thank yous followed.

"Well, all the more for me then!"

Laura and Tory said their thank yous and goodbyes and Laura tolerated Ellen kissing the air beside her cheeks. Adama watched Laura go. Ellen, of course, noticed.

"So," Ellen put her body in the way of his view of Laura. "Are the rumors true?"

"Excuse me?"

"Has Bill Adama actually given up his vow of celibacy?" She frowned. "That food poisoning spell –or whatever it was-- must have been a bitch, though."

"Good night, Ellen." He pulled her arm from around his waist. "Thank you for dinner."

"I'll take silence as a yes, you know." She called after him as he finally emerged from the tent.

It was dark. The air was still and cold. There was some fluorescent lighting lining the main concourse and he was able to catch a glimpse of auburn hair heading away from him.

"Excuse me, Admiral?"

Adama turned. Jarek Markos cast a wide shadow over the ground. He wore no coat and his sleeves were pushed halfway up his bulky arms. Adama resisted an urge to look back over his shoulder to see where Laura had gone.

"It's late." Adama grumbled.

"This won't take long. Please, follow me." Markos turned without waiting for an answer and began to work his way past the many closed up shops that lined the main concourse.

* * *

Bill sat on the edge of her cot and tried not to look cold. It was early morning; the sky was dark and heavy with cloud. She had let her fire die because she had meant to make the journey out to the river. Though the settlement was mostly quiet, the thin walls of the tent allowed the muted cries of a child, a whispered conversation and a moan of passion to pass into her space. The lack of privacy had been unnerving at first but she soon found that she noticed the interruptions less and less.

"We can't talk here, can we?" Bill said, glancing at the dull green fabric. "It's bad enough I've got Baltar's lapdog breathing down my neck."

She glanced at him, relieved, as she worked to put on the heavy boots that Kara had lent her. Any delay in the conversation they now had to have was welcome.

"What did he want?" She asked the question though she no longer really cared. Baltar's administration was rife with opportunists of every sort and its problems were too numerous to count. The people had made a choice and with it they had released her from the political grind. It was better to leave well enough alone than to burn through her days coming up with recommendations that would be summarily ignored.

"He wants to have an evacuation plan in place. In case the Cylons return."

"It's been a long time, Bill."

He took off his glasses and slowly folded them. "I know. He was humoring me … eating up time. "

"When are you scheduled to return to _Galactica?_" She could feel his eyes on her as she finished lacing the second boot.

"Less than an hour …"

_Frak. You just got here. _She continued to adjust the laces, unwilling to let him see the disappointment on her face. His hand settled lightly on her shoulder. She trembled a little at the contact and felt an embarrassed flush reach her neck.

"Laura, where can we talk?" His voice was soft but there was an undercurrent of impatience, of command.

There wasn't a lot of room in the tent and her body brushed against his as she went to collect his coat from the back of her only chair. His hand slid from her shoulder, but she felt it ghost like along her side.

"Take this. It's cold where we're going." She pushed his own wool coat into his hands and he watched as she pulled a second sweater over her head. It caught momentarily on her glasses and he chuckled softly. When her head surfaced, she saw him holding the coat out towards her.

"Laura, I—"

"Trust me; I'm used to it. This place makes a night on Kobol seem like a resort stay."

He didn't argue any further, pulled on the coat and followed her out of the tent. He paused only a second at the tent flap when he caught the faintest scent of flowers. He smiled inwardly at the evidence that she had indeed been wearing the coat.

The tent city stood in shadow. As they moved past the muted artificial light that came from some of the grounded ships, Bill wondered how Laura was able to tell where she was going. The grass crunched slightly under their feet, the result of an early frost. Her small hand pulled insistently on his and soon all sounds of civilization dropped away leaving only the rhythmic hiss of insects and in the distance, the sound of water churning over rock.

After about twenty minutes, she led him up a rise and he could smell the water soaked foliage that clung to the banks of the river. The water was as black as ink. She was right; it was damned cold. He was sure that if it had been lighter, they would have been able to see their breath.

She settled him beside her on what felt like the bark of a large fallen tree. Her hand slipped out of his and he felt a small stab of regret.

"There wasn't time." He heard a hitch in her breathing as she breached the issue that had been hanging between them since he'd arrived for the ceremony.

"For what, Laura? What happened?"

His voice was measured, soft and she felt the comfort of it in the same way as she had the warmth of his coat. She knew he was looking at her and wondered how much of her profile he could make out.

The week in question was a jumble in her mind. Trying to remember it was like trying to remember her earliest childhood memories. It was impossible to distinguish what had been real and what had been merely dreams. Hearing Bill's voice now in the dark brought back the worst of the visions but also a sense of hope as his voice had broken through them with a single word.

She hesitated and skimmed her hands over the material of her long skirt, attempting to smooth creases that were far too deep to respond to her ministrations. _Just start talking. You just need to start._

"Ahh … mmm," she cleared her throat and ran her tongue over the dry skin of her lower lip. "Do you remember Royan Jahee?"

There was a pause and she knew that she had put him briefly off balance.

"That sniveling pain in the ass from Demand Peace? Yeah." He said then.

The edge of Laura's mouth lifted in a brief smile. "I was barely out of bed when I went to see him, Bill," she paused and finished, her voice barely rising over the hiss of the wind in the trees, "and forty eight hours before that …"

His hand settled on her forearm and she felt the light squeeze of his fingers through the heavy sweaters.

"I couldn't look back, Bill. Hera, the black market, terrorists on the Rising Star and then the election, there was no time." The sky behind him had begun to brighten.

Her eyes drifted down to her hands where they twisted nervously in her lap. She took a deep breath. Her next words would change his impression of everything that had gone between them since her cure. She pushed down her nerves and the churning in her stomach and forced the words.

"Chamalla is addictive."

She felt him shift beside her. The words seemed to hang in the air, stark against the soft pink light lining the horizon.

"Yes, it is," he said quietly and she thought she could detect a hint of disappointment in his voice. "You didn't stop taking it." It was more of a statement than a question yet she answered him anyway.

"No. I didn't. Not until last month." A heavy weight seemed to leave her chest as the words came out. "The withdrawal is …unpleasant."

Bill was no stranger to addiction. As the first Cylon war dragged on, and his reaction times slowed, he had started using stims. He rode the rush while he was on missions and drowned the inevitable crash in sweat and alcohol. Eventually, the crashes got so bad that it was just easier to stay on the stims.

Injury and a temporary loss of flight status had forced him into withdrawal. He'd found himself horribly anxious, unable to sleep and wanting stims more than his next breath. He still had the vivid memory of an unbearable itching under his skin. He had cut into his arms to try to get relief, with a nearly fatal result. The fleet had been there for him, though, with a program and drugs to ease the transition.

From what he had seen in her tent, Laura had had no such help. It was heartrending to think of her in that kind of hell.

In the aftermath of the attacks, withdrawal drugs were in demand as sources of addictive substances quickly dried up. _Galactica_ had a reserve for pilots and he wished that she had asked. Cottle would have had to know that he would have released some for her.

Laura wasn't looking at him and he could feel her body shaking slightly against his. He had been silent too long. She flinched when he placed his hand under her chin, but didn't resist when he turned her face towards his.

"You did what you had to do." He held her gaze, watched as a single tear came to rest at the edge of her eye. "A lot of us have done things we're not proud of. It's a product of war."

The addiction he understood, but this was chamalla. He asked the question that burned in his mind.

"What did you see? That day."

Laura shook her head and reached to pull his hand away from her face.

"It doesn't matter."

Frustrated that she had offered the answer he had expected, he allowed her to remove his hand and turn her face away. He dropped his head and studied the decaying leaves that covered the riverbank. Most were too heavy with water for the swirling wind to pick up. His mind was already saying the words yet it took effort to force them out.

"It does to me."

It was times like this that she wanted the chamalla most of all. Visions aside, chamalla had meant distance. Distance from feelings, from pain, from the daily hardship of existing in her cancer ravaged body. She had become used to that distance. It allowed her mind to focus on the decisions that had to be made. And chamalla had made it easier to ignore the cravings of her heart.

Did he know what he was doing to her? Sitting there with his body brushing hers, his voice rough and deep enough to cause shivers to run through her that had nothing to do with the cold. The vivid memory of his kiss that night out on the sandbags played in her mind and she ached to know what his kiss would feel like now. Without the numbness of the chamalla. Without the distance.

