TEN WEEKS LATER

                Laura Roslin, President of what remained of the Twelve Colonies felt bad.  No, she felt terrible.

                Her morning had begun as usual.  She’d woken, feeling slightly woozy and was a bit unsteady on her feet.  She put it down to medication-induced nausea and pressed on.  Her breakfast arrived soon after she dressed, but she decided to forgo it once she took a whiff.  Don’t get her wrong, she appreciated the fleet wide food shortage, but she couldn’t force herself to eat that…whatever the hell it was.  She was courageous, not suicidal.

                She immediately recovered it and sat down to review the work she’d brought to bed the night before.  She had a little time before she had to appear at her office; she could at least use it wisely.  She shuffled the papers back and forth, making changes to manifests and inventories.  She paused to massage her temples as the words blurred in front of her.  It was only morning and she was already exhausted.

                It was to her luck that Billy chose that moment to appear outside her curtain.  Now, it was time to really get to work.  She removed her glasses and stored them carefully in her pocket.  She only had the one pair; she hadn’t bothered to pack her spare for that fateful three-day trip.  There was no sense in blinding herself through careless handling.

                “Madame President,” he stood respectfully outside the door as she composed herself.

                “Coming, Billy.”  She straightened her navy blue suit and ivory blouse absently.  She leaned over to pick up the multitude of folders on her desktop when the room tilted before her eyes.  She groaned painfully and grasped the end of the desk to remain upright.  Her knees buckled and it was only by the grace of Billy’s quick reflexes that she didn’t crumple gracelessly to the floor.

                He caught her in his arms and lowered her to carpet gently.  She remained there with her eyes closed for several long beats before hazarding another look.  The room remained steady and she sighed in relief.  So much for the good day she’d been hoping for.

                It took nearly fifteen minutes to convince her troubled assistant that she did not need to see Dr. Cottle.  By the end, he was still unconvinced, but conceded for the sake of government business.  She thanked him, but waved off his concern at any lingering dizziness.  And it did linger all the way into her office.

                She took her place behind her desk, setting her reading glasses on her nose, and picked a paper up from the nearest stack of reports.  On a nearby notepad, she made several notations to be discussed with Commander Adama at their meeting later in the day, then put the paper aside unsigned until further notice.  That stack was unbearably thick.

                She blew a long lock of hair from her face and sighed as her stomach made its emptiness known.  She hadn’t been hungry until that very second and yet the mere thought of the breakfast she’d abandoned caused her to gag.  She could practically see Billy’s ears perking up outside her office.  She stifled her next cough behind her fist and cleared her throat.  Damn.

                She supposed it’d be wise to ask him to bring her something, but she simply couldn’t be bothered.  Her meeting with Adama had snuck up on her and there was now no time for her to eat.  The Commander waited patiently for no one, especially not her.

                Not two minutes following that thought, her assistant stuck his head in and reminded her of the time.  She rose carefully this time, planting her feet firmly on the floor and her hand on the desk.  Fortunately, nothing happened.  Exhaling notably, she allowed Billy to gather her things and hand them to her.  She thanked him and they left for Galactica.

                The trip was blessedly steady.  By the time her shuttle docked with the battlestar, she was certain her sickness had passed.

                However, as she stepped from her vessel, the titanium floor beneath her seemed to shift and her heels slid, throwing her off balance.  She waffled at the odd angle as her guards watched slightly stunned at the sight of their leader waving her arms like a duck.  Only Capt. Lee Adama, sent to escort her to his father, had the forethought of catching her trip.  She tumbled into his chest, her frustration with her condition mounting.  This couldn’t continue.  A president couldn’t go around falling at every turn or people would wonder either about her health or sobriety.  That was a particular question she didn’t feel like fielding at this point.

                “Madame President?”  She took a second to lean against him before standing erect again, not swaying in the slightest.  She was sick of having her health inquired of.

                “Is the Commander ready to see me?”

                Seeing her resolve not to mention her slip, he moved past it.  “Yes, ma’am.”  He laid a steadying hand on her arm.  “If you’ll come this way, please.”

                “Lead the way, Captain Apollo.”

                She kept close to him to conceal any vertigo that might have accompanied her on her walk.  Thankfully, she reached Commander Adama’s office with no further incident.  She thanked Lee and stepped inside while her security contingent took up their posts on either side of the hatch.

                The Commander rose and extended her hand in a customary greeting.  She took it.  “Madame President.”

                “Commander.”  They sized each other up routinely.  She found him solid per usual.  He found her pale and perspiring slightly.  Come to think of it, she didn’t look well to him.  Not well at all.  “Shall we begin?”

                He nodded reluctantly, gesturing for her to sit.  She did so gratefully.  Her feet were killing her.  “You feeling all right?”

                She looked up from her briefs at that.  Was it possible he was concerned for her health?  No, he had to have some ulterior motive at work.  “I’m fine.  And you?”

                He didn’t seem to take her at her word, but let it drop.  “I’m fine.  So, let’s discuss this…” he waved melodramatically at the dozens of dossiers between them.

                “Holocaust, travesty, beauracratic bull that I don’t feel like reading right now.”  That came out long before she could stop it.  Crap.  She sucked in a breath to calm her suddenly tattered nerves.  He wasn’t nearly as taken aback as she was.

                His eyebrow inched up a little higher with every word she spoke.  “Okay.  We can do this later and you can go back to bed, because you obviously didn’t sleep enough last night.”

                She engaged in a staring match with him before letting out a long breath.  “I slept fine last night.  I’m just tired anyway.”

                “Maybe you should see Doctor Cottle.”

                “You’re not the first to say that to me, but I just don’t have the time today.”

                “Then, go tomorrow,” he reasoned.

                “Nor do I have the time or the inclination to go tomorrow.”

                He laced his fingers together on his desk and scrutinized her as though she were a student in the principal’s office.  “If I were you in your position, I would find the time and gain the inclination.”

                “Well, let’s be glad you aren’t me.”

                “Believe me, there’s no one gladder than I am.  However,” he paused as though he was about to make a regretful admission, “I like to think of you and I as partners in running this fleet and keeping these people going.”  Her expression shifted to one of surprise.  She’d had similar thoughts, but had doubted whether he entertained the same.  “I can’t have my partner down for the count for even a second that she doesn’t need to be.”

                “So you’re saying what exactly?”  Her tone was challenging him to tell what exactly he would do if she refused to go on her own.

                “I’m saying, Madame,” her full title intentionally truncated, “if you don’t go under your own power, you will go under mine.  Even if I have to carry you myself.”

                Taken aback at his audacity, she laughed outright.  “You will do no such thing.  I won’t let you.”

                His lips twitched minutely.  “I’ll say you’re sick.”

                “I’ll say I’m not.”

                He shrugged.  “You can’t say anything if you’re unconscious.”

                “You’re gonna knock me out?”

                “To help you, yes.”  She definitely failed to see how much help he’d be.  “But since you’re going yourself this afternoon, it’s no longer a point.”

                “O-kay.”  She rolled her eyes, seeing the veritable amusement gleaming from behind his lenses.  “For the love of the Gods, give me a brief so we can get this done.”

                He held it from her reach.  “I don’t want you to strain yourself.”  She leveled a glare at him, but he was unruffled.  “No, I’m serious.  I don’t need you out of commission.  Lords know I don’t want your job.  So, that means you need to be well enough to do it.  Go see Doc Cottle and get back to me.”

                “You’re serious?”

                “No, I’m joking.”  If he was, his face was no giveaway.  “Yes, I’m serious.  Go.”

                Realizing there was no playing at this with him, she threw up her hands.  “Fine, have it your way.  However, let me make it clear that under any other circumstances, I’d laugh if you tried to give me orders.”

                “You’d laugh?”  She nodded.  “In my face?”

