Author's Notes: I do not own Battlestar Galactica or The Great Gatsby. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for beta and continued support.

I wrote this because I love Tom Zarek and Laura Roslin and The Great Gatsby. I finagled a way to bring them together. This fic is the result. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1

Laura and Tom were walking down the corridor when the first blast hit. She was clomping ahead of him, frustrated with the unofficial agenda the new President had presented to the Quorum an hour before. They'd been at odds all morning. It wasn't her fault that the people still deferred to her as their leader, yet the more it happened, the more defensive he became. He accused her of being controlling; she countered with an acidic barb that he was throwing a temper tantrum.

"Stop behaving like a spoiled child who isn't getting his way."

It was the last thing she said before the thundering explosion and the ensuing chaos that followed it. The floor shook with the first resounding hit and Laura flailed forward, nearly losing her balance. Tom braced himself against an anterior wall, hands clawing for purchase against the slick metal. The second blast came seconds later, and all light on Colonial One vanished. Laura found herself in a dizzying abyss of pitch blackness as she fought to maintain her footing.

People were screaming.

The emergency lights flashed on, turning the corridors a sickly shade of red. They flickered on and off at irregular intervals. The ship tilted and this time Laura was flung backward, her head slamming into a bulkhead she couldn't see. When the ship righted itself, she skidded across the floor and tumbled to the ground. Gray spots clouded her vision. Pain. She must have hit her head harder than she'd realized. She was face down on the floor, forehead pressed against the ground, limbs twisted at an awkward angle. She pushed up to get her face off the floor, and did it too quickly. A wave of vertigo made the room spin and she sucked in a reflexive breath. Within seconds, she was choking and gagging on the polluted smoke filling the corridor and spreading into her lungs. Tom was flat on his back beside her on the floor sputtering equally as hard for breath. She made out the blue of his tie, more purple than blue in this strange light.

"We have to stay low," she said. Her voice was hoarse. Her head continued to whirl and pound. Suddenly she remembered the emergency masks and maneuvered herself into a kneeling position as she leaned against the wall for support. She reached her hands up, feeling for a groove, searching with frantic, imprecise fingers for one of the emergency boxes. "The gas masks," she growled at Tom. "Help me, for frak's sake."

Laura was too focused on her task to pay further attention to her companion. If they didn't get masks on, they'd pass out from smoke inhalation and eventually asphyxiate. Laura covered her mouth and nose with one hand in an attempt to take some semblance of a clear breath, but it made no difference, so she reverted back to using both hands to search. She inched her outstretched hands along the wall, careful not to miss anything but still quick enough to cover as much ground as possible. Even during the few moments when the lights flashed on, her eyes were useless. The lack of oxygen disoriented her. After several more failed attempts, her fingers closed on a familiar latch. It was a little too high and she'd have to stand up to grasp it properly. She'd need leverage, too, to pull the box out once the release triggered. The air was hot and thick; her lungs burned. She clawed at the lever with the tips of her fingers when a thud of footsteps pounded the ground from behind her and Tom. She felt arms clutching her back, pressing her down. A heavy body pushed her flat against the wall. It was Tom, she realized, shielding her from being trampled by a panicked throng of terrified passengers.

"Up, up," said Laura, as her world began to sway and then shrink. She needed Tom to help her stand up, needed him to know where the latch was. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness closed around her was the light, so bright and unexpected that she was certain that the ship's standard power had somehow kicked back on.

Orange light.

Power hadn't been restored. The fire on the ship was spreading.

When Tom placed the gas mask around Laura Roslin's inert face, he wasn't sure whether she was dead or alive. He'd gotten his own mask on first, knowing that if he didn't, he'd be passed out beside her within another couple of minutes. Squeezing her wrist, he felt for a pulse. It was steady. The ship was already quieting down and when he dragged Laura down the hall, there were no panicked figures running now. The few people that remained conscious crawled along the floor or hobbled against an adjacent wall toward -

Toward what?

The standard evacuation exit was blocked by the fire. He could try taking a circuitous route but there would never be enough time. And the regular evac ships wouldn't do them any good anyhow, even if they could get to them. If Colonial One's FTL drive had been compromised by the explosion, their only hope was to find a way to make a jump. Tom only knew of one possible option. It was insane to even be considering it. But what choice did he have?

They were going to die if they stayed on the ship, so Baltar's ridiculous prototype suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea. If death were a probable outcome either way, Tom would rather go down fighting, would rather take a chance than passively wait for the inevitable. Using the emergency signs as guides, he made his way toward the eccentric scientist's pet project, stepping over bodies that now lined the more well traveled passageways. None of the unmoving souls on the floor wore gas masks. The poor bastards who couldn't get to them in time hadn't stood a chance.

