Old William Adama, (Bill to his friends) sat, staring into the green grasses and lush landscape in the distance. In truth, he wasn't really looking at anything. He was dreaming. His thoughts led him to a past, many years ago, of days before his self-imposed exile.

He sighed. Still, it was his choice, after all, and he didn't regret a moment of it. He glared at the familiar grave next to him, as if to remind himself. It was the same grave he had sat at nearly every day since his first days alone. He read it aloud as he always did. "Laura Roslyn"

Adama remembered the woman he loved fondly, as he always would.

Despite himself, he allowed himself a smirk. He wondered how his son was, did he still think of him? Did he have a family? Was he even still alive? Adama scoffed at that. Of course he was. It was Lee's idea to abandon technology, to start anew on the planet they had named Earth. He was resourceful. He would get by just fine. Adama found that he didn't miss the technology that he had used to be so invested in. Of course, technology was useful, but he knew that he was glad he never had to see any of it again. But he did miss Galactica. His Galactica. He chuckled, reminding himself of his old home, and his old family.

Family. That word had found new meaning in recent years. He thought often of his 'family', of his old friends Saul, Kara and Athena. He hoped they were still okay. Maybe he should try to find them?

He scratched his long, now-grayed beard and waved off his concerns as he stood to his feet. His bones creaked as his weight shifted and he groaned in protest and he steadied himself on his walking stick. He was getting old, too old to go looking for old friends.

"Until next time, Laura" Adama grinned, pretending to tip an imaginary hat.

He limped slightly as he returned to his make-shift house. It was an old injury he'd sustained a year or so ago, hunting a wild animal he'd named a boar. Though he had rested for several weeks after the injury, he soon realized that he would need a cane from now on and most likely would never hunt again. He was simply too old to be running around anymore and silently suspected that he was on his last legs. His wrinkles were increasing and his hair was a dull gray.

The thought did not worry him nearly as much as he thought it would. He looked behind his shoulder as he walked, taking one last look at Laura's grave. Until next time…

Adama entered his cabin, instinctively scrubbing his feet on the mat, made from animal fur as he always did. He put his self-made coat on a hook. His old uniform, long disused, hung on the wall as a trophy. Adama now opted for more practical clothes, proudly made by himself.

Noticing the uniform, Adama frowned, as if seeing it for the first time in years. The elderly Adama reached out and touched the fabric. Once bright and blue, it was now a faded grey, mirroring the Admiral's eyes.

Touching it incited old memories, his fingers found the pips on the shoulders. He almost laughed aloud at his old title. Admiral. How little it meant today. His mind flashed back to the CIC, familiar words came to mind. dradis, FTL, vipers. His grin widened as he realized he barely remembered what the words meant anymore. His once sharp, tactical mind had now been reduced to remembering simple words. The thought did not upset him.

Why today, he wondered? It had been months since he had thought of his warring days. Still smiling, Adama sat on his straw bed. He was suddenly tired.

The old Admiral allowed himself to lie down, adoring in the comfortable straw mattress. In his youth, Adama hadn't been one for softness or comfort, but he was finding that he enjoyed a good rest more and more. He kicked off his shoes. His fading eyes, once bright and blue, found his colonial uniform again. Finally, he allowed his protesting eyes to close for the last time.

Bill Adama's final thoughts were not of his son, for he required no mourning. They were not even of his best friend Saul Tigh, or even Starbuck, the daughter he never had. He thought, as he always did, of Laura.

Those closing thoughts were not those of anger, nor bitterness of having her taken away from him, or the regret he had that they did not have more time together, as he often did on these lonely nights, But his thoughts were those of happiness that was there with her in the end and that he would be there with her again.

Some would say that William Adama died of a broken heart, but in the end it was the heart that remained truly whole, for he never stopped loving Laura Roslyn. Even at the end.

So say we all.