                “It’s possible.”  He didn’t reply, but did not look happy at such a prospect.  “Okay, it’s unlikely.”

                “Good.  Now, leave.”

                She smirked.  “I’m being put out?”

                He furrowed his brow in mock frustration.  “I put you out five minutes ago.  You just haven‘t left yet…in spite of my best efforts.”

                “All right, I’ll go.”  He refused to acknowledge her this time.  “Goodbye, Commander.”  He nodded.  She muttered upon her exit, “Looks like I’m talking to the doctor.”

                Both Billy and Captain Apollo were surprised to find that the meeting had ended so abruptly.  She didn’t doubt their belief that it had ended heatedly.  There seemed to be a common misconception -- or not -- that she and the Commander didn’t get along.  Well, that was only true sometimes.  Today was an exception.

                She arrived at the Life Station to find Doctor Cottle just wrapping up with another patient.  She waited good-naturedly outside the curtain for her turn.  She had no desire to pull rank.  Hell, she had no desire to be there; why the hell would she want to go sooner?

                Unfortunately, the doctor finished his visit and stepped out, looking surprised to have their reigning leader waiting for him.

                “President Roslin?”  The question went unanswered, but if the slight tic of his hand was any indication, he was dying for a cigarette.  How appropriate.

                She managed to look mature and not like a child that‘d been dragged against her will.  “I was wondering if we could be speak…privately,” she nodded towards her guards.

                “This way.”  She followed him to another curtained-off area and hopped up onto the exam table.  “What do you need?”  He was brisk at best, rude at worst.  Any time in between, he was just grating.

                She cleared her throat and straightened up.  “I’ve been feeling dizzy all day, nauseous too.  And I’ve had little appetite.”

                He nodded, making notations on her chart.  “Have you eaten?”

                “Not yet.  Breakfast was unappealing and I didn’t have time for lunch.”

                He gave her a disapproving look, but didn’t comment.  “Anything else?”

                “Not really.  Just vertigo.”

                “How bad?”  She shrugged a bit, not ready to give it a grade.  “On a scale of one to ten.  How bad?”  He had no time for her reticence.

                “Seven, possibly.”

                “Did you fall?”

                “I tripped…twice.  My aide caught me, then, Captain Adama.”

                He made a noncommittal noise.  “What were you doing when you tripped?”

                “I was picking up papers in my cabin, this morning.  Then, I was disembarking the shuttle from Colonial One, about an hour ago.”

                “Okay.”  He flipped through a few tests results from her last visit the week before.  “Your results from last week don’t show any progression in the sarcoma, but we can do more at your convenience.  However, I would like to gather blood samples for testing to rule out any blood disorders, such as anemia or protein deficiency.”

                “Okay.”  She shrugged out of her blazer and rolled up her sleeve uneasily.  She was never particularly fond of having things stuck in her arm.  She winced minimally as the big needle came out and pierced her arm.  A little prick, her ass.

                Two agonizing minutes later, he had filled three vials of blood and she felt like fainting.  “That’s should do it, for now.”  About time.  “My only suggestion at this point is for you to get something to eat and to rest.”  She looked at him matter-of-factly.  “You have a busy schedule, I know that.  But, if you want to be up and around for the next few months,  you need to find time to rest.  I mean that.”

                “I know, Doctor.  I’ll try.  There’s just a lot to be done before…”  She couldn’t say it yet.  There was a lot to be done before her death.

                “Yes, well,” he sighed, “ I haven’t quite sold the farm on saving your life yet.  So, rest.”  He looked down at her as though to impose his will on her.

                She donned her jacket grimly.  “Yes, Doctor.”  She stepped down from the bed too quickly and the room spun this time.  Unfortunately, the good Doctor’s reflexes weren’t nearly as fast as Billy’s or Apollo’s.  She hit the deck like a megaton of tylium ore.  Frak.

