"...The Faru Sadin has reported the discovery of further structural damage from the trip through the nebula," reported Tory. "A suggestion has been made by her captain that the ship be stripped. The update on the survivor count puts the new number at—Madam President, are you even listening?" Roslin mentally shook herself and refocused on her attention.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "You were saying?" Roslin sat at her desk listening to what she hoped was the end of Tory's report. She hadn't heard a single thing her assistant had said in the past ten minutes.

"The Faru Sadin may need to be stripped and here's the update for the survivor count," repeated Tory with a thinly disguised attempt to cover up her annoyance. She handed the slip with the updated head count to Roslin and stood in front of the desk waiting for an answer.

"Have the Galactica send one of their engineers to assess the Sadin,and tell them to repair or salvage whatever they can." Roslin glanced down at the slip in her hand. 41,387. Despite births every so often, the number kept going down. 50,298 had seemed a tragically small number at the time of the attacks, but now it was almost unimaginably high. She was getting distracted again. Roslin made another effort to concentrate.

"If that will be all, Tory," she said. "I think I need a few minutes alone."

"Of course, Madam President." Tory nodded and left the room.

Roslin took a moment to change the number on the white board to reflect the update before she settled back into her chair. She had spent the entire walk back to her office thinking about Bill Adama hugging her. She didn't realize how much she missed having someone until what little physical contact she'd had with Bill was gone. She thought about how nice it would be to have someone to hold her again… Oh, get a grip woman. You are the President of the Twelve Colonies, not a love sick school girl. You were not dependant on Richard Adar, you are not going to be dependant on William Adama.

"Back to work," she sighed. Roslin called Tory back in and kept her attention focused with every last drop of will power she had.

-x-

"Bill, you okay?" Adama reached up and pulled off his glasses in response to Tigh's query.

"I'm fine," he replied. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers and put his glasses back on. After he had returned to Galactica he had taken the time to shower and put on a fresh uniform before making his way to CIC. Now he was staring at the sitrep for the night shift. It was completely routine, completely boring, and he was completely distracted.

Adama glanced up at his XO. Saul raised an eyebrow and his expression said plainly that he knew something was up.

"I had a long night," he explained, "going over evidence for the trial, lost track of time." Adama was too preoccupied to even care if Saul bought the excuse.

He had been fine until he'd returned to his quarters. A wayward glance at his rack and he had already started missing Laura's presence in the room with him. He missed the way colors seemed to be warmer, the faint smell of lavender, the way everything around her seem somehow more, vivid—

"Sir?" Adama grunted and looked up. "The President's office is requesting an engineer to be sent to the Faru Sadin," said Tigh. "The captain reported further structural damage and wants an assessment for repairs or salvage."

"Send over a team with Laird," replied Adama. "Tell them to do everything they can to repair the Sadin. I don't want it stripped." The Faru Sadin had passed initial post-nebula inspection, but the last few jumps must have rattled it. Still, Kat had died to save the Sadin; he didn't want it turned into scrap and spare parts if it could be helped.

Adama realized in short order that he wasn't going to get anything useful done if he was going to be sidetracked all day. Rather than be in the way in CIC, where apparently nothing of note was likely to happen, he decided to leave and clear his head. He told Tigh that he'd be in his quarters if anyone needed him and left without further explanation. Saul would contact him if anything significant happened that required his attention. Adama took the roundabout way toward his quarters. He walked through as much corridor as possible, just, thinking. Most of the thinking was about Laura—No. President of the Twelve Colonies, don't forget that Bill, she's the President. You've been through one failed marriage already you don't need to be falling for someone else, yet again. She's the President for frak's sake, the President.

The mantra "she's the President" had worked well enough in the past, but on New Caprica he had allowed himself to see her as someone other than the President. In those days the mantra hadn't even entered his mind. Many other things had instead. Now "she's the President" had, after initially careful avoidance and a few months of restored familiarity, lost its effect. He was going to have to spend some time thinking of something new.