He stood and walked a few steps towards the river and she wondered if her continued silence had angered him.

_Why would you push me on this? You don't believe. _

It was frustrating. In the weeks during which she had considered this conversation in her mind, it had never gone this far. _It does to me. _She ran her eyes over the strong lines of his back and in that moment realized that what he had said had nothing to do with the Gods or whether or not he believed in them.

Slowly she stood and walked the short distance between them. She put a hand on his arm and gently but firmly forced him to turn towards her. Not touching him, she took one step closer.

"I see an endless desert." She set her cheek against his so he could feel the words, feel the heat of her breath on his skin. "I am walking alone. I know my destination and yet I can't see it." She felt his hands settle on her waist, the pressure barely detectable through her thick sweaters. "The heat of the sun is unbearable and I can feel my skin scorching and peeling. Every step becomes harder as the sand deepens and it's not long before I fall. The sand consumes me then, invading my body and burying it under its weight." Her body wss shaking and his hand gently stroked her back. She closed her eyes and slid her mouth across his skin. Her next words were spoken against his lips. "It's always the same. I never—"

She gasped as he pressed forward, taking her mouth with an aggressiveness that caused her knees to buckle. His grip on her waist prevented her fall and she felt tears run along her face at the sheer intensity of his kiss. She was almost dizzy as he pushed her back, supporting her until she felt her back pressed against something uneven and rough. _Tree_. He slid his hands up her body to her face and broke the kiss.

"You're afraid," he said between breaths. "Afraid that this won't last. That somehow you don't deserve the freedom that you have now." He pushed forward again seemingly unable or unwilling to release her lips long enough to finish his thought. The kiss was salty with her tears. When he pulled away again she found it hard to catch her breath. "I wish we had more time. I want you to know something." He held her face in his hands. "When the time comes, you won't walk alone."

Continued in part 4.

_The first two lines spoken by the oracle are taken from Cardinal Newman's "The Pillar and the Cloud." Thanks for your comments -- they are very appreciated._


	4. Part 4 Wally Grey

See Disclaimer Pt. 1. Huge thanks to betas SVR and Ellisandra.

_Battlestar Galactica  
_2 months, 2 weeks before the Occupation.

Sweat rolled down his shoulders and pooled in the small of his back. He held the weights steady at his side and then slowly brought them up to meet with a distinct clack above his head. The sound echoed loudly in the nearly empty gym. He repeated the exercise, feeling his muscles begin to shake with the effort to keep his movements slow. _Keep breathing. _He grimaced, puffing hard.

_Clack._

Bill had found himself in the dank room more and more as his access to the planet below became increasingly restricted. Sweat clung to the walls of the gym like a texturing on the paint and the air was stale and warm. He hardly noticed the cloying smell.

_Clack._

Cottle would probably have objected to the amount of weight he was lifting, as fragile as the doctor considered his heart, but he was seldom on _Galactica _long enough to complain_. And I wouldn't have listened. _The physical effort helped to sate a need that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

_Clack._

_It was the most bitterly cold morning he could remember. Laura's hand was warm, its pull urgent, and she led him a long way in the dark. She spoke of addiction and of vision._

_I see an endless desert. I am walking alone._

_His body responded to her nearness, to her breath against the skin of his cheek. When her lips grazed his he was no longer able to hold back. _

_Clack._

He grunted and sensed that his arms had few reps left in them. He tried to concentrate on simply lifting the weights, on forcing his body to test its limits, on breathing.

_Clack._

It was no good. The feel of Laura's mouth on his sank into his exhausted mind.

_He was not gentle and she did not back away from him. He wanted to push that hellish vision as far from her mind as he could. He had been there. He knew what it would be like to lose her; her sudden cure did not erase the agony of the hours before it. If they could not escape the vision's portent, then he wanted her to know: _

_When the time comes, you won't walk alone._

_He reclaimed her mouth, tasted her tears and followed them with his lips. She raised her arm above her head, her knuckles brushed the bark behind her, and he dug his hand up under her sweaters. Her skin trembled under his hand, likely the result of the cool air that followed his touch. He swallowed the breath she lost when he slipped her breast free of her bra._

_Clack._

He hoped that she hadn't noticed his hesitation. He hadn't meant the memory of her cancer to stay his hand. But it did.

For a long time he had believed that he'd made the decision from his gut and had refused to look at it any more closely. Baltar had a cure for the President's cancer and she had mere hours to live. There wasn't time for details or questions and he simply gave the order to proceed.

She had stepped back into the Presidency with hardly a glance at what had gotten her there. They never spoke of it.

He dropped the weights to the surface of the bench in front of him, leaned over it and pressed his hands into the black vinyl.

He had used the blood of his enemy to save his friend without once thinking of what Laura herself might have wanted. He had kept her on this desperate journey because he could not stand to lose her. It didn't feel like love. It was selfishness disguised as a military decision and he'd done it before. He remembered the conversation as if it had happened yesterday.

_Crap unacceptable. Whatever it is you feel about this, the recovery of o­ne pilot is a military matter._

_All right... it's military, fine. And you're both officers and you're both honorable men and you're both perfectly aware that you are putting the lives of over 45,000 people and the future of this civilization at risk, for your personal feelings. _

Bill grabbed a towel and slid it around his neck, bringing up the ends to mop the sweat from his face. _She knows the decision was yours. You're afraid, old man. _He glanced at the clock. His distraction had left him a scant ten minutes before his duty shift. He stood slowly, his muscles already protesting the intensity of the workout.

He hesitated, looking at his reflection in the partly steamed mirrored wall. The lifting had left his muscles well sculpted. His stomach and chest were a bit soft and he was glad his scars were hidden beneath his sweat stained tanks. _Not bad for an old man. _For the first time in countless years he wished he were going somewhere other than CIC.

* * *

Market Row  
Two months before the Occupation 

"Laura?" A hand closed around her elbow and she turned as Wally Gray fell into step beside her. She shifted Isis to her other hip and the child continued to fuss and wriggle. "Ellen told me you were feeling better. It's … it's good to see you."

She paused, not sure quite what to say. The last time she'd talked to him she had collapsed over her desk. _Sorry you had to see that, Wally. _

He rushed on. "I see you've got your hands full there."

The market was busy, people shouted and coughed and she had to press close to Wally to hear what he was saying. They were constantly jostled and bumped as colonists struggled to get the provisions they needed.

"Maya's come down with that respiratory infection that's been going around. I'm just trying to give her a little relief but –" Isis had begun to wail; she twisted against Laura and what was visible of her face under the hat and blankets turned an angry shade of red. She had been difficult lately, even for Maya.

"Not as easy as it looks, I know." Wally gave her a nervous smile and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Peter was never happy unless he was moving. I don't know how many times we rode the subway in the middle of the night."

"Whatever works, huh?" She sighed inwardly. She could talk down an entire room of arguing Quorum delegates, but she couldn't settle one fussing child.

"Yeah. May I?" He held out his arms and without really thinking about it, Laura handed him the squealing baby. Isis started at the shift and her eyes came to rest on Wally's face. Her crying diminished to a few questioning hiccups. "Do what you have to do."

Relieved and grateful for Wally's help she accomplished what little bartering she had to do. The official line was that her teacher's salary had yet to be negotiated, that she would have to have patience while the government decided on an appropriate compensation system. Personally, she felt that Baltar's government had relied far too long on the good will of the people. How was it that after almost a year they were still working with a ration system?

The parents of her students had been generous. She often found tea bags or other supplies left on her desk, or something repaired in the classroom or a pile of books at the entrance to her tent. Despite the government's lackluster efforts, what had been a frightened people running for survival was now a slowly building community.

"Thanks so much." she pushed her bag of supplies up her arm and took Isis back from him.

"You're ok?" he said.

_Can't say I feel good, just normal. I haven't felt normal in a very long time._

"Yes." They were nearing the end of the market row and the crowds began to thin. Isis had wound her fingers in Laura's hair and had started brushing the glossy ends over her tiny face. Wally continued to walk beside them.

"Would you have some time in the next few days to meet me on the _Astral Queen_?" he asked.

"The _Astral Queen_?" she repeated.

"I know. I've kind of been avoiding her. Prison ships give me the creeps." He shrugged his shoulders and offered an embarrassed smile. "Anyway, I've come across some log books … paper is paper right? … and other supplies and I was wondering if you would like to see if there's anything the school could use."

"Of course," she said immediately. "We'll take anything we can get."

