President Roslin crept along the corridors of their most recent haven, the small passenger transport shuttle Chariot that would carry them for the rest of their stay in the fleet. They would then, move to the Astral Queen for their jump to Kobol as the Chariot carried no FTL drive. But, until then, this would be their sanctuary.

Following cautiously behind her Captain Apollo, they reached a random hatch and entered, shutting it lightly behind them. There were two bedrolls on the ground with a slight meal laid out; complete with candles, glasses, and a metal canister of what was no doubt ambrosia. Were it not for the fact that there were two beds, she’d suspect that this was some sort of romantic set-up.

“Apollo,” she asked softly. This was dangerous, and he knew that as well as she did. “What is this? Where are Zarek and Elosha?”

He secured the hatch determinedly. “They’re sleeping somewhere else tonight. We all agreed that it’d be best if we split up.”

She crossed her arms defiantly. “And when did we agree on this?”

He turned to her dusting off his hands, his dusky skin reddening. “While you were asleep last night. We decided that we could best defend our ultimate goal if we separated and met up on the Astral Queen. Zarek is guarding Elosha.” Her eyes widened in alarm “Along with the person of my choosing as chaperone. He won’t lay a hand on her with them around.”

She exhaled and shrugged it off. “I’ll have to trust you on that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She dropped onto the dark blue cushion. “So, how were the arrangements decided?”

He descended to the one across from her and lit each candle with an engraved silver cigarette lighter. She quirked her brows at the recent acquisition, but didn’t question it. “What arrangements, ma’am?”

“This. You and I together, Zarek and Elosha. Who came up with that idea?”

He busied himself fiddling with the utensils and the plate of sought after fruits, cheeses, and breads they would share, not chancing a look at her reaction to his nonverbal answer. She was heartened by his bashfulness, if not humbled.

“Well, whoever did has my profound thanks. I don’t think I could be in safer hands.”

He let out a pleased puff of air. “Neither do I, Madame President.” She only chuckled. “Strawberry?” She really laughed, then. And, with the widest smile he’d ever seen on her, took one gladly.

She sighed rapturously as the flavor exploded on her tongue, leaking slightly from the corner of her mouth. She licked her lips. “Dear Gods, yes. How I’ve missed these.”

“I remember you telling me once.”

“You have a good memory.” He shrugged off the praise, concealing his pleasure at her notice.

They ate in silence until the only things remaining on the plate were seeds and stems. The vile hunger that had plagued them for days finally fed, they eased onto their respective sleeping bags in listless ease.

She unfastened her parka and let it fall open, so that she could breathe. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes gleefully. Wonderful.

“Feeling better?”

“Feeling wonderful. Thank you.”

He rested on his side, watching her yawn softly and rubbed her tired eyes that blinked sluggishly in the shadow. She was beginning to fall asleep, a glad sleep even. Her eyelids dropped to half-mast and she began to nod off. “Go to sleep, Laura. I’ll be watching over you.” She said nothing in return but nestled into her parka, her lips formed in a delicate half-moon. Lovely.

Once her breathing had slowed, and he was sure she was asleep, he tiptoed to her side of miniscule cabin and covered her with a thin wool blanket, providing for her what little warmth he could. He realized he’d give her anything. He’d give her his life if she asked for it -- or even if she didn’t.

She already had everything else.

~~~

Commander Will Adama stared at the punching bag before him with barely-concealed disgust. His fists were poised in front of him for a follow-up strike, but it remained unthrown. The room stank with the sweat-tears of a thousand angry crewmen and their grief and their sorrow over lost family and betrayal. He’d been in their same place often enough. But, he’d never had to see it, taste it, or live it three months after they’d shed their last regret.

Here, he did. As his gloves impacted the sand-filled sack, flashes of petty officers, chiefs, lieutenants, and captains mercilessly pounding the same surface tickled, pricked, and brutally attacked his psyche. Needing to release his own frustrations, he proceeded with the same lack of restraint until his triceps, his biceps, and his pecs ached incessantly and every breath he took burnt painfully.

Then, he fell to his knees, his arms wrapping inevitably around his only touchstone. The firmly packed sand was as unforgiving as he had been and was of no comfort to his frazzled mind, inundating him with further sensations and memories that he‘d never had before.

Having finally reached the edge of resolve, he pulled himself off the floor and shook of the influence of the visions only to stumble into the nearby wall. Thankfully, there was nothing to be seen there. Apparently, the worst of it happened in the middle of the room.

He unstrapped his boxing gloves and threw them to the floor, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. He was going insane. He had to be. Only nut jobs and chamalla shooting religious zealots had visions like these. He knew wasn’t the latter, so he had to be the former. Though, it couldn’t be more inopportune. The last thing Galacactica needed was its commander going mad, and its XO drinking the well dry at the same time. Today, humanity couldn’t catch a break to save their race.

It pained him to admit the possibility, but he needed help and soon.

Not two hours later, he was sitting in the Life Station, not particularly wanting to be seen but coming up with a cover story as he went. If anyone asked, he was here for his post-op checkup. Which wasn’t far from true given that he’d been scheduled for one for the last two days and he’d yet to make the appointment.

Dr. Cottle stepped in, a half-smoked cigarette hanging limply from his lips. “Commander, what’s dragged you back to the Life Station today?”

He decided to cut to the chase. “I’m seeing things.”

“I imagine one with as many eyes would.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Gods, the man’s bedside manner was atrocious. “Whenever I touch things,” he looked at his hands, “I see things. I think they’re things that have happened there. When I touch people, I see what they’ve done... Or maybe what they‘re about to do. I see things.” He had actually just admitted that out loud and it did indeed sound every bit as insane as he thought it might.

“Is that so?” His inflection clearly stated that he thought the Commander had gone slingshot. That made two of them.

“Yes, that’s so. I don’t know what it is. Could it be some kind of post traumatic stress disorder?” He was by no means an expert on such matters, but it had to be some sort of malady, because clairvoyance didn’t just up and appear from nowhere. At least, not on his side of the family.

“Well, I know a bit about post traumatic stress disorders, but I’m not an authority on it. However, I would presume it’s possible for there to be some repercussions from your shooting, both physical and psychological. Maybe these visions will stop once you quit beating the hell out of yourself. The toaster oven got you halfway and you’re finishing her mission for her. Cut it out!” He was met by prevailing silence. “Then, go see this therapist I know.” He jotted down a note on his prescription pad. “I’m pretty sure she’s still alive. Her name’s Eve Mason.”

“Is she discrete?”

“I suppose so.” That wasn’t his concern. He just made the referrals.

“Will I like her?” It wasn’t as much a question of liking her as much as her being trustworthy. The Doctor added a post-script to the paper and handed it over to the Commander.

“I don’t particularly care. You’ll see her.” That impeccable bedside manner at work again.

“Thank you.” He didn’t bother to return the doctor’s tacit conversation.

He was not going crazy. That was the President’s job. Rolling his eyes, he realized that he had to get back to manning the search for both she and his son. With every passing day, he was becoming increasingly aware of how preposterous this power struggle between them was.

Consciously he knew he might’ve been acting out in anger, but his behavior paled beside hers. She had betrayed him. She had turn traitor against him and had taken his only surviving son. That wasn‘t an act he could condone or would forgive. He loathed disloyalty in those he depended on and he wasn‘t known for his magnanimous nature. He didn’t need psychic vision to showcase for him the very things he found reprehensible.

Next Part

Last Part