It wasn't an extraordinary pen. In fact, anyone who took a tour of the Department of Education could have one if they cared to take it, the department logo and name etched on the side a small souvenir of their visit.
Billy put four in his coat pocket on his first day on the job and sent them to his parents and sisters. His father noted, with his own measure of pride, that his mother showed it to everyone who came over as a way to start bragging about their son's government job.
Of course, employees of the department of education had an abundance of them attached to files and hastily shoved in pockets. Billy produced his on that awful day Laura Roslin became president, when she needed something with which to sign her official oath.
He hadn't thought much about it, there was so much to do and worry about that day, but the president did. He'd never forget the look in her eyes when she asked if she could keep it as a reminder of how many had been lost for her to take her position.
He knew she kept it on her desk, had seen her fiddle with it absentmindedly while they discussed the business of the day. The sight of Gaius Baltar rolling it through his greasy, smoke smelling fingers while Laura Roslin lay dying on Galactica made his blood boil.
He watched the weasely little man from across the desk, ignoring the sound of his pretentiously accented voice, and wondered how long he could work for the man before strangling him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Keikeya, are you listening to me?"
Billy took a deep breath and willed himself to stay calm.
"Can you hand me that pen, please? It's the president's."
Baltar stopped twisting it in his fingers and gave it a cursory glance before shrugging. He tossed it across the desk and fixed Billy with a harsh look.
"I'm going to be the president soon. Are you going to be able to get used to that, Mr. Keikeya?"
Billy bit back his initial response, using the excuse of tucking the pen safely in his pocket to take a moment to formulate one that wouldn't get him thrown out on his ass. By the time he thought he could speak, the vice president had twirled around in his chair and seemed to be talking to the air.
With a roll of his eyes, Billy stood and started for the exit. He had better things to do, namely sit beside his best friend and hold her hand in her final hours, than watch that demented excuse for a leader talk to one of his imaginary friends.
He turned and looked at Baltar one more time before pulling back the curtain. He stroked the pen in his pocket and answered the question under his breath.
"Never."