Icarus was an unfinished escape pod prototype that had its own FTL drive and an auto jump functionality. Beyond that, Tom didn't know much about it, except that when Baltar hadn't been frakking his brains out on New Caprica, he'd been fiddling with Icarus. How very true to form Gaius had been - self-preservation above all else. Whether or not the contraption would work - as well as where the thing would take them - remained uncertain. But Tom decided to roll the hard six. They did say that Dr. Baltar possessed one of the most brilliant minds on the Twelve Colonies.

For their sakes, Tom rather hoped that the estimation about Baltar's abilities was true. He wasn't supposed to know the access code for the darned thing or how to initiate the jump sequence but Baltar liked to brag, especially when he had a few drinks in him. Tom was glad now that he'd made the extra effort to ply Baltar for information before the frakweasel had collaborated with the Cylons and Tom had gotten himself thrown into detention.

He hauled Laura down the ramp to Icarus, grateful for every mask-covered breath of oxygen that he took. The restricted area was eerily empty and the former president was still out cold. Tom kept listening for signs of life or movement from her. He was relieved when he heard the regular sound of her breathing through the tubing of the mask. The pod's capacity was only meant to sustain two people. Ironic that he was here with Laura frakking Roslin, challenging death for the second time. He hoped that they'd be as lucky now as they had been when they'd confronted the Centurions. He knew from experience that luck only lasted so long. The odds were not in their favor.

There was an earsplitting sound, a sonic boom, that reverberated throughout the ship as Tom climbed into the pod with Laura. He clumsily strapped her into her seat. She was coming to. She moaned and tilted her head toward him but her eyes remained glassy. With shaking fingers, Tom prayed to gods that he'd never really had much use for, and punched in the code to initiate the jump sequence.

A countdown. 5.. 4... 3…2...1… Tom heard the hum of engines in motion. The sounds were quieter than he would have expected. The dashboard lit up, lights flashing in colors and symbols that he couldn't read or interpret. The menacing red dots were a bad sign; that was one indicator that he could read. They ascended through a tube that opened up into a port. Wide bay doors separated for them and then they were speeding through space. Out the window, Tom saw the Cylon Raiders as they skittered around Colonial One like an army of devouring insects. Tom held his breath. The sound of the pod's engines grew louder as they worked harder, revved up.

For a few moments the only thing that Tom could see was the black sky, teeming with billions and billions of stars. No ship. No Cylons. in the next instant, he was looking at a planet. They must have jumped because the planet seemed to have materialized out of the thin air. Either that or he was having some kind of oxygen-starved hallucination. From his viewpoint, the friendly looking blue sphere reminded him of a toy marble, all blue and green and white. Laura saw it, too, because she leaned forward in her seat and murmured an incredulous, "Oh my gods."

Icarus was heading straight toward the unidentified planet's atmosphere, such a smooth and easy ride that the whole thing seemed almost like a dream. Tom was tempted to take off his mask so that he could get a better view but he wasn't so sure it would be a wise idea. He considered himself a man of varied experiences but...there was no precedent for this.

"Where the frak are we?" asked Laura, her voice muffled behind her mask.

"A planet," said Tom, as if that explained everything. Clouds and night sky surrounded them as they drew closer to the land. Tom saw buildings and houses. The lights of a bridge glowed against a wide body of water that separated two points of land. Wherever they were, they were certainly not the first to arrive.

Whatever Laura said next, Tom didn't hear it because the formerly quiet engine of the pod, the engine that had been purring like a kitten, began to splutter and grind until the small ship wavered in the air like a child's kite - just before plummeting to the surface of the unknown planet below.

Laura had only sparse seconds to brace herself for the impact. When they spiraled down to the surface, they hit the ground hard. The ship's shock absorbers lessened the blow, but even with the sophisticated damage mitigation, Laura felt as if all the precious air given to her by the gas mask had been forcefully sucked from her lungs. Her face bumped against her mask and she cut her bottom lip on the hard surface. She tasted the metallic tang of blood. Icarus had landed on its side and the odd angle amplified the dizzy pounding in her head. Tom sat next to her, half slumped over in his seat, panting. Laura could hear the irregular pattern of his breathing. It was only then that she noticed the dislodged tube of her own mask hanging limp and ineffective around her neck. With a jolt of panic she floundered to reconnect the tubing, stopping when the fuzzy realization hit her that she was not suffocating. She could breathe here.

They had oxygen even though the ship's panel lights were dark and there was no hum of cycling air. Laura ripped her mask off and took in a desperate breath. Wherever they were, it appeared they could survive the atmosphere. But where were they?

