He rubbed his fingers together, still feeling his son’s callused hand in his. He thought of how old his was in comparison, how much more adversity he had faced in his time, and how much more he’d seen. He also thought, perhaps, of how bravely his son had acted despite that. He didn’t like it and he didn’t agree, but he did admit, somewhere among this mess he had made with the President was his son. And somehow, some way, he would get him back.

But his first course of action had to be getting up. He lay on his back; eyes closed as the damned overhead lights shined directly in his face, and checked every part of himself for injuries. He winced at the long, consistent ache in the center of his chest and tentatively reached up to feel the origin of the pain. He gasped harshly as he encountered the inflamed incision.

He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and clinched his fist back at his side. He supposed it was time to open his eyes. And so he did.

Not an hour after waking, rising, and consulting his XO, he genuinely wished he hadn’t.

Against Cottle’s agitated advice, he vacated the Life Station to do damage control. His entry to the deck was the very epitome of controlled chaos. He could nearly see the tamped-down relief in demeanors. Their expressions were enough to tell him that Tigh had perhaps been lax in explaining his leadership shortcomings. He hadn’t lied, but, man, had he low-balled it.

His next two days were filled with impromptu strategy sessions, ship-wide searches, concealed grimaces, and distant glances as he tried to return his world upright. It was hard enough having his son mutiny against him, but to leave him with…that woman. He had chosen her over family. How was he supposed to feel about that? How was he supposed to forgive that?

He contemplated that in his quarters as he reminisced over photos of his boys and their mother. Every memory was as real now as it ever had been. He touched one picture of Zak balancing precariously on the thin limb of their legendary tree. That tree stood even after Zak no longer had.

He remembered coming home briefly after his boy’s death to see that tree. He also recalled going at it mightily with his gun and, when it proved ineffective, an ax. The tree had stood mockingly before him. It would not die, even when it felt as though he would. He sunk to his knees, and cried there. It was that specter that followed him through the war, and left him to wonder if it would ever release him. He felt the roots deep in the mud, tugging him steadily to a subterranean hell.

His fingers trembled imperceptibly and he picked up a glass of water to steady them, but it shook with them. Because of the medication he was taking for his injuries, he’d sworn off alcohol as the mixing of the two left him far more inebriated than he was comfortable with. However, that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it. Just about anything would be preferable to the helplessness and despair he was feeling now.

A sharp buzz cut starkly through his melancholy mood and he straightened up, acutely aware of how important it was for him to look recovered, to be back in charge. He couldn’t falter or all hope of every rising again was likely lost.

“Come in.”

Dee stepped into his quarters with slight wariness and her arms concealed slyly behind her back. “Commander.”

He smiled faintly. “Dee. What’s up?”

She smiled anxiously and shuffled momentarily from foot to foot before stopping herself. “I was elected by the deck personnel to personally welcome you back.”

He inspected her suspiciously, inwardly leery of her motives. He’d learned better than to walk about blindly, thinking he was perfectly safe when he wasn’t. There was a war on and he was a target. “Okay.”

“Well, they asked me to bring you this.” She took it from behind her back. It was a brand new bottle of ambrosia.

He crossed the room and took it in hand, keeping a notable distance between the two of them. He inspected the container, trying to stifle a smirk. “I don’t suppose it would do to ask where you got this from, Petty Officer.”

She knew his smirk drifted beneath the surface and returned it. “No, sir. I wouldn’t have any idea about that. Don’t shoot the messenger.” Immediately, her lovely eyes widened and she took on a gob smacked look. “Oh, oh…Gods. I’m sorry, sir. I’m…crap.” Were it not for her dark complexion, she’d have turned bright red right to her roots.

He took pity on her and let the smirk shine through. “It’s okay, Dee. I’m okay. Don’t worry.” She nodded, not meeting his eyes for more reasons than one.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to…” she looked around his quarters, “whatever you were doing.” It was a copout and they both knew it.

“Okay.” She turned to leave, but he reached out and stopped her with a touch to her shoulder. She stiffened beneath the contact, waiting agonizingly for him to accuse her. She would defend herself, but what good would it do?

After another beat passed and he still didn’t speak, she hazarded a look over her shoulder. She was concerned at the expression on his face. His features were slack and his eyes were wide and unfocussed, his grip loosening. She turned back to him fully and moved closer cautiously, his hand still holding on, but having slipped down to the crook of her arm.

“Sir.” He didn’t speak or acknowledge that he’d heard her. “Sir.” Nothing. “Commander Adama!” He blinked and took another step away from her. He looked as if he hadn’t seen her before. “Sir, are you all right?”

He shook his head and took an additional step back. “Yes, I’m fine.” He hardly looked as much.

She didn’t believe him and it showed. “Sir--”

He cut her off. “Did you help them?”

She wallowed over her answer, having come down from her irrational fear, and was now left with no recourse or response. “Sir…”

“Don’t give me an excuse, just give me an answer.”

She swallowed the tyllium sphere rolling steadily up her trachea and stood at attention. “Yes, sir. And…” there she hesitated.

“And you’d do it again, I take it?” It was her chance to be honest. He knew she would. She wouldn’t be Dee otherwise.

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Okay. You’re dismissed.” She nodded and began to depart again. “Oh, and Dee.” She halted, but was too scared to turn back. “Thank them for the ambrosia. I appreciate the thought.”

“Yes, sir.” Then, she left him alone, relieved that she wouldn’t be the next to see the inside of Galactica’s brig.

At the locking clang of Dee’s exit, he dropped heavily to his couch, running an aged hand across his face. Before he’d so much as asked of her collusion, he’d known it and seen it. It was hard to explain, much less think about. He had felt her strained nerves over the brief distance between them and had seen her participation.

The off-log calls and scrambled communication. He had heard and watched her casual pedeconferences with Lee; hidden messages and all. He saw it all as if he’d been there with her, peering judgmentally over her shoulder every step of the way.

Her guilt was well-placed. As was his. It forced him to ask the question: If Dee was willing to help the President escape, then how far had the command fallen in the eyes of his people? Who else had helped? Upon further self-examination, he discovered that he didn’t particularly want to know who had betrayed him.

After all, he had to trust these people.

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