Author's Note: Many thanks to Mirwalker and Phindle for their help.

Whatever else it means

They weren't dead, that was all Tigh was sure of. He didn't understand why. His head had been spinning, the word 'Cylon' written in bright red letters on the inside. Music vibrated in his bones, too low to be heard but he could feel it like ants crawling over his body.

His private hell was drowned out by the deafening roar of victory in CIC. They had made it. Oh, for a moment they had all been confused, wondering why the enemy had just retreated. But for now they chose to believe that they had beaten the Cylons, once again. People laughed and slapped each other on the back, while their commanding officer stood in their midst, silent. There was no trace of a smile on his face, but Bill let his crew enjoy their moment and Saul was grateful that he was part of it. Every single man and woman on Galactica had a share in the fleet's defense; every single one was willing to risk their life. Soldiers like him.

He watched his old friend and commander from a distance and saw him talking to a concerned President Roslin. Tigh's gaze was drawn to the woman standing next to her. Tory Foster stared at him wide-eyed, arms folded and pressed tightly to her body, the only person in CIC besides him and their two leaders that wasn't a picture of happiness and relief. Tigh clenched his fists. His eye swept the room but nobody had noticed them. They were all busy congratulating each other on their survival. His gaze wandered from one face to another, taking in the emotions he could read there. Snapshots of humanity. How he hated them all in that moment.

The ants were getting restless again. Gods, he needed a drink.

"Here."

Saul took the glass of ambrosia Bill handed him. They had left CIC and were ensconced in Bill's quarters. That setting should have helped him to clear his head, just Bill and him sitting together after a victorious battle. They had discarded their uniform jackets and weapons; just two old warriors and a bottle of ambrosia. Saul drained half his drink in one go. The alcohol burned down his throat, another good old friend of Saul's; but like so often, it wasn't enough.

Bill sat down on the couch next to Saul and sipped on his drink.

"That was a close one." Another sip.

"Sure was."

"One of these days they'll get us."

"Yeah." Saul downed the rest of his ambrosia. He wasn't listening to Bill; it took too much energy to stop his mind from replaying the day in his head. It didn't matter, really; they had had this conversation a hundred times before, so he knew where to nod and when to grunt his agreement.

All of this has happened before and will happen again.

His hands tightened on the empty glass. One image flashed before his inner eye, over and over again.

He pulled the trigger and watched the bullet entering Bill's skull, watched the life drain out of his friend...

"...what to think of her. You listening?"

"What?"

"I said, I have no idea how to handle Starbuck. If it is her."

"She could be a Cylon. It's possible. Anything's possible." Just ask the other-- the others.

Bill looked him over. "Saul, I know the trial was hard for you."

"That's over now." He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his upper lip.

Bill slowly rotated the glass in his hand and watched the swirling liquid. "What about that music in the ship, you still hear--"

"No."

It was Saul's time to study his glass, elbows propped on his knees. It took him a few moments to string his next words together.

"It was all in my head. You know that, I know that. No need to remind me that I made a complete ass out of myself."

There. Tigh risked a glance to his right.

That tiny smile on Bill's face. "Good."

Tigh looked down again. Yeah, good. By the way Bill, did I tell ya I'm a frakking toaster?

A dark room, four people standing in the center. Sirens blaring and no time to think, to really understand.

He pressed his lips together and tightened his grip on the glass. Don't think of it, don't--

Bill's lifeless body fell to the ground, an empty shell--

-- think of it.

A trickle of sweat ran down his spine. He ached for another drink-- no, the whole bottle. He needed to forget. He doubted that Bill would approve, it had only been a day since he had to carry his intoxicated first officer to bed, and he must have noticed that his XO hadn't been much help earlier in CIC. So Tigh would have to go to his quarters and get drunk alone. It wouldn't be the first time.

Was it safe to drink that much, a little voice suddenly whispered in his head. The voice sounded like Ellen, which was ridiculous really. His wife had never turned down a drink in her life. What if, that voice continued, what if that thing inside him took control of him when he was weak? If he went out cold and then he was gone forever, leaving behind only an unfeeling machine inside Saul Tigh's body?

Saul jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, and his glass slipped through his sweaty palms and tumbled to the floor, the impact softened by the rug. "Ah sorry, didn't mean to, sorry." He leaned back on the couch, his heart beating in his throat, and pressed his shaking hands against the outside of his thighs.

"It's okay, nothing happened." Bill put his own glass down on the small table in front of them before leaning on Saul's knee to pick up the other. "It's not broken. Want another drink?"

He just wanted to get away. "No... I had enough. I should go now, get some sleep." He pointed at the President's picture standing on Bill's desk. "Won't she come soon and kick us out of here, anyway?"

"She's getting her treatment from Cottle, won't be here for another couple of hours. Till then I'm free to use my quarters how I see fit." He held up Saul's glass. "You look like hell. Sure you don't want another one?"

Saul laughed bitterly. "What, now you want me to drink more? That's a first."