Tom unclipped his seatbelt and wriggled his way out of his seat. He landed clumsily and swore when he banged his knee on the console. He removed his mask, tentatively taking in that first unassisted breath. Laura observed with bleary eyes as he took a few seconds to get his bearings, his movements slow. She couldn't seem to find her voice and she had a strange sense of disconnection from both her body and her surroundings.

"Let's get you out of there," said Tom as he began undoing her belt, one arm looping around her waist to support her. His grip wasn't very strong though, because they both wound up tumbling to the floor with Laura falling on top of him.

"Well, this is familiar," said Tom, no doubt remembering when she'd landed atop his body when they'd dodged the firing squad together. He sat up, pulling her with him. When she didn't respond to his quip, he leaned over her and tipped her face toward his. He studied her.

"Laura, are you all right?"

"Yes."

"What hurts?"

She considered the question. "I cut my lip."

"What else?" asked Tom, his voice a little more urgent.

Laura shrugged. "I'm not in pain."

"Frak," said Tom. "Can you stand up….walk? No….no. Just sit." He scrambled around the small cabin and began rifling through compartments until he found a small white metal box. An emergency kit. Laura was finding it difficult to see in the darkness but she could just make it out. When Tom shone a penlight in her eyes she winced at the sudden shock of bright light.

"My head." She grimaced.

"Your head hurts?" The bastard almost sounded glad.

Well she wasn't. "Yes."

"What else?" Hadn't he asked her this before?

Laura coughed. "My chest burns."

Tom took her wrist in between his fingers and pressed his thumb into her pulse point.

"Pulse is a little fast but you're steady. Just hold on, Laura."

Laura Roslin was never this docile and, quite frankly, she was scaring the ever-living crap out of him. With the aid of a small flashlight, Tom was able to rummage through more of the ship's supplies until he found a blanket to cover her with. He wracked his own befuddled brain to remember all of the things to do for a person in shock. If the situation were reversed, he was certain that she'd be doing a better job at managing things than he was. Of course, he'd never tell her that. But he had to give Laura her due. The lady was cool in a crisis. He never thought he'd see the day when he'd miss the demanding imperiousness of her all too willful nature, the sanctimonious sneer, the almost gleeful eagerness to point out his flaws.

But he did. Or maybe he was just losing it. If he remained quiet for too long, he could see those long corridors on Colonial One again and the host of motionless forms on the floor - the orange light, the heavy heat, the smoke that smothered and choked. Tom felt a wave of claustrophobia as the small space pressed in on him. He wondered if the damaged ship was even safe.

"I think we should get out of here," said Laura, echoing his own thoughts. She spoke with the most clarity he'd seen from her since the crash. "We can't just sit here," she added. There was the tiniest huff of indignation in her voice. Tom would have smiled if it didn't ache so much to do even that. He grabbed the emergency kit.

"I'll help you," he said, reaching out his free hand to help her up.

"I don't need help," she informed him, her voice crisp. But she did take the offered hand, and they both began the slow, painful crawl toward the exit.

Tom shined the flashlight along the walls of the chamber. The ship had been badly damaged. The main hatch was bent, the metal twisted into the frame. Laura looked at the ruined hatch and then at Tom.

"We're not getting out that way," she said. "Let's see if we can find an emergency exit."

"The console is completely dead. Let's hope there's a manual release or we're going to be like a couple of trapped rats. You want the flashlight?"

"No." She gave her head a small shake and then grimaced. "The light bothers my eyes. It won't help me. You keep it."

Tom frowned. "You probably have a concussion, you know."

"There's nothing to be done for it now." She shrugged.

She was right.

"Tom, what is this thing? How did we —"

"I'll explain it all to you when we get out of here, all right?" You're not going to like it.

"We don't even know anything about the atmosphere here, the weather….we have no readouts to look at. Nothing to go by at all."

"I saw structures before we started to fall. Buildings. Lights. There's civilization here. Did you see? You were pretty out of it."

Even in the the darkness, Tom could made out the familiar tilt of Laura's head as she contemplated his question. It was a gesture he'd often seen her make when she was carefully considering an important issue.

"It's all fuzzy," she admitted. Her speech was slower than usual, as if each syllable were a fragile piece of china that she had to place down with care. "Is there a communications device we should….retrieve?" She hesitated again. "Maybe some kind of auxiliary power?"

"I don't know."

Tom continued to shine the flashlight across the walls. He felt along the edges with his hands, searching for a familiar release or panel.

"You don't….know?"

He just wanted off Icarus and he didn't feel like arguing the point. The space around him seemed to be getting smaller and smaller by the second. "It's a prototype. I don't think everything was completely functioning."