He smiled. "I figured –"

Isis' renewed screaming drowned out whatever else Wally said.

"Hi Miss Roslin!" A young girl ran by, waving her hand wildly at Laura.

"Hi Lucia." She watched as the girl careened into the bright red coat of the man in front of her. He turned and Laura saw smiles on both his and Lucia's faces as he righted her and sent her on her way.

"1600 hours tomorrow all right?"

She turned her attention back to Wally, "Sorry." She bounced Isis against her hip and gave Wally an apologetic look. "1600 hours tomorrow is just fine."

"I'll see you then." He smiled and patted Isis gently on the back. She watched as he turned and began to thread his way through the crowd.

Six hours later.

Isis was curled tightly against Laura's chest. The tent billowed around them and the slowly dying fire cast flickering light against the shifting fabric. The crisp air and the scent of dried leaves and burning wood were comfortable and familiar.

Laura had been about to give up on settling the child, when she had remembered that the baby had grown accustomed to falling asleep in the classroom during lessons. When Laura had realized that her voice was soothing to the child, she had walked the colony for hours while she recited prayers, half remembered poems and commented on everything and everyone they passed. When Isis had fallen asleep against her shoulder Laura had shifted the baby, her arms aching, and had headed for home.

Her glasses sliding down her nose, Laura looked up from the tattered paperback in her hands. She was surprised at how fitfully the baby slept; if she wasn't wriggling she was softly grunting, her breathing changing cadence enough that it was difficult to ignore. _This is sleeping like a baby?_ She rubbed her fingers gently along the child's back and went back to softly reading the intriguing mystery aloud, genuinely surprised at how much she was enjoying it. At the sound of her voice, Isis' head shifted against Laura's left breast and her breathing became rhythmic. Laura flinched slightly expecting a shooting pain despite months of living without cancer. Instead the child's weight was warm and comfortable and Laura found herself blinking back tears.

_I think it's time I thanked you. _

She felt an odd mixture of love and fear of the child. As endearing and innocent as the baby seemed, Laura was one of few who knew what she was. What they both were now. She had spent months hiding from the truth of her cure, had buried herself thoroughly in the work and forced herself never to look back. It was so much harder to ignore now, lying in her tent with the baby so close that she might have been part of Laura.

_All life is cyclical. We are not unique. People like us have existed before and will exist again. _Laura found herself curious. What had happened in the past? What did it mean for the future? Were they humanity's curse, the harbingers of humanity's end? Was humanity destined to exist only as a part of a whole?

Isis turned her head and Laura could feel her warm breath against the skin of her upper chest. The baby's arm slid under her breast and her tiny hand clutched at Laura's side. There were voices outside the tent; someone had a hacking cough.

She had not chosen this cure, had woken resentful in that pale and sterile smelling sickbay. Couldn't they see that she was spent? That she had given everything she had to leave humanity a fighting chance against the Cylons. Death had been earned and once she had accepted it, it was hard not to feel cheated. Deprived of the rest that she had deserved.

She had spent the first twenty-four hours of her recovery in a depression so deep that she had refused to eat, or move or open her eyes. She had wanted only one thing, chamalla and had craved it every day since. Baltar had leaned smugly over her, admiring his work. Cottle had shuffled nervously in the background, checking and rechecking blood tests and readouts and scans. And Bill was simply missing, his focus on the fleet and the people that she had let go.

During those early hours, she could almost feel her blood. Invading, healing, mutating, like she had an enemy now on the inside as well. Yet each hour had brought her strength. The vise grip of pain that had circled her chest eased more and more allowing her the forgotten luxury of deep, unhurried breaths. She had hated herself for the relief it gave her, for the hope that was trying to gain purchase in her mind.

It was then that he had come to her; sickbay had been quiet and near empty. He hadn't said anything. Hadn't asked how she was or what he could do. Unafraid of her still pale and thin body, Bill had gathered her in his arms and had taken her weight against his chest.

The Cylon lay asleep a few feet away and Laura had been unable to keep her gaze from drifting to the swell of her abdomen. _Gods, if you had listened to me, Bill … _

He had held her the entire night.

Now that this impossible second chance had been granted her, Laura knew that she would no longer be content to live without his touch.

She could still feel his lips on her skin, the slight tickle of his moustache, and the warmth of his hand on her breast.

Laura had stopped reading for several minutes, but there was no break in Isis' soft snoring.

_I ordered them take your life, little one, yet you saved mine._

_I would have let them hurt you yet because of you, I am no longer in pain._

The fire was reduced to glowing embers and she reached to draw a thick wool blanket over them. Setting the book aside, Laura pulled off her glasses and found her face wet.

"Thank you," she whispered gently. Her breath stirred the baby's hair. "Thank you for saving my life."

_

* * *

Battlestar Galactica_  
2 months before the Occupation 

"Remember nuggets, BFM is flown in the future, not the present. Observe, predict, maneuver and then be prepared to react to changes. Everything goes down as fragged. Dradis is frakked out here boys and girls. You're gonna have to talk to eachother.

Alpha squadron, form up with your wing mates and prepare to engage. Beta squadron, pick up your visual scanning. We're coming in –"

Kat's voice was tinny over the aging speakers in CIC. Somehow, it seemed to echo more loudly in the space and Adama was reminded of the number of crewmen and women he had lost to the planet below.

He stood under the flickering Dradis screens; bright greenish light reflected off his glasses. The training group winked in and out as the gases and radiation in the nebula wreaked havoc on the tracking system.

Adama watched an icon marked Viper 252 blink and then disappear. He couldn't help but remember the times that he had stood in this exact spot and had tried to physically will those icons to remain lit. He didn't miss the soul crushing fear he had lived with every day of the recent war, when two people he loved dearly had been reduced to moving clusters of blue and red pixels. _. It's not a matter of if; it's a matter of when. Blink and they're gone._

The random chatter of the training pilots was a welcome relief from his thoughts.

"Kat, Pusher, Committing."

"Roger, Pusher, hard right. Now!"

"Here they come!"

"Frak! Hotdog, Mariner. I've lost you!"

"Mariner, extend left and regroup."

"—ak. I'm hit."

"Ha ha! Just lit you up, frakboy!"

"Spitter high!"

"Where you going, Mariner, you chicken shit?"

Lieutenant Gaeta's replacement, a young woman whose nervousness rivaled that of her predecessor, approached him with a report laden clipboard. _Lieutenant … Lieutenant … rhymes with knees – Keyes! _He could hear Kat's voice take a turn for the seriously pissed as he skimmed the reports and signed where necessary.

"Frak it, Pusher, stay with your wing. You're gonna get someone killed and you know what, it'll probably be you."

"Sir?" It had been months and still he was not used to a male voice reporting from communications. "NC Ground station one reports a successful launch."

"Understood." It would only be a matter of time before:

"Contact!" Came from Keyes who had maneuvered to her station behind him. "Right on time."

Adama turned to her. "Don't assume friendly just because you have a schedule. Confirm, lieutenant." _Why do I feel like I'm running an academy training scow?_

Keyes glanced at him, an embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks. He blonde ponytail whipped back and forth as she checked and re-checked her readouts. "Yes, sir. Contact bearing 101 carom oh oh five. Colonial transponder matches that of the civilian shuttle, _Twin Suns_." She scrolled down on the screen in front of her. "Flight plan indicates they will dock with the supply ship, _Lumos_."

"Hail them, Mister Dutton. Update them on the situation." Adama ordered. The voices of the training pilots had become more frantic. They were a long distance from the fleet and the planet and could be ignored for now.

"_Twin Suns, Galactica. _Please be advised that there is a military training exercise in progress. Do not deviate from your assigned course. I repeat, hold your course."

"Acknowleged, _Galactica. _Holding course along vector 271. Two minutes to dock."

Gradually the buzz of activity in CIC settled. The training exercise ended without incident and the civilian shuttle completed a successful approach and landing on the _Lumos. _

He spent the rest of his shift drifting from station to station and he kept a careful eye on the less experienced officers even though there was little to do.

Circle the planet. Repeat.

* * *

Four hours earlier. 

Laura stood at the entrance to the Astral Queen not really sure whether to knock or call out. She had expected Wally to be waiting. The metal surrounding the entrance to the ship was painfully cold against her bare hands and the open hatch struck the side of the ship repeatedly with the gusts of wind.

She took a tentative step forward and called Wally's name. Her voice echoed along the bulkheads, but there was no response. _He could be on the other side of the ship for all you know. _Her breath still visible amidst the cold air inside the ship, she began the long walk down the central corridor.