                About an hour later, she opened her eyes to the dull gray ceiling and groaned at the sheer nuisance of being ill.  Frakking cancer.  A familiar face appeared above her and she swore as Commander Adama gave her an ‘I told you so’ look, which she despised with a red hot passion.

                “I don’t want to hear it.”

                “I didn’t say a thing.”  She only mumbled in response and attempted to sit up.  Her head swam and he guided her back to the prone position.  “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

                She only grunted in response to that.  “Where’ s Doctor Cottle?”  He tilted his head beyond her line of vision and the white-haired doctor came closer to peer down at her.

                “You know, Madame President, people worry when you don’t show up where you’re supposed to.”

                “Gods, what have I missed?”

                “Nothing that couldn’t be put aside in the name of government business.”

                “So says you.  The people might see it a little differently.”

                “The people aren’t here at the moment.”

                “Of course not.  Now, what the hell is wrong with me, Doctor?”

                Silence stretched between them as they both shot conspicuous looks at the Commander.  He twiddled his thumbs before realizing that he was what was keeping the doctor from proceeding.

                “I’ll go now.  Feel better, Madame President.”

                “Thank you.”  He slipped out of the cubicle and made himself scarce.  “Now?”  He perched beside her and gave her a sympathetic look.  She felt as though someone was walking over her grave.  “What?  What is it?”

                “I’ve run test after test.  I had my technician run them twice, then I ran them again myself.  I was that positive it had to be a mistake.  I’m still not completely convinced it isn’t.”  He sounded confounded and thrown.

                She swallowed the bile that rose to the back of her throat and burned her tongue.  Why was she so scared all of the sudden?  How bad could it be?

                “And.”

                “And, on a high note, your cancer is gone.”

                She blinked vaguely and shook her head.  There was no way.  “Gone.  What do you mean gone?  As in remission?  That kind of gone?”

                “No.  I mean gone, as in not there.  The cancer is no longer in your body.  It’s gone.”

                She choked on her own audacity to hope.  “Just like that?”  He nodded.  “Then, why have I been feeling like this all day?  What else is wrong with me?”  This is where he really began to hesitate.  “Gods, what else is there?”

                He decided to cut to the chase.  “When the blood work was done, a certain chemical kept showing up in your blood.  It was chorionic gonadotropin.”  She bestowed him with a searching look.  She was a teacher, not a doctor.  “It’s the human pregnancy hormone.”

                “Hmm?”  She tilted her head towards him as though being closer would change what he‘d said.  She couldn’t have heard that right.  “I’m sorry, I thought you said you found the hormone for pregnancy in my blood.”

                “That‘s what I said.”

                “That’s not possible.  I’ve already started menopause.  You should know that.”

                “I do know that,” he said, with heightened emphasis,  “but there it is.”

                She rubbed the back of her neck worriedly.  “Are you certain that it suggests pregnancy?  Couldn’t there be some other condition triggering the production of this hormone?”

                “Perhaps, but it’s typically the hormone produced by the embryo during early pregnancy, then the trophoblast of the placenta later on.  I’m fairly certain --”  She cut him off.

                “Well, you need to be wholly certain.  How can you find out for sure and when can you do it?”

                “I can perform a sonogram.”

                “When?”

                “Now.”

                “Then, what are we waiting for?”

                “All right.  It’ll take me a couple of minutes to get the machine in here.  Excuse me.”  He left without a dismissal and strode away to find the machine.  With terrible impatience, she squirmed, finally coming to rest on her back with her hands atop her abdomen gingerly.  Could there be a child growing inside of her?

                She’d never particularly wanted children of her own, much content to instruct those of others and positively influence their lives.  It’s not that she didn’t think herself capable, the opportunity had simply never arrived.  There’d been no man she’d wanted to split DNA with to make a child and she hadn’t wanted to do it on her own.  She’d always told herself that there’d be time later, but years passed and there seemed not to be.  And now, the question was : Could it be?  Could she be pregnant?  And if so, how?

                She started when the curtain was yanked back and Doctor Cottle hurried an unfamiliar piece of equipment in on a cart.  He slid the curtain back around and tinkered with the machine until several green and orange lights blinked on and something beeped.

                “Lift your shirt.”  She nodded absently and tugged her blouse from her slacks, unbuttoning the last four to reveal her stomach.  “This’ll be cold.”  He squirted this freezing gel onto her stomach, causing goose bumps to rise all over her body.  She shivered.  He took an electronic wand and spread it over her lower abdomen, eyes set determinedly on the monitor.

                At first, he exhaled in a kind of relief when he heard nothing, but he moved the wand a couple of inches to the right and a strong thrumming beat filled the compact space.  It didn’t take a medical degree to know what she was listening to.  That was a heartbeat and she was fairly certain that it wasn’t hers.

                “Doctor.”  He didn’t respond, still watching the monitor.  “Doctor Cottle, is that what I think it is?”

                “Only if you’re thinking what I’m thinking.  Yes, it is. It would seem that you are indeed pregnant,” he stated wryly.

                She propped herself up onto her elbows.  “How far along?”

                “Ten weeks, approximately, give or take another week.”

                She fell back miserably.  “How?”

                He looked to her in genuine surprise.  “You don’t know?”

                “No!  I haven’t…I haven’t been with anyone in months.  And if I was, I assure you I’d be far too cautious to allow this to happen.  Besides, I’m not supposed to be able to get pregnant anymore.  Why is this happening?  How is this happening?”

                He gave  her a hand towel to wipe her stomach clean.  “Well, menopause isn’t perpetual.  You can be going through it and still experience occasional cycles.  If you are then, your body remains relatively fertile.  Have you had any periods recently, Madame President?”

                She held her hand over her eyes to think about the uncomfortable question.  “I believe I had one a few months back, but there’s no way…”

                “It only takes one time.”

                She smacks the cushion with her fists in frustration.  “What time?  I don’t remember having…” she cleared her throat, “with anyone.  But now, I’m -- I’m pregnant.”  Just the words were hard to say.  Before it was that she was dying, but now she was pregnant.  An interesting coincidence.  “Doctor, is it possible for this to have anything to do with my cancer vanishing?”

                “I don’t know, but I can look into it.”

                “Please do.  At this point, I’m not sure which I’d prefer.”

                Silence descended on the moment and the Doctor cleared his throat awkwardly.  He wasn‘t one to do favors.  “I know it’s not usually done -- least of all by me -- but if you wish, you may…discontinue the pregnancy.”

                She gave him a sideways looks that was unreadable.  “You mean abort it?”  He didn’t speak, but nodded sharply.  “I don’t know if I could.  I mean, this is my child, I hope.”  She began to reflect aloud.  “What will the people say?  I’m not married and I’m not exactly of age to be having my first -- and most definitely last -- child.”

                He didn’t presume to give her guidance, but felt he did have an important point to make.  “So, you’ll be an older, single, working mother.”

                “Well, that’d be fine, Doctor, were I not the President while being an older, single, working mother.”

                “What can I say?  I’m a doctor, not a politician.”

                “Yeah, that’s my job.  Lucky me.”  She slowly sat up and twisted around to hang her legs over the side.  She took deep, slow breaths before venturing a step onto the floor.  So far nothing.

                “If your nausea returns and you find it too hard to deal with, I can give you something for it.”

                “Thank you, that’d be a big help.”  She stood up straight, fastening her blouse and tucking it back into her pants to give some impression of professionalism.  “Doctor, I trust that this will stay between us?”

                “Of course.  Doctor/patient confidentiality dictates as much.”

                “Thank you.  If that’s all…”

                “It is.”

                “Then, have a good,” she struggled for a time reference, “afternoon.”

                “You, too, Madame.”

                “Okay then.”  She stepped out of the stall, the picture of leadership.  She could do this.  She could be pregnant.  She could do motherhood.  It didn’t seem like she had much of a choice.

                Oh, Gods, she didn’t have a choice, did she?

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