"What? Oh, my gods. The Fleet — all those people - you mean we just left them?"

"The Fleet probably jumped. But Colonial One…." Tom didn't want to say it. Why was she making him do this right now? "There," he said when the beam of the flashlight illuminated the hinges of a small hatch and the red lever below it. "You're going to have to help me. You pull; I'll push. Not very unlike the discussion we're having."

"I'm not leaving this ship, Tom, until we find some kind of communications device. There has to be something."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

Laura was furious. "What were you thinking? You mean we're stranded here?"

"What the frak was I thinking? Are you serious? I was thinking about getting us out of there alive. I was thinking about not choking to death or being blown to bits. This pathetic flashlight is inadequate for looking for anything tonight. We need daylight. And you need a doctor."

"Well I mean it. I'm not leaving until we conduct a thorough inspection of this ship. How very like you to only think of - " Laura made an attempt to stand up. Tom watched as she winced and then faltered, her knees buckling before she was able to get up. Tom crawled over to her and began shining the flashlight across her features.

"Ow!"

He took her head in his hands and felt along the sides of her head and then slipped his hands into her hair, gently feeling for abrasions. On the back of her head he felt a patch of dried blood and a hard round bump.

"What did you hit your head on?"

"On Colonial One. After one of the blasts I think I -"

"Stay there. I'm going to get this hatch open. You can fight with me later."

It took Tom a good fifteen minutes to work the emergency hatch open. It seemed like it was wedged against something outside. By the time it cracked open with a loud pop, Tom was sweating and his shoulder screamed in protest. He tossed the med kit and blanket out and then clambered down himself, banging his knee hard on the ground, the same one he'd banged earlier on the console. Blood soaked through his pants; he'd landed on something sharp. Tom looked around. There was a half moon above and the air was warm - humid even. They'd landed in a dumping ground, a monochrome wasteland of scattered debris that almost seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. At least it provided some sort of cover for their ship. He wondered what the technology was like here; more importantly, he hoped the native life was friendly.

He rose slowly and called to Laura. "Come on, Roslin."

Laura climbed out, tailored suit and heels and all. She descended carefully, sliding down the side of the ship on her belly. Even with a head that was obviously hurting, the lady was still able to think on her feet. Her way of getting down was a lot smarter than his ill-timed kamikaze drop. He caught Laura's waist as she landed unsteadily, shooing him away with a dismissive huff.

"There are lights up there," said Tom, releasing her, as he pointed up a sandy embankment. "It's steep. Do you think you can - "

Laura cut him off. "I'll be fine. But first we should take something to prevent radiation poisoning. We don't know what we've walked into here, not to mention what we might have been exposed to back on Colonial One."

"Good idea," said Tom. He rooted around in the med kit and was surprised to find that there were, indeed, anti-radiation meds. He almost wished there weren't. He hated needles. He handed Laura the flashlight with a tight grimace. "Could you?"

She nodded and shined the light so that he could prep the first shot. "How are you with needles?" Tom asked her casually.

Laura shrugged. "Fine."

"That's good," said Tom, hands shaking as he lined the shot up with his arm.

"Give it to me," Laura ordered sharply, handing him the flashlight. He exchanged the flashlight for the needle.

"I've never been too fond of - frak!" She jabbed his arm without warning and he flinched at the quick sting of pain. "You're like a deranged nurse out of a bad horror movie," complained Tom, shaking his arm.

"I've had a lot of practice," said Laura, lining up her own shot. "I could do this with my eyes closed."

"I guess so." Tom was about to ask her when she'd been playing around with needles when he remembered her cancer and he thought better of it. He swallowed the question. Tom closed the med kit and tucked the blanket under his arm.

"I can carry something," said Laura.

"People with concussions don't get to carry things and those shoes of yours aren't exactly practical. Besides, I'm not so sure I want to arm you with any kind of object after your demonstration with a syringe. You're liable to throw it at me. You ready for this?"

"Yes. Wait - I think we should pay attention to some landmarks so that we can find our way back here."

Tom was smug. "For once, I'm one step ahead of you. The light we're heading toward is at six'o clock from the location of the ship. And on the other side," Tom pointed, "there's what looks like a broken light pole. The top is bent. Unusual enough for a landmark - around here anyway."

"Good. Because I still want to search that ship when we find out what kind of day/night cycle this place has."

Tom sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. "If whatever lives here doesn't eat us for breakfast, then I'll detail the thing myself."

"You'd be sure to give anything silly enough to devour you acute indigestion, Mr. Zarek." Laura began ambling her way toward the embankment without so much as a backward glance in his direction.

Tom grinned and followed.