"What are we doing Bill?"
"Hmm." Admiral Adama shifted in his attempt at sleep. The woman in his arms was thinking again. And as much as he wanted to rest in these rare moments that allowed such a luxury, the feel of her eyelashes dusting his cheeks melted his defenses. "We," he sliced through the air encompassing the small space between them, "are taking a much deserved four hours of rack time."
"Rack time?" She swatted at his chest. Even living on a Battlestar for the last four years hadn't fully acclimated her to the harshness of military linguistics. "Is that what you call this."
"That's not what you're asking." He rolled on his side to face her in the dark. "So what are you asking?"
She paused. He could feel her trying to form her disquietude into words. "What are we chasing? We're running around in these Gods damned ship, fighting battles the victories of which only buy us time to fight another battle. I mean, don't you ever get tired of running and fighting? Don't you ever just want to stop and say 'What's the frakin' point of it all?' I'm asking 'What are we doing?'. Is it worth fighting for lives that aren't worth living?" Her voice rose as her concerns became more adamant. She gesticulated at the darkness.
Bill lay still next to her, waiting silently for her to calm down. She got like this sometimes in the dark. When they were alone; when her guard was down; when all the doubts and nay sayings that she suppressed for the good of the people overwhelmed her.
"You don't believe that."
"I don't believe what? Are you even listening to me?"
"You don't believe that a life, any life, is not worth living." He shifted to his back so he could reach the light above the bunk. If they were going to go into her darkness he was going to look at her in the light.
She covered her eyes from the harshness of the light and the harshness of his truth. Damn him for always being right. She couldn't ignore the life that had happened these last 4 years. Despite all the pain and loss, their were those good times. Good times which stood out all the more when paired with all the tragedy.
"I love when your logical brain makes my point for me." He smiled when he realized that she had completely moved on from the argument she was trying to make. "When I met you, you were a stuck-up, know-it-all, little school teacher with an insatiable lust for power." A hand thudded down hard on his chest.
"Well, you were a pompous, know-it-all, ASS who wouldn't listen to reason when it was staring him in the face." The room fell silent as they both sulked over pride wounded before they'd ever met.
"You're not so much of an ass anymore." She laughed, mostly to herself, as she curled back into him.
"And you don't teach school anymore." His chest was thudded again as he reached for the light and once again sent them into a comfortable darkness.
"Do you think anyone will ever know about the lives we're living?" She mused again into his chest.
"I don't know. I'd like to think that what we've done here has made a difference. That we'll find a place to settle, maybe even Earth. And that our own history will go on through the children that have been born and those who will be born. But who really knows the validity of history. Its all just stories from a winning perspective."
"And if the cylons win?" She propped herself up and looked into eyes that she couldn't see.
"They won't." He brushed the hair from her eyes, instinctively knowing where the locks had fallen.
"And you know this Admiral because?"
"Because I'm a pompous know-it-all."
She settled back into his arms, demons quelled for another hour. Adama looked at his watch. Thirty more minutes of rack-time before they had to lead the human race into history.