A/N: This drabble sort of 'wrote' itself, while I was pondering a different story altogether. It seemed plausible Romo Lampkin would have a personal say in the matter of Earth 1.0 and the tragedy of Dee's suicide, that followed immediately afterwards, or how it could affect the one person Romo deemed humanity's ultimate 'beacon of hope' just recently – Lee Adama.

Set through 'Sometimes a Great Notion' (spawns from Lee and Dee's date at Joe's bar), season 4. Mentions of events in 'The Son Also Rises', season 3 and 'Caprica' pilot. Jake-the-dog gets to feature, as well.

Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me.

Share of night*

Romo Lampkin had been long past harboring delusions any of that was going to end well. Ever. By far, he might have very well proved to be the least flabbergasted in the fleet over the long forsaken Elysium of Earth to have turned out a frakking evil joke. Didn't mean he couldn't toast to that, though.

Joe's Bar was a curious menagerie of despair, coming in all sorts and brands to be anticipated, given the circumstances, ranging from silent brooding implosions over an umpteenth shot of moonshine to brash vigor and strained laughter, summoned to vestige a bottomless hollow, soon to suck them all the way to Hades, no doubt.

Romo had a hunch that was not going to end well once he spotted them, at a private cubicle, first. The ex-interim President of the Twelve Colonies and one Ragtag fleet, as of that morning, and the little wifie. Truth be told, he used to like the girl, back in the days of Baltar's trial, despite the fact she never particularly bothered to conceal heartfelt disdain, neither to him personally nor to his defendant and to his security guard-turned-legal aid, later on. Not even to his cat.

Reminded him of someone he knew, quite a bit. The one he lost long before Faye. Same determined no-nonsense seriousness. Same frown trapped within a daisy. Saw him for the bastard he was right away. Saw her husband for the bastard he was all too hell-bent on becoming in pursuit of exorcising his private demons. Since she wasn't around by the end of the trial, it figured she'd finally sent Lee's judicial stints to Hades. Lee including. He knew the kid took it hard. He knew that was exactly what would help them win. He needed Apollo in that courtroom, asap, to go for the final kill, not his grandpa's incarnation. The girl's leaving incidentally hit right where Apollo resided within Joe Adama's grandson. He knew Lee'd win her back too, sooner or later. For she actually loved the man. Unlike someone he knew.

Therefore, it didn't surprise him all that much to see the two of them at the bar, laughing and holding hands over the table, flustered and starry-eyed. If anything, appearing for all the world to be on first date. What amused and alerted him was not the choice of timing, however, but the palpable lack of devastation about them both. They talked and laughed, then danced, then smiled, talked and danced some more and, judging from quite a number of abrupt, sizzling silences, nearly kissed. All without a hint of desperation, trademark of all the other permutations of 'having a good time' on display at Joe's that night. As if they had all the frakking time in the worlds, he couldn't but smirk.

Romo motioned the bartender for a refill and treated Jake, sprawled beneath his stool to an algae cracker. The youngest Adama was just happy. Plain and simple. Basking in the giggles his jokes earned him; grinning and blushing repeatedly, clearly ecstatic, whenever her gaze spelled admiration; making her flush whenever allowing his own stare, riddled with rather poorly veiled awe, to linger. It was something about the girl's demeanor that stirred Lampkin's apprehension. Some anchoring finality in the glowing joy she radiated. If he'd ever been remotely accurate in assessing Lee's wife, she was to be taking hope seriously. Too seriously. And Romo had hardly ever been wrong about people.

Romo wouldn't have insisted he saw it coming. Even he wasn't that into cynicism. The kids could use some bliss, of their own making, if not of the utterly oblivious Gods. Yet when the news arrived - a hushed rumor, sending the bar into a mingled frenzy of horrified gasps, tearful howls, resigned silent shrugs and hails for more booze – he knew his instincts didn't falter. He was, in fact, right, to get ticked off. Didn't mean a damn thing anymore, certainly. They'd be beyond frakked up now, even more so than they were earlier in the day, upon arrival to that ashtray of a planet. Precisely because the one man, reliable enough, to let idealism get the better of him and pull their hapless tribe out of the downward spin, happened to take hope seriously too. More seriously still, the loss thereof. Didn't mean he couldn't toast to that.

Jake was the first to find him. When Romo arrived to the sideways niche, carved somewhere in a dead-end hallway the lawyer never even suspected existed on Galactica, Lee was plopped on the floor, leaning on the bulkhead, petting the dog's ears absently. Jake was endeavoring recurrent attempts to lick his hands, glancing up at young Adama's blank expression with eloquent inquisitive concern. Jake understood.

It occured to Romo, Joe's grandkid had never looked more like his semi-namesake grandfather. Lampkin had heard, of course, snippets on a suicide bombing to have cost Joseph Adama his wife and eldest child back in the day. There was a sinister gravity about Lee's silence now, a singularity of sorts, consuming light and emotions alike, the kind Romo was all too familiar with in his teacher and patron. There was never room for doubt whatever would be born of that darkness, was to be solid and potent. Romo, however, could never be sure the sheer power of its drive wouldn't crush the creator eventually. Couldn't be sure now either.

Lee raised the gaze at the lurking lawyer, finally, as Jake acknowledged his most recent master with a welcoming bark. It must've been the lighting in that nook, for Lampkin quite definitely remembered the ex-President's eyes to be pronouncedly the color of sky they hadn't seen much of in four years. Those earnest blues were to be most instrumental in tipping the scales in Baltar's favor, according to his estimations. The ones looking past him into unfocused distance, at that instant, were ashen-gray.

The obscure shell of Lee Adama, Romo had last talked to, shook his head slightly and was predisposed to say something, as the words choked midway and his countenance constricted in an onslaught of silent sobs. Jake took his cue immediately, burrowing up to lick off the searing salty moisture. But for the rustle of fabric against the rough bulkhead, as Lee's body shuddered in weeping, and for the dog's erratic breathing, no sound escaped the mute sight of grief. Never the one for compassion, Romo just deemed it the most appropriate to turn away, giving the man some space to recompose himself. Moments had long dragged into minutes and quarters of an hour when the lack of movement behind his back hinted Romo to face the younger man again, stretching his hand:

- I could lend you Jake, just this once. But you'll have to get out of this rat-hole, before I start prodding for your reasons to stay.

Shadows were still thick over Adama's eyes, but Romo didn't fail to detect a faintest of flickers, deep beneath the dimness. Maybe there was a way to believe the dark brand of silence, that ran in the family, wouldn't crush Joe's grandson, after all.

- I don't understand…

There was a measure of quivering helplessness to Lee's voice, as he let Lampkin's hand pull him off the floor, that almost made the lawyer reconsider his certainty of the moment before. Romo understood, but it couldn't change a damn thing. Too serious she was. About hope, and duty, and loyalty, and love. At least Lampkin could be sure the President-apparent of their cursed herd was serious too. About her. And Romo was hardly ever wrong about people.

*Our share of night to bear,

Our share of morning,

Our blank in bliss to fill,

Our blank in scorning.

Here a star, and there a star,

Some lose their way.

Here a mist, and there a mist,

Afterwards - day!

By Emily Dickinson