The aging prison ship was dank and musty and she thought she heard the patter of rodents behind the walls. The cells were long abandoned, mattresses removed, heavy metal doors standing open.

"Wally?" If he had gotten distracted, he was probably wherever the supplies were kept on the ship taking careful note of everything. A thin metal ladder was visible through the open hatches she approached at the end of the corridor. The ladder dropped through a hole in the deck and when she looked down into it she could see that it led down several decks, probably all double lined with cells. She figured that the cellblock would have to have been isolated from the rest of the ship so she backtracked and walked through the ship's meager command and control area. The consoles were quiet; a few slow blinking white lights indicated that the ship's electrical system was functioning at low power, enough to keep the ships emergency lighting on and keep air circulating. The vessel had become little more than a storage facility. Though it was fairly light outside, the prison ship was suspended in an unending twilight.

_Where are you?_

She thought about leaving. Searching the entire ship would take hours. It had been a mere eight months since she had settled and yet standing now in the space saving confines of the prison vessel she wondered how she had spent so many months on _Colonial One. _The walls seemed too close now, the emergency lighting feeble at best and the darkness that obscured the ends of the corridors gnawed at her nerves. She found herself aware of the slightest noise. The hiss of the air from the overhead vents, the yawning crackle of the hull as it contracted because of the cold, and the echo of her feet as she walked the sand lined deck. She didn't know what she expected: An insane prisoner, too deranged to adjust to life on the colony, to spring at her from around a corner? A flood of rodents to swarm at her feet?

_How do you do it? Spending hours inside these abandoned hulks? _But she knew. Wally had no fear of hard work.

It was so unlike him not to keep an appointment that she began to think that she had not heard correctly, distracted as she had been by the wriggling baby in her arms and the crowds around them.

A corridor branched off at the back of the command and control room and a mix of curiosity and loyalty to Wally won out over her fear.

The emergency lighting flickered and hummed as she worked her way down the corridor. It was lined with plain black doors, most of which hung open to what looked like larger and more comfortable sleeping quarters. _Guard deck. _She neared the last door on the right and something in her stomach fell. The air tasted stale, almost sickly.

When she reached the open door her heart stopped and she slumped against the heavy metal doorframe. Her knees gave and she slid to the floor. She wanted to back away but nothing seemed to work.

_Wally. _He was lying against the bulkhead at the back of the room; one arm was pinned under his body the other extended towards her along the deck plating. His head was twisted unnaturally to the side; his eyes were open and empty.

"No, no, no …" she repeated quietly. Swallowing her revulsion she forced herself to hands and knees and slowly covered the distance between them. She reached out and let her fingers hover in the air just over his face, his neck, his chest. He was cold.

Y_ou can't touch him. Someone did this. Someone. Did. This._

Tears threatened and she looked hastily upwards, trying automatically to control emotions that no one was there to see. Her own guilt at what she had done to him on the days leading up to Colonial Day sat heavily in her heart. _You always did what I asked. _

Her cheeks burned and the tears fell anyway. They blurred her vision yet she still felt his empty gaze upon her. Though she knew it was a mistake to touch him, she reached out her hand and gently closed his eyes.

_This can't be real_ She clung to the thought even though she knew that there would be no waking up, no sweat-laden sheets twisted around her. Not this time. A memory surfaced instead and she smiled slightly through her tears.

"_And this is Wallace Gray. You'll find that no one works harder." Richard Adar's smooth voice echoed in her mind and with the voice came the image of a younger Wally. He was rounded at the edges, his smile shy but at the same time disarming as he reached to shake her hand._

"_He exaggerates – has since high school." His grip was warm and slightly sweaty. "And it's Wally. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roslin. Rich speaks very highly --_

Her shaking hand slipped over the moisture on her face and she mentally kicked herself. What if whoever did this was still here? She needed to get help. She stood up on unsteady feet and backed slowly out of the room. She paused when she reached the door and brought a clammy hand to her mouth before she forced herself to move.

She was halfway to the outer hatch when a single name pierced the fog that had settled over her mind.

_Peter._

_Oh my gods, Peter..._


	5. Part 5  Aftermath

_Astral Queen  
_2 months before the Occupation.

If not for instincts as old as the human race, Laura Roslin may have stayed with Wally Gray's body. _Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer. _Sweat tricked between her shoulder blades as she tore down a second poorly lit corridor. There was an open hatch at the end and darkness beyond it. Single minded in her determination to locate an exit, she ran clear through the hatch and nearly fell down the stairs beyond. A yelp escaped her lips as, her balance gone, her hands somehow found the adjacent railing and she righted herself. Her heart rammed against the inside of her chest and she propelled herself down the stairs where a seemingly endless row of open cells stood before her. _Grant, Lords, thy protection and in protection, strength._

The path between the doors was narrow and she had to sacrifice pace to avoid colliding with them. Part way down the long row, she glanced upwards and noted a raised gantry that overhung the cell bank at its far end.

A man was standing there. He was barely more than a shadow, but she had the sense that his eyes met hers and with that momentary loss of concentration, her shoulder clipped one of the heavy metal doors. It didn't give. The impact twisted her body and she hit the floor hard, her breath slammed from her lungs. Struggling for air, she looked back towards the gantry. The man was gone. Footsteps came from the far end of the cell bank.

_Get up. Get up. _Adrenaline masked the pain as she used the mesh of the cell door to yank herself up and took off the way she had come. Her breathing was reduced to shallow gasps, her lungs burned and her vision swam from the lack of oxygen. When she reached the stairs, she groped for the railing; her hand overshot it and the bar struck her under the arm. Her momentum rolled her part way over it. _Lords, despise not my petition, but in thy clemency hear and answer me._

The image of Wally's twisted body settled in her mind's eye as the pursuing footfalls grew in frequency and volume. _I will not die here. _She found her balance and took the stairs two at a time, cursing the sluggishness of her aging legs. She lunged for the hatch. There was a yell from behind her and she couldn't resist the urge to look back. It was a mistake. A body collided with hers and they both fell through the hatch. She screamed when weight came down on her back and she twisted and jerked her body in a fruitless attempt to free herself. A dirty hand clamped over her mouth.

"Who's there?" The voice was distant and booming and the body that pressed her down stiffened. "This is a restricted area."

Her captor momentarily distracted, she kicked her boot repeatedly into the bulkhead beside them, the sound echoing loudly down the corridor.

"NCS!" The clamor of boots against the metal deck plating could be heard in the distance. "Show yourselves and you will not be harmed!"

The man pressed his face against her neck and inhaled deeply, his free hand buried in her hair. She thrashed. His weight then lifted and she heard him run back through the hatch. Listening to the sound of his descent on the stairs, she struggled to raise her upper body. Her arms felt like rubber. Footsteps were heavy and becoming louder and, looking towards the open end of the hallway, she saw the flicker of flashlight beams where they played over the ceiling and walls.

Three heavily armed officers turned the corner; they were hardly visible in their black uniforms.

"Don't move!" They ran to where she lay half propped against the bulkhead and watched her over the barrels of their rifles. Instinctively, she put her arms in front of her face. Her hands shook.

"He went –" she began. Several crashes emanated from beyond the open hatch. One officer pointed at the other two and then at the hatch. They took off at a run.

A large figure appeared at the end of the corridor. She caught glimpses of him as he slowly approached, passing under the pale orange lights that were more or less evenly distributed along the corridor. He had wide shoulders that connected to arms whose bulky muscles didn't allow them to hang straight beside his body. His widely spaced eyes and seeming lack of neck were familiar but not comforting. He swung a hand held light and she held up an arm to protect her eyes as the beam settled on her face.

"What's going on?" he said. He knelt in front of her and his fingers probed the rapidly swelling skin of her cheek. He continued to blind her with his flashlight. "What business does a teacher have in a storage facility?"

"I – will you get that out of my face?" she said, batting his hand away. He flicked off the light and for a few seconds a bright blue halo hung in her vision. Her suspicions were confirmed when she could finally see the contours of his face. _Jarek Markos._

"He went through there." She pointed at the hatch. Her hand shook slightly and she quickly dropped it back to her side.

"Who?" Markos stood. His next words were interrupted by the crackle of the wireless attached to his hip. His steady glare held her in place as he walked a few steps away. The voice over the wireless was heavy with static and Markos' reply was brief. _Hold._

"I don't know." She had managed to stand; her head pounded and she could feel her pulse in her cheek.

