It is a wet, miserable dawn, and Laura Roslin has never been able to sleep when it rains. Droplets bouncing and sliding off the tarp, slapping the ground, rustling in the leaves—they combine to form a taunting, percussive rhythm that chases the drowsiness straight out of her head. All who can sleep seem to be doing so, with the exception of their watchman. Adama is sitting with his back up against a tree, gun resting on his chest, his whole attitude simulating relaxation. She can't help smiling; he really is back. Two slugs in the chest only slowed him down for a while—her smile vanishes. Laura Roslin doesn't do guilt; in her position, it's too likely to paralyze rather than motivate. She doesn't regret being here, but the route she has taken is haunting her.
Adama looks up with a tired smile as she joins him under the tree. When he scoots over, there is just enough room for both of them to lean back, sitting shoulder to shoulder. She takes her time, and he waits her out. She is briefly distracted by the contradiction of such a passionate, even choleric temperament and such gentle patience housed within the same man.
"I was ready for a fair fight." She turns her head; she wants to say this to his face. "I was prepared for that. And then they threw Lee into the next cell…he had your blood all over his arms. He told me what had happened, and that Cottle was with the Fleet we couldn't find. That…" Her hand grasps his sleeve, for emphasis, for comfort, she doesn't know. "Just in case you're thinking I got my way in all of this…or congratulating yourself on your magnanimity in playing along," she teases him, softly bumping his shoulder with her own, "that was the moment when my way took a flying leap past the rearview mirror. I know Lee was right, that you struggled with this. So did I; I need you to know just how much. I've simply had to accept so many things that are six billion light-years the other side of acceptable. I've seen days I couldn't quite believe in, when nightmares were merely things that hadn't happened yet. And then there's the number one basic requirement of my job: having to make choices that are no choices at all." She pauses, shifts her body to face him completely. "Since that first day—the day—I've been getting used to wielding that power over life and death for the remnants of humanity, and bearing half the responsibility. Apollo wasn't the only one who was dreading this—splitting us right down the middle. And to have to do it while you were fighting for your life...gods…"
She accepts the hand stretched out to her, curls her fingers around his in a promise. "Maybe I could shoulder all of this without you. But I don't want to find out."
His grip tightens, just briefly, and his eyes are fixed on some invisible horizon. She wonders what would happen if a Cylon tried to sneak up on them now.
"But I will, soon enough. Right?"
She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to barricade herself against the turn this has taken. "Yes. And yes, I've known all along. The day I got the diagnosis was, well, the day all our lives changed forever." His face speaks volumes. "Bