Good Days and Bad Days

Galactica, 18:00

Damn it, she was right.

Bill ran his fingers through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, replaying in his mind Tigh's troubling report about Cain and Pegasus' now abandoned civilian fleet.

Two families shot up against the bulkhead. 15 civilian ships, left to drift in space until everyone on board starved to death. He imagined how it would have delighted the President to add those souls to her white board, how she would have relished the chance to fold them into the rest of the human race and extend to them her protection. Now he had to tell her that the woman in military control of her civilian fleet was, indeed, a cold-blooded murderer.

He reached for the phone, dialed a familiar number, and smiled as a familiar voice came over the wire.

"Billy, I need to see the President."

Colonial One, 16:00

"Billy? Can you come in here, please?"

Laura Roslin sighed at the weakness in her own voice. Today was one of the bad days and the pain was creeping up her chest, making it hard to breathe, much less concentrate on the papers scattered on the desk in front of her.

Billy pushed aside the curtain as he entered her office, his face contorted in an odd scowl as he tried to mask his concern with a professionally solicitous look. His complete and utter failure made the president laugh, but her giggle quickly turned to a gasping cough.

"Madam President, oh my gods." He rushed to her desk, kneeling carefully beside her chair and resting a hand on her shoulder. He found a half full water glass amidst the clutter and pressed it into her hands. She waited a moment for the coughing to subside, took a long sip, and lay back on the cool brown leather, exhausted.

"Thank you, Billy." She opened her eyes enough to find her glasses on the desk in front of her. She slipped them on and looked at her aide, his face pale and eyes full of both terror and pity. She hated that her illness scared him, scared Bill, scared even Doctor Cottle. But it was the pity - the side glances at each other, the gentle pats on the back, the absolute anguish in her young aide's voice - that made the whole experience of dying so unbearable.

"Madam President, are you alright? Should I get the doctor?" He awkwardly stood up, no longer sure he should be kneeling beside her but not wanting to move out of reach of her or the phone.

She smiled weakly. "The pain is just a bit worse than usual this afternoon but it's not an emergency." As he winced, she reminded herself that she needed to have one more conversation with Billy about what would signal an emergency worthy of the doctor in her final days. She wanted to spend as few of them as possible hooked to machines in Life Station. "I think I'd just like to finish working from bed. Who do we have to knock off the schedule to do that?"

Billy moved to the other side of the desk and consulted her schedule. "The Quorum representatives from Gemenon and Saggitaron are meeting to discuss sharing the chapel space on Galactica and asked if you could stop by but I'll be happy to tell them your schedule got too tight for a drop in." He shook his head in annoyance that they would have ever thought the quarrel merited some of her precious time and continued to read. "The only other possible was a sitrep on the Admiral Cain problem from Commander Adama."

She rubbed her temples as she considered the logistics of that meeting. The pain crawling up her chest and into her head, she knew, would bar her from taking a Raptor to Galactica. He would come to her but she didn't relish the thought of him seeing her lying sick in bed. Yet. It was inevitable, she knew, but not yet.

"I think that can be accomplished over the phone," she said, starting to push herself up from the chair. On cue, Billy was at her side, steadying her and letting her lean heavily on his arm as they made their way slowly to her private quarters.

She dismissed Billy after she sank down on the couch, assuring him with a smile that she could manage to get out of her skirt and heels and into her robe without collapsing. As she set to that task, he slipped back out to his desk to keep the office of the President running. And to stand watch, he thought, with a glance back at the curtain.

Colonial One, 18:00

"Good afternoon, Commander Adama. The president has had quite a long day and was wondering if you might be able to save her the trip to Galactica and give her your update over the phone?"

Bill could sense the tension in the young man's voice as he relayed the request. The fear that hadn't been far from his mind since she'd admitted she was dying crept into his brain. "I'd be happy to save her the trip and come over to Colonial One. I need an excuse to get out of the office," he said, hoping his voice conveyed a lightness he didn't feel.

"Sir, the president would really appreciate one fewer meeting today, if at all possible. Should I patch you through to her?"

There was a short silence at the other end of the phone. "No, thank you. That will be all, Billy."

The conversation ended with a click but Billy's relief at maintaining the President's privacy was short lived as the wireless on his desk crackled to life. "Raptor 211, prepare for transport of Commander Adama to Colonial One."

Galactica, 18:05

His Raptor ordered, Commander Adama took a moment to straighten the items on his desk and clear his thoughts. For all he knew, he'd arrive at Colonial One to find Laura Roslin furious that his disregard for her wishes had mucked with her tight schedule. In fact, he hoped he would. A worried smile tugged at the edges of his lips as he stood, straightened his uniform, and headed for the flight deck.

Colonial One, 18:05

Billy rolled his eyes as he stood up, not excited about having to relay the Commander's impending arrival to the President.

"Madam President?" he called through the curtain, tentatively pushing it aside as she verbally sanctioned his entrance. She was dressed in her white robe, nestled under a brown blanket, eyeing him from behind her glasses. Some of her color had returned but now a light sweat covered her face, he noticed, and various briefing books lay scattered around her small form.

"What do you need, Billy?"

"Um, Madam President...Commander Adama is on his way over."

Her eyes narrowed as she removed her glasses. "Billy, I thought I asked you to tell the Commander that I couldn't meet with him today but would be happy to receive his update over the phone?"

Billy squirmed. "I told him, sir, but he hung up and ordered a Raptor." Trying not to wither under her glare, he said weakly, "I think he may be worried about you."

Laura Roslin sighed, rubbed her eyes, and tried to smile for her aide's sake. She'd wanted this to wait, if only for a few more days. She'd gotten used to Billy's worry, the terror in his voice every time she called his name, the pity in his eyes each time she'd needed to lean on him to get up from her chair. Dr. Cottle's fear, badly disguised as rough orders to the "young lady" who also happened to be the most powerful woman in the world, could even be amusing. But Commander Adama's pity was the one thing she wasn't sure she had the strength to withstand.

As Billy watched, Laura checked her steadiness by trying to lift herself from the couch. The motion sent a new spasm of pain through her chest and she unwillingly gasped, eyes clenched shut, before she fell back onto the pillow behind her head. She raised one hand to stop Billy's rush to her side. "I'm alright, Billy. I guess I'm going to have to greet the Commander right here," she said, fighting to keep her voice even. "Can you take this and this," motioning to two files laying on her legs, "and let me know when he's here?"

Silently, he moved forward to pick up the files, straightened his mouth into a terse line, and turned back toward the outer office to await their unwelcome visitor.

Colonial One, 18:30

Commander Adama stopped for a moment before knocking on the door to the President's makeshift office. Steeling himself for whatever might meet him inside, his knuckles met the metal and slowly pushed it aside when Billy signaled he could enter.

She wasn't at her desk, he noticed, and Billy was standing protectively in front of the curtain separating her public domain from her small private space. He looked pained, tired, and, as the Commander looked closer, near tears.

"Commander Adama, President Roslin will see you in her quarters." As the older man moved to brush past him and part the curtain, Billy stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "Commander, you really shouldn't have come. She's alright, just having a bad day. I don't think it's as bad as it looks yet but…" Bill cut the boy off by brushing his hand away and practically sprinted the three feet to the curtain and into the room.

The sight of the President of the Twelve Colonies lying on her couch in her bathrobe stopped him short. Glasses firmly in place, she looked up from the paper she was reading and caught his eye. She almost laughed, the only response she found she could muster to the terrified looks of the men constantly surrounding her, but thought better of it and fixed him with a wan smile instead. Wordlessly, she patted the chair next to her.

He stayed put for a moment, thoughts racing through his head. She was dying, he realized as if for the first time, and she's trying to do it gracefully. He regretted his impulse to thrust his presence onto her, regretted forcing her to be strong for him.

Once he took his seat, she waited for him to speak. When he didn't, she filled the silence.

"I have good days and bad days, though don't look so worried, I'm not dying today."

"I was worried," he allowed, almost swallowing the words. He wanted to ask her what if felt like, wanted to know how much pain she was in just so he could stop imagining the worst. He wanted to bolt from the room and escape her calm, level gaze.

She rescued him with her words. "What can I do for you?"

"You were right about Cain. Pegasus had a civilian fleet with her. Fifteen ships. Cain stripped them. For parts. Supplies. People."

She replaced her glasses and shifted her body as she took in the full meaning of the Commander's report.

"I wish I could say I was surprised but it's who she is. She's playing for keeps and you've gotta do the same."

He smiled, genuinely, at the woman, the President, lying beside him, suggesting calmly once again that he kill his commanding officer.

"What's gotten into you? You've gotten so...bloody minded."

She resisted the urge to laugh again, and decided there was no other choice but to level with the only person she wanted in charge of this fleet when she was no longer around to protect her people.

"I know that as long as Cain lives, your survival is at risk and you know that..," she trailed off and willed the cough rising in her chest to subside. Failing, she hoped she looked somewhat presidential as she hacked into the sleeve of her robe.

Bill was unsure of what to do, knowing that the last thing Laura Roslin would want is for him to see her like this. His hand went to her back before he noticed the glass of water sitting by the bed. He grabbed it and helped her hold it as she took a drink before weakly lying back down on the pillow while removing her glasses, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar as she willed back the pain.

"What can I get you?" He regretted the words as they escaped his mouth. What else would she want other than a new chance at life he could not give her?

She smiled mischievously, waiting for the now familiar look of pity to creep into his eyes. When she saw only concern, she decided to try to ease his pain with a joke.

"A new body. Perhaps one of those young Cylon models from the Resurrection ship."

Her playfulness hit him hard in the chest. She was the one dying and she was trying to comfort him. He played along, not sure if it was for her sake or his own. "I can't see you as a blonde."

"You'd be surprised," she said, allowing herself a small laugh at the idea of the President of the Twelve Colonies in the body of a lithe, sexy machine.

Before he could stop himself, he offered her his hand. She looked at it before allowing his big fingers to encompass her own. She gave his hand what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

He couldn't take any more. The tears were about to come and, if he could do nothing else, he refused to subject her to his pain. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

She locked eyes with him and gave him a pointed, intentional nod, punctuating it by squeezing his hand with a bit more force this time.

A single tear escaped Commander Adama's blue eyes, realizing that she would fight this losing battle to the end, and be stronger while doing it than he or any of the ace pilots he'd met in his life could ever be. He didn't even try to hide it, and her green eyes threatened to spill over as well. As he lifted himself to go, she forced back her tears and clutched his hand one more time, flashing what she hoped was a sure smile.

He turned his back and went for the curtain. "Commander?" He wiped another tear from his eye before turning to face her again. Her eyes were clear now and the resolve had returned to her jaw.

"She won't hesitate to kill you. Don't let her."

He gazed at her, unsure how to respond. She smiled again, stronger this time, and dismissed him with her eyes.

Colonial One, 21:00

President Roslin lay awake, listening to the comforting hum of the ship's engines. Her short visit with Commander Adama had sapped her of almost all her strength and the rest had been expended by getting her young aide to quit hovering and go see his Petty Officer. She'd promised him that she would call if she needed anything.

She thought back on her conversation with Commander Adama. The moment she'd dreaded, the first time her stoic fly boy saw her in the full throes of her illness, had come and gone. He'd cried. He'd held her hand. He'd looked as if he would give up the entire fleet if it would save just one life. Her life.

But she hadn't seen in Bill what she'd most feared. He didn't pity her. He was scared for her, scared for himself, scared for the people who would soon be left without their leader. But his eyes had shone only with respect. Respect and...something else. Love?

She put aside the thought. If there was one thing she didn't need on her plate, it was a love affair conducted on her deathbed. She needed him to listen to her and save his own life by killing Admiral Cain and assuring the safety of the 50,000 civilians whose lives she chronicled on her whiteboard. She could be strong enough for both of them, for just long enough, if she could die knowing her Commander Adama had the situation in hand.