Markos took a step towards her and his bulk eclipsed the entire corridor. "Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

"My friend is dead." She held Markos' gaze. Actually saying the words made Wally's death that much more real and the hollow ache that ground at her stomach intensified. When she didn't offer anything further, Markos' face contorted in anger.

"That holier than thou Presidential attitude may have worked with Adama, but it's bullshit." He jabbed the air in front of her with his finger. "You're going to end up in detention for trespassing on this ship, whether or not I drag you there in chains is up to you."

Laura briefly considered a rebuke. Then she remembered the young boy whose father had been murdered. Someone had to tell Peter before it was all over the PA. "All right … that man down there may have murdered Wallace Gray. I was trying to find an exit when I was attacked."

Markos didn't flinch. "Where's the body?" he asked, not a hint of emotion in his voice. She gestured to the corridor behind him and he put a heavy hand to her shoulder. "You'll walk in front."

"You'll stop the Minister of Public Security tough guy routine." Laura stepped back and folded her arms across her chest.

"I've got this." Markos addressed the remaining officer. "Call for additional back up and then join the hunt."

"Yes, sir." There was obvious pleasure in the officer's voice.

"Move!" Markos pushed her forward, but allowed her to shake off his grip. He snapped his flashlight on and lit the corridor ahead of them. Laura took her time.

"_It's a boy!" She looked up from her desk to see Wally heading straight for her. His grin was infectious and wide and he carried an open package of chocolate cigars_

Markos walked too closely behind her and she could feel the heat of his breath at the base of her neck.

_She stood and Wally threw his arms around her, stifling her congratulatory words into his shoulder._

The air in the corridor was cold enough that her breath rose in a thin mist in front of her, yet her shirt was soaked with sweat and she felt beads of perspiration form on her upper lip. Every muscle in her body ached.

_He offered her a cigar; it was wrapped in shiny blue paper. "I would have brought the real thing, but Rich would have blamed the smoke for the state of his campaign."_

They walked in silence and Laura slowed more and more as they approached the room where Wally lay. The same sickly scent invaded her senses. She reached out and steadied herself with a hand against the bulkhead to her left. "He's there," she said quietly and stopped a few feet from the door. _I need you, Wally. _She didn't know whether she had the courage to look again. _You got me, Madam President._

"You first." Markos said.

"I'm not sure I –"

"You're not leaving my sight. Move." He raised his hand and this time Laura started walking before he could touch her.

Wally remained exactly as she had left him, lying twisted against the bulkhead like some abused and broken doll.

Markos was careful. He took few steps and his flashlight ran over every detail of Wally's body and the boxlike room. Taking the wireless from his hip, he flicked it on and barked commands into the static. She heard a voice confirm receipt of message and then silence.

"Okay," Markos ran his appraising eye over Wally's body and then over Laura's form. She shifted uncomfortably. "My men are coming to deal with this –"

"There _will _be an investigation." She couldn't help the anger in her voice.

"Yes, which is why I'll need you to follow me. The NCS will need a statement." Markos said.

Laura nodded. "I have to find Peter first." She continued before Markos could begin his protest. "Wally Gray has a son and we have an obligation to him."

"That can wait until after you've made your statement." Markos gestured towards the door. She didn't move.

"No, it can't."

* * *

20 minutes later.

Laura walked slowly towards the crude mud filled pit that served as New Carprica's first Pyramid court, Jarek Markos at her left shoulder. It was damned cold but the kids were dressed as if it were the middle of summer. The group of twelve year olds looked awkward as they tried to play the game with bodies trapped somewhere between child and adult. What skin that wasn't covered in mud was red from the cold. Their voices were as spirited as their play and their hair whipped in the wind. _"What am I doing, Laura?"_

He looked like Wally.

Peter Grey was easy to spot. He was easily the shortest of the group. _I'm working all these hours. I don't even get to see my son until he's already asleep._ A tall and wiry girl, Corina, had him pinned to the ground but he flashed a grin, cheeks bright red with exertion He twisted and managed to fling the ball towards goal. The clang when it struck the edge of the opening was loud and obnoxious and the ball dropped out of bounds. Corina laughed brightly and let him up. _…before Peter I would never have guessed it was possible to love anyone this much. I love Sarah, but this is different. It changes you._

Laura put her hand on Markos' thick arm to keep him from following her as she approached the players.

"Miss Roslin." A sandy haired boy she didn't recognize from school hissed the words as he slapped Corina's arm and pointed at Laura. _I'm gonna ask Rich for some time. Maybe I can consult for a while. _The kids all stopped, most panted heavily and sported wet looking scrapes. They looked at her expectantly.

"What happened to your face?" Corina asked loudly.

"I'm all right." Laura put a reassuring hand on Corina's shoulder.

They had been having a good time. There was such little joy left now that Laura ached to say something trivial and leave them to it. But she had known Wally, and Peter, too long not to see this through. _You have to do what you feel is right, Wally_. _Think about how you'll want to look back on this time, what you might regret. _

"I'm sorry to interrupt your game. I need to speak with Peter," she said calmly. Peter's head popped up from behind Corina, his face fraught with guilt over something he must have done that Laura hadn't found out about yet.

"Time these squirts cleared the court anyway." Sam Anders' voice carried over the wind. Various members of the late Caprica Buccaneers stood behind him. Their sheer size and musculature made the kids look ridiculously small and out of place on the big court.

"Peter's in trouble," came the whiny singsong voice of Adam Brooks as he and the rest of the group left the court at a run. Maybe they were finally feeling the cold.

"Frak you, Brooksy." Peter called after him intentionally oblivious to the teacher that stood beside him. It was when she didn't reprimand him that she figured he realized that something serious had happened.

_

* * *

Battlestar Galactica_

Adama brought the mug to his lips and frowned at the splash of lukewarm liquid that hit his face. He set the cup down and rubbed a hand over the dripping stubble on his chin, never taking his eyes off the report in his hands.

Manchin had brought the morning reports with his coffee. Though it wasn't much more than a piecing together of various wireless broadcasts from the surface, Adama enjoyed to read the update on the settlement in the calm of his quarters. He wouldn't admit it to a soul, but the reports made him feel that he was some small part of her life on the planet. When he read about the rains, he thought of Laura pulling his coat over her head, her auburn hair slick and matted to her head. When he read about the work stoppages, he wondered whether Laura was still teaching, whether she was still surrounded by a gaggle of eager faced kids. What he read today …

He grabbed a serviette from the coffee tray and wiped it roughly over his chin and the collar of his uniform. Grabbing his phone, he punched a line open.

"Sir?" The response was immediate.

"I want a Raptor, prepped and ready ASAP."

There was a slight hesitation and Adama nearly repeated himself before: "No can do, Sir. We've just received notice from the surface. All travel to and from the planet has been suspended indefinitely. We are to expect further communication with instructions within the hour."

_Frak. _"Understood. Get me Colonel Tigh."

"Right away, Sir."

The line went dead briefly and Adama reread the last line of the report still in his hand. _There has been an incident in the storage facility aboard the Astral Queen. Government Liaison, Wallace Gray has been found dead. Further details should be forthcoming as the investigation proceeds._

"Admiral?" Saul's voice was slightly slurred. Adama didn't let it bother him as his friend was off duty.

"Have you read this morning's report?" Adama asked. There was the distinct sound of shuffling paper. "Forget I asked. There's been an incident on the surface, Wallace Gray is dead."

There was a long pause. "The gasbag?" _He's too drunk._

"I need you, Saul. I need to know if Kara got a message through."

Saul sniffed loudly. "I'm on it."

"In the meantime, I'm gonna see what Jarek Markos has to say."

"Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Give Lapdog my regards."

"Just do your job, Saul," he replied and replaced the phone in its cradle.

"I'm so sorry, Peter." He hadn't looked at her since she told him. They were sitting up on the highest bleacher and Laura could feel the cold seep from the wooden seat into her bones. Markos paced in the mud; his eyes never left her. She watched as Peter pulled at a blister on his hand, his gaze focused below on the professional pyramid players. She put a hand on the skin of his shoulder and her fingers slipped against the sweat that had cooled there.

"You're wrong." The boy was shaking his head; a thick lock of brown hair hid his eyes. "He's coming back."

She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. "I saw him, Peter."

He pushed her hand off his shoulder and stood. He ran down the bleachers at a pace that nearly sent him reeling.

"Peter -" She watched him stumble away.

Markos quickly blocked her view.

_

* * *

Colonial One  
_3 hours later 

President Gaius Baltar gestured over his shoulder. "That meeting was a complete disaster. I have no idea why I bother anymore. What makes one member of that bloody Quorum happy only succeeds in infuriating three others. Before long, we'll have twelve little settlements instead of one and I'll gladly watch them all go to hell." He walked right past Markos and leaned over his desk. He grabbed an amber bottle, swallowed two chalky white pills and proceeded to chase them with the smoke of a thin cigarette. He didn't turn around again until he had taken at least three long drags. "God, I can't say I'm not happy for the interruption." His ran his fingers through his greasy dark hair and they caught briefly in the ends.

Jarek Markos obviously took the comment as his opportunity to speak.

"We have a situation on the _Astral Queen. _Wallace Gray, one of your liaisons, has been murdered."

_A little small talk would have been nice. Now who the hell is Alice Grey? "_Murdered? When did this happen?"

Markos leaned his weight over one of the chairs flanking the desk. Baltar wondered if it would hold. "Dr. Cottle is still making that determination. He was found this afternoon." Markos smirked. "It seems Laura Roslin was a long way from school."

_Roslin? Yes … didn't she have some boring as beige vice-presidential candidate before she came pleading at my _– he smirked --_ bathroom door. Willy? No, Wally Gray. God, what I wouldn't give for five minutes with Playa right about now. _"You don't think she murdered her own former advisor, do you?" He realized there was a little too much optimism in his voice. _Laura Roslin in jail. Disgraced. Bored. Lonely. Who knows what could happen? _

Markos shook his head. "That man's neck was snapped like a twig. No way a lightweight like Roslin could have done it. Doesn't mean she wasn't involved."

"Right … right … um … " Baltar stood up. "As far as you know, no one from this administration was involved?" He met Markos' eyes for the first time. "This investigation … it's not going to lead back here … is it?" _I don't need this. _

Markos shifted on his feet. "It's a little too early to rule anything out."

"Too early … yes. You're not planning on asking for military involvement in the investigation are you because I don't think—" _I want anything to do with Adama._ "--don't think it would be wise."

"To tell you the truth, sir, I was considering it."

"But didn't you dabble in corporate security on Caprica … and we do have a trained police force."

"Yes, but I've got a bunch of rooks in there. This is a hell of a way to break 'em in. The military has officers trained to facilitate these kinds of things."

_I'd eat the entire five hundred and twelve page copy of the Articles of Colonization before I'd ask Adama for help. _Baltar got up and began to pace. "This is strictly a civilian matter. The military is in place to protect us from our enemies … from the Cylons_. That_ is their sole mandate. We can't run to them every time someone bloodies their goddamnned nose."

Markos shrugged slightly. "Understood, I'll do my best, Mister President."

"His best is not nearly good enough."

The voice came from behind Baltar and he recognized it immediately. His suspicions were confirmed by Markos' lack of reaction. _At last. _Baltar suppressed the urge to whip his head around towards her and with a calm that even he found impressive, asked Markos to keep him informed and dismissed the man.

Baltar then turned slowly in an effort to savour the moment. Every nerve ending tingled as his eyes met the expanse of a long, perfect leg.

_

* * *

Battlestar Galactica_

_…find attached the crew and passenger manifests of the following vessels: Icarus, Twin Suns, Fool's Errand and Heart of Ares. Be prepared to receive an NCS detachment at 1300 hrs. All listed individuals are to submit themselves for questioning. Galactica is ordered to provide additional transport to and from the neutral interrogation site aboard the Hegemon. There is to be no direct military involvement in the investigation … _Adama read the orders in his hand for the third time as he awaited a response from the surface. He had so far spoken to three separate government aides all of whom claimed that the next person he spoke to would be able to help him. Finally, the line simply went dead.

He slammed down the receiver and handed Petty Officer Dutton the passenger manifests. "Determine where these ships are docked and get these lists to the appropriate captains." _The NCS will have to round up anyone who doesn't freely cooperate._

"Yes, sir." Dutton bent over his console.

"Keyes," Adama turned, "have four Raptors prepped for launch and put the pilots on standby."

_What the frak is taking you so long, Saul? _

"Yes, sir."

The strategy was a simple one. _I have a favour to ask, Kara. _As Baltar was likely to run an insulated government, Adama needed a link between the military and the civilian population. Tyrol, Cally, Seelix, Duck and the others were no longer under his command, but he refused to abandon them completely to Baltar's whims. And Laura … _I'm not going to have to shoot anybody this time am I? _He smiled at the thought of that cocky grin. They decided that Kara would communicate by piggybacking encrypted messages onto the regular Colonial broadcasts. He would have the code key as well as Saul. _Keep your eyes open. If something happens, you're all I've got._

Adama continued to oversee preparations for the arrival of the _NCS_ and tried to appear calm as he waited for Saul.

* * *

2 days later

Laura ran out of the school tent and into the driving rain. Her boots alternately slipped and caught in the mud and it took effort to press forward. She could hear Peter yelling from the market row to her left. There, a small crowd had gathered around a dilapidated tent out of which a wiry man by the name of Agios sold odds and ends, mostly tools. By the time Laura began to push through the crowd, the rain had soaked through her sweater and the shirt underneath.

Three bodies were twisted together in the mud in front of the shop. Laura could hear the wet snap of fists against skin.

"Give it here, frakker, it's mine!"

The topmost body seemed to be trying to separate the two underneath. She recognized Agios by the large bald spot at the crown of his head; his salt and pepper hair and beard were smeared with mud.

"Boys –" Agios' voice was cut off as he was caught by one of the boys kicking legs. "That's it!" He pushed himself up and away from them. He gestured angrily at the meager crowd. "Don't just stand there, either help me or find someone who can!"

Laura looked around her as the crowd began to pull back, each looking at someone else, wondering what to do. "Peter!" she yelled but was easily drowned out by the hammering rain and the confused voices around her.

One of the boys struck the other in the face and blood mixed with the mud and water on his mouth and chin.

"Get back!" She was shoved abruptly from behind as two CCPF officers pushed by her and descended on the two boys. The men pulled them roughly apart and dragged them to their feet. Peter's shorter, stockier build identified him to Laura even as the rain began to pull the mud down his body. Blood continued to flow freely from his nose. He struggled against the officer, his feet trying to gain purchase in the mud. Laura gasped when the officer drove the heel of his hand into the side of Peters head and the boy's eyes rolled; he dropped and his hands did not come up to protect his face as he hit the ground. The other boy, whom she now saw was much older and who did not attend school, stopped all attempts to even move against the other officer.

"Hey!" She started walking towards the officer that had hit Peter but was stopped by a third officer.

"You somebody's mother?" The female officer's voice was loud by Laura's ear.

"No … but—" _I'm his teacher. And the closest thing to family he's got left._

"Then get the frak out of here." She pushed Laura away from the shop. "Show's over." The officer addressed her last comment to Laura and the few stragglers who were curious enough continue standing in the cold rain.

"Is this how the police were trained to deal with children?" Laura held her ground and pointed to where Peter was being dragged away, still limp with his heels making grooves in the mud.

The woman pulled Laura under the cover of one of the awnings overhanging a different shop and got in her face. "One more word and you can join them in detention for the night. Now go."

Laura stared at her. Water collected where the awning bowed and heavy drops hit the ground with a random patter. She waited as long as she dared, her cold damp clothing too heavy against the bruises that covered much of her left side. The officer went to speak and Laura walked back out into the rain.


	6. Part 6 Suspicions

Notes: See Disclaimer, part 1. Special thanks to SVR and Ellisandra for their wonderful beta help. I haven't forgotten this fic ... I've just been very busy.

New Caprica  
1 month, 3 weeks before the Occupation.

The new detention center was as dull, cold, and stale smelling, as it had been the day Markos had detained her. Roslin wiped her boots on the roughly rectangular carpet piece that sat by the door.

_So Mr. Gray set up the meeting?_

_Yes._

_The purpose of which was to provide you with supplies for the school?_

_Yes._

The narrow entrance opened onto a reception area where a man in a bulky black uniform sat behind a stark metal desk. Behind him were three interrogation rooms and further back, a long row of dimly lit cells.

_It didn't seem odd to you that there would be school supplies on a prison vessel?_

_No, it's common knowledge that many of the grounded ships have been converted to storage facilities._

The cells looked hastily constructed. They were mostly concrete; the wall facing the corridor was a wire mesh, the doors identical to those on the _Astral Queen_.