Bill put the glass next to its twin and then studied Saul for a second. Tigh stared back defiantly, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Something else then." Bill's hand, still planted on Saul's knee, wandered slowly up his thigh.

Saul's heartbeat accelerated. He swallowed, but made no move to stop Bill. "We haven't done this in a long time." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. Bill's hand stopped short of Tigh's crotch.

"Your choice."

Bill's warmth seeped through the cloth into Saul's skin. Heat exploded inside the pit of his stomach, the good kind of heat that stops your breath and your thoughts.

"My choice, yeah." But Saul knew the haunted look in Bill's eyes, knew that Bill needed it as much as he did.

He spread his legs further apart. Bill took the hint and started to fondle him through his pants. Frak, that felt good. It had been too long. Saul slid forwards on the couch and pressed himself against Bill's hand. He could hear his old friend chuckle beside him. Thought it was funny, hmm? Saul edged his hand between Bill's legs, honed in on his target and was rewarded with a low moan.

Saul wanted to enjoy Bill's touch, but he was getting more and more frustrated. It felt good, yes, but he wanted to let loose and something was holding him back. He tried concentrating on the moment, Bill's knee pressed against his thigh and his fingers stroking him, but when he closed his eye he saw again Bill's corpse hitting the floor.

Growling, Saul pushed Bill back till he lay sprawled out on the couch and scrambled over him. Pressing his knee between Bill's legs he rubbed himself against him, not an easy task on the narrow sofa.

Bill wrapped his arms around his friend's waist when Saul nearly toppled to the floor. "You're not wasting any time."

Saul shifted his weight. "Are you complaining or what?"

"No. Now shut up and move your ass." He nudged him, and Saul pulled back a little, giving Bill enough room to tug both their zippers open. Saul helped as well as he could: wriggling, pulling and shoving their pants down until finally flesh touched flesh. Oh yes, that was much better. Saul leaned on his elbows and looked down into Bill's flushed face. They were both breathing heavily as Saul thrust against Bill's hips faster and faster. His hot skin tingled, and he could have wept tears of joy when Bill reached down with his cool hand.

He was so close. Saul could already feel that old familiar pressure on his spine, down in the small of his back. But it wasn't enough. He choked back a sob. He only wanted release, only wanted to forget; was that too much to ask? Under him Bill had bent his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. Saul's thrusts became more erratic. The pounding sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled his ears.

Suddenly Bill jerked and his eyes flew open, staring directly at him. Saul froze, he had the feeling that Bill was seeing right through him. He felt panic rising as the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. Yes, Bill could see inside him, see everything. Could see what Saul was.

Heat exploded in Tigh's belly. His whole body shook. He squeezed his eye shut but he could still feel Bill's gaze searing him. He was on fire, the heat burning through his skin and his flesh. His head filled with light so bright it blinded him. The air was pressed out of his lungs, he gasped for breath and then something inside him broke. The pressure was gone, washed away by a wave of euphoria. The light disappeared as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped and cool, merciful darkness surrounded him.

Saul woke when the couch dipped under him. He heard a noise and opened his eye when he could make out footsteps.

"Here, for cleaning up." Bill threw him a towel, staggered back to the couch and sat down with a sigh. "I really needed that."

"You're not the only one."

Tigh dutifully wiped himself clean and readjusted his clothes, while Bill propped his feet on the table and sprawled himself out. Saul copied his actions. Bill's eyelids drooped and his breathing grew steadier. Not long and he would be fast asleep, Saul knew from experience, and he preferred it that way. Because for the first time in months he could think clearly. Yes, he understood what he had to do.

He watched Bill closely for a minute, waited until he noticed his body go slack and then stood up and grabbed his jacket. He would be alone in this, he knew. The other three didn't have the guts to go through with it. But then, maybe he shouldn't expect too much from them. After all, you had to know your enemy, and Saul had learned that lesson well. So who was better qualified for the job than him?

He took his time putting on the jacket and then picked up his gun. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Bill was still fast asleep. The most important person in the fleet, except the President perhaps. But she was dying, eaten alive by her cancer, and without her the death of Admiral William Adama would plunge mankind into the dark abyss of annihilation. Bill really should be more careful around him.

Bill's chest was covered by his tank top, but Saul remembered only too well the long ugly scar hidden beneath it. Boomer didn't know how to do it right. You want to kill someone, you go for the head, not the guts.

His fingers stroked the smooth metal surface of his gun. No more doubts for him, no. But it wasn't time yet. He holstered his weapon and quietly left Bill's quarters without looking back.

He would be ready when the order came, the order to destroy Bill and with him the rest of mankind. Doubts were for cowards. He wouldn't shy away because it was uncomfortable or painful; he never had. That's what being a soldier was all about. And if that road took him to hell, so be it. It couldn't be any worse.

Tigh wandered down the dark, deserted corridors. He wasn't in a hurry. A twisted smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Yes, he would be ready.

Even a blind drunk could put a bullet through his own head.