_Would it surprise you to learn that there have been accusations against Mister Gray? That Mister Gray has accepted bribes and shown favoritism in the distribution of supplies._

She approached the desk. "Good morning." She didn't wait for the officer to respond. " I'd like to see Peter Gray." _Not the Wally Gray I know._

"Bringing him his homework?" The guard's smile was genuine. His dark hair, graying at the sides, was closely cropped. He reached for a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, pulled open a low file drawer and removed a heavily creased sheet. Standing, he leaned across the desk. _Maybe you don't know Mister Gray as well as you thought._

"Charlie, the President needs an escort to cell 4A." He turned back to her and winked.

"Not any longer, Mister—"

He extended a thick hand. "Icaria. Darren will do. In my mind, you're the only one deserving of the title." She nodded and took his hand.

A pear shaped man with a balding head and an awkward gait approached down the hallway. "Shit, Darren, where the frak's Bal—oh. " He stopped in front of Roslin and smirked. "This way ma'am." He extended his arm down the hallway.

She walked deliberately and ran her eyes over as many cells as she could looking for that flicker of recognition that might identify her attacker. Someone was retching. They turned a corner and the bulky officer stopped in front of a cell to their left.

Through the wire mesh she could see that Peter was on his feet. He turned at the sound of the cell door opening and Laura started at the mottled bruising on his face. The skin under his eyes and over his nose was black. A thin white bandage stood out on the bridge of his nose. When he saw who it was, he turned back towards the concrete wall.

"Fifteen minutes. He gives you any trouble, just holler."

"I'll be fine. Thank you."

They stood in silence for a while after the cell door clanged shut. Laura listened to the officer's footsteps as they became softer and more distant.

The cell was small. A thin, sweat-stained mattress sat atop a metal cot. A rusted bucket sat in an empty corner. Laura tried to ignore the smell.

Peter's hands never stopped moving. He picked at the oversized dull brown jumper that he wore, at a blister on his hand, and at the bandage across his nose. There was dried blood on his knuckles. _Three days ago you were just a kid, angry that he had to move to the front of the classroom._

"May I sit?" Laura asked.

He didn't turn or look at her. He simply shrugged.

Laura sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress nearest Peter and simply started talking.

"When I first met your father, he and I worked on Richard Adar's campaign for Governor. Richard had rented out an old red brick house on the west side of Caprica City. He could have afforded better but he wanted to be close to the _people_." She watched Peter's finger where it traced random shapes on the gritty concrete wall. "It was late. I was sitting at an old, ugly table that we never seemed to be able to balance." The corner of her mouth curved upward. "Your dad figured it had more to do with the floor than the table." Peter had moved to stand beside the bed; his hand ran over the metal of the bed frame. He didn't look at her.

"I had just come from the printers. The first batch of pamphlets had Adar spelled wrong. I'd had to stand for hours while they printed a second batch. I was tired and angry and I still had to get them in envelopes to catch the morning post. Your father walked in then. He was exhausted. He collapsed into the chair beside me and told me he was pausing to the count the number of doors that had been slammed in his face." Her voice wavered a bit and she licked her bottom lip. "When he saw what I was doing he got up … told me he'd be right back." Laura sniffed and caught Peter's brown eyes as he lifted his head to look at her. She felt a tear track along the side of her nose. She didn't hide it or wipe it away.

"He came back with two coffees and without saying a word, sat beside me and started stuffing envelopes. I could have kissed him … " She smiled through her tears.

"I thought you were going to yell at me." Peter's voice was quiet and carried an undertone of anger. He rubbed a corner of the fabric covering the mattress between his thumb and index finger.

"I considered it," she said.

He looked at her then, studied her until she felt a little uncomfortable, but she didn't look away. Something softened in his eyes and he began to talk. "I don't sleep anymore. I can't eat." His restless hands balled into fists. "I just want to hurt someone … I just want … how long am I gonna feel like this?"

"I miss him too, Peter," she said, holding his gaze. "You will feel better. It may not seem like it now, but you will. You're angry and you have every right to be."

He shook his head and winced. "Mr. Brooks says that I need to be strong … that I have to be the man my Dad would have wanted me to be."

"He shouldn't have said that. It's unfair. You can't be expected to ignore how you feel. It's ok to hurt. It's ok to be angry. You're not alone."

"I wish it would just go away. Out there –" he stabbed his finger in the direction of the cell door, "everyone looks at me like I'm some kind of freak. They whisper and point. There goes the kid whose dad got murdered. When do you think he'll snap?"

"Is that why you fought that boy? To get in here?"

Peter shrugged. His eyes hit the floor.

"You're not a freak, Peter." She reached out and set her hand on his arm. "Each and every one of those people out there knows what it's like to lose someone they love. The Cylons saw to that. Our loss is the one thing that we all share."

Peter's eyes were glassy when he brought them to hers again. She felt the subtle press of his weight against her hand. "Do you know who killed my dad?"

There was a loud crack of wood against metal. "Time."

Laura ignored the officer on the other side of the grate and shook her head. "The investigation could take a while. You'll get an answer, Peter. I promise you that."

The door slid open and the heavy officer stood in the entrance, his arms folded across his middle. Peter was looking at the floor. She ran her hand along his upper arm and gently squeezed his shoulder. He didn't flinch. The officer led her out and she was two steps down the corridor when she heard: "Miss Roslin?"

She turned. Peter was standing at the cell door. "You won't … you won't tell anyone you were here right?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't," he said quietly.

* * *

_Battlestar Galactica  
_Auxiliary Communications

"Where the hell have you been?" Adama watched Saul Tigh's pen skid across the page at the sound of his voice.

"Gods damn it." Tigh slammed the pen down onto the comm board. "You found me easy enough."

"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to still be here." Adama crossed the room, came up beside Tigh and leaned past his friend to scan his crease-lined papers.

Tigh glared at Adama. "You ever try to work through a manual decryption half bagged?"

Adama glared over at Tigh for a moment before his posture relaxed. "What have you got?"

"First … can I tell you how stupid it was to trust Starbuck with this?"

"No."

"Don't read over my shoulder."

"Fine."

"You know she'd have your ass for hiring a babysitter." A flicker of amusement crossed Tigh's face. "I may not know Roslin very well, but I sure as hell know she'd hate this."

"Are you finished with the opinions?"

"No."

The two men stood staring at one another and, not for the first time, Adama regretted getting Tigh back into the fleet. Perceptive, even when half drunk, Tigh started talking.

"There's a lot of confusion right now. Baltar, his cronies, the NCS, no one's talking. Word is Gray's body was in rough shape. The longer the silence lingers, the more paranoid people get."

"That it?"

"No. Look, Bill, you can't go down there."

Adama raised an eyebrow. "Quit stalling and tell me what's going on."

Tigh tore his gaze from the papers in front of him and watched Adama's face. "Roslin found Gray. Something happened on the _Astral Queen_. Starbuck says Roslin was a little roughed up afterward. Nothing that needed Cottle's attention," Tigh added quickly. "There is a suspect in custody in the case."

Adama knew 'a little roughed up' meant to Starbuck, but he forced himself to concentrate on Saul's last statement. "What are the chances that this is the beginning of an attack on the previous government?"

Tigh took a moment to consider than answered: "There's no way to know until –"

"Someone else dies." Adama finished gravely. "Roslin made a lot of tough decisions, decisions that affected the livelihood of a lot of people. The people down there are living a hard life. In that kind of environment, wounds fester. Grudges tend to consume."

Tigh shook his head. "Whatever is happening, you can't interfere. First thing Baltar will do is ask for your resignation and he'll be well within his legal rights to do it. That will leave a drunk in charge. You'd be giving him exactly what he wants."

"Grab that pen." Saul picked up the pen from the comm board and flipped the paper over. "Tell Kara to conceal a sidearm. Roslin isn't to go to the bathroom without Kara knowing about it. I want a complete report on the investigation and I don't care how she gets it. If something even smells funny, I want to hear about it. Have her tell anyone she can trust to watch former members of Roslin's government. I will not let this escalate."

Tigh collected the papers and gave Adama a wan smile. "There was a time when a lack of military support was a government's death sentence."

Adama's face remained hard. "I don't miss the Cylons. Neither do you."

* * *

The next day.

The _Prometheus_ was a dirty ship. It wasn't just the dust and the mud that had settled on every surface. The stench of human vice still clung to its bulkheads even though its operations had been officially shut down. Its largest cargo compartment had been converted into a poorly stocked bar. The lighting was bad, the alcohol worse. A thick layer of homegrown New Caprica smoke obscured much of the room and Roslin had to struggle to keep her focus.

"What happened to you?" Tom Zarek sat in front of her, his facial features obscured by shadow, his hair longer and his face thinner. She had had to call in several favours just to get a temporary location for the Vice-President.

She subconsciously drew her hair over the side of her face and angled her head so that the still swollen bruise became less visible. "I need your help."

He reached over and gently pushed her hair back behind her ear. His fingers were warm against her skin. "I've heard that before," he said, not a trace of bitterness in his voice. A chill ran through her already stiff frame at the thought of the freezer units on the _Astral Queen_. _It hasn't been that long._

She took a deep breath through her nose and nodded her head. She had neither the time nor the patience for games. "I was the one that found Wally Gray's body. The man that killed him was still on the _Astral Queen _when --"

"Do you have a name?" Zarek's eyes traced the length of the bruising on her face. Before she could answer he added. "That was insensitive. I'm sorry for your loss."

She ignored his paltry attempt at sympathy and shook her head. "Look, I'm getting shut out here. Baltar's not seeing anyone anymore and Markos is chronically _busy. _Information is so hard to come by that the press has started fabricating reports." _Not that that's new_. "I've got the feeling that this whole thing is just going to go away."

Zarek smiled. "Somehow I knew you wouldn't make a very good civilian." He took a long sip of his drink, and winced. His voice was dry and hoarse. "What do you know about Markos?"

"Not much. I'd never met him before we settled here."

Zarek leaned towards her and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "He's an ex-con."

"What?"

"Yeah, he knows the game from the inside. Went into corporate security when he got out. His methods were considered … unorthodox … and his fee was high."

"What was his crime?"

"Not far from what he does now. When deals go wrong, Markos cleans up after. Prison only added to his client list."

"Does Baltar know?"

"I don't think he cares. Markos gets jobs done. There weren't many CEOs that cared how." Zarek pulled a thin cigarette, and a lighter from his pocket. "You mind?"

Roslin waved her hand dismissively. "You think Markos is involved in Wally's death?"

Zarek lit the cigarette and closed his eyes as he took his first drag. "It's a nasty habit, but there isn't much else prison has to offer until you work your way up a little."

"And Markos?"

"Worked his way all the way to the top."

"Tom?" He smiled that all too charming smile. Roslin's body felt heavy and her thoughts swirled like the smoke that covered the ceiling. "I need information on the investigation. What is it going to take?"

She expected a predatory grin, instead he leaned away from her and took another drink.

"Nothing," Zarek answered. "Get me a name and I'll see what I can dig up. If he was able to get on the _Astral Queen_ it's more than likely I'll know him."

Roslin spun the untouched glass in her hand. Somewhere behind her she could hear an argument slowly escalate in volume. _It hasn't been that long. Whatever you want, there's a reason you're not telling me now. _She lifted the glass and let the alcohol splash briefly against her lips. "You're a tough man to find."

Zarek ground his cigarette into the ash filled can that sat in the center of the table. "Ever since the workers started to riot, Baltar's been nervous. Thinks everyone's out to get him. Told me to fly under the Dradis for a while." He leaned forward until his lips were beside her ear and whispered. "So no one can get us both."

She stared at him incredulously and he laughed before he continued. "I'll do what I can to help you. Wallace Gray was a good man." He lifted his glass and Roslin lifted her own hardly touched drink. They toasted Wally and Roslin considered Zarek over the rim of her glass. "I'll find _you_." He said quietly.

Roslin nodded. _I hate that I'm going to owe you. Again._

* * *

_Colonial One._

"Where have you been?" Baltar struggled not to sound as needy as he felt. He couldn't really remember what she had said to him, the mere sound of her voice had his blood rushing loudly and not in the direction of his brain. And he didn't care, not for a second, that the woman before him existed only in his over fertile imagination.

She stood up slowly, fluidly, the thin red material of her dress tightened briefly over the swell of her breasts. It was the one and only time that he actually appreciated the lack of heat in the room.

Her scent washed over him as she approached, a clean sweetness that mixed inelegantly with the curl of smoke that rose from the cigarette in his limp hand. She drew a warm finger across his forehead, scraping gently with a perfect nail.

"Right here." She tapped his head for emphasis. "The real question is: Where have you been, Gaius?"

He could do nothing but stand there as she ran the same finger over his ear, the stubble on his chin, the length of his chest. _I've missed the sex, you know. Sex with a machine has its benefits. You were never cold, never tired and you always knew just how to -- ouch. _When she reached the hollow of his sternum she jabbed her finger into his flesh though his shirt and continued: "Where is the man who stepped from Roslin's shadow and demanded freedom and choice? Who promised his people a better life?"

Baltar's eyes narrowed. "Oh that's rich. It really is." He took a deliberately long drag from his cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke over her shoulder. "Take a look around. You'll excuse me if I don't wax poetic over the glorious destiny God has chosen for me."

Her nails dug into his stubble-covered flesh when she suddenly grabbed his chin. "Your vision is embarrassingly narrow. God seeks only to prepare you for what is to come."

"Mr. President?" Baltar started at the sound of Felix Gaeta's voice. The Cylon's grip did not waver and Baltar glanced as far towards the door to his office as he could manage.

"I'm busy," he said.

"I understand that, sir; I'll only be a minute." Gaeta crossed to the desk and into Baltar's field of view. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked.

_Oh, for God's sake. _Baltar closed his eyes briefly. He imagined how he must look, standing in them middle of his office with his neck extended forward awkwardly. "Yes, of course. My neck has just been a little stiff lately … just trying to stretch it out."

"Okay..." Gaeta crossed to the bank of file cabinets at the back of the room. There was a loud squeak when he opened one of the lower drawers.

Baltar dropped his voice; his eyes returned to her face. "And just what is to come? Wait—" he raised his hand. "Let me guess. I am about to do something that will spell the end of my entire race … and … and … our only hope is some completely cryptic warning you're about to share out of the goodness of your little mechanical heart."

She let go and slapped him hard. His head turned sharply to the right and his grunt caught his aide's attention. Baltar turned his head from side to side in an exaggerated attempt to stretch out his neck. "Much better," he mumbled with a satisfied groan and turned his attention back to the Cylon. _We've really gotten off to a bad start here, I suppose now would not be the time to tell you that I have a custom made bed._

"Ask him where Markos is." Her expression was hard, her voice commanding. _No, I didn't think so._

"Mister Gaeta, where is Minister Markos?" Baltar's cheek still stung.

Gaeta's eyes flicked upward briefly. "The detention center, sir, interrogating the chief suspect in the Gray case."

He felt her hair brush his cheek; her breath was warm against his ear. "Tell your aide to join him."

"Why?"

"Um … to move the investigation forward I assume." Gaeta answered needlessly.

"There needs to be a witness."

* * *

Jarek Markos' fist slid off the blood soaked chin of the inmate that lay half propped against the wall of the interrogation room.

"I won't ask again. How did you get onto the _Astral Queen_?" He grabbed the man by his brown coverall and hauled him to his feet. "Did you enjoy it, snapping that man's neck?" A liquid gurgle sounded from the inmate's throat and his eyes were unfocussed and glassy. Markos spun him and wrapped an arm around his neck; the base of his thumb pressed against the inmate's larynx. He laid his other hand on top of the first and slowly began increasing pressure. "You're going to die for killing that man, so I don't give a shit if I do it now or later. But if you give me a name – if you tell me who helped you – I'll spare you a helluva lot of pain."

He used his grip to pull the man's head back over his shoulder so he could hear the incoherent, whispered gasps that the inmate made. The man's sweat and blood soaked Markos' hands and arm.

Felix Gaeta had barely managed to work his way past reception when he overheard the words:

"Not good enough."

By the time he arrived at the threshold of the interrogation room, Markos was allowing the limp body of a stocky, dark haired man to slide from his chest and onto the floor.

* * *

Kara Thrace crouched in the back corner of her cell, her mind remarkably focused despite the amount of alcohol in her system, and listened.

"Katsulas is dead; what the frak do we do now?"

"Nothing, it's over. I'll make the announcement tomorrow."

"But what if he did have an accomplice?"

"Trust me, he would have told me."

Continued part 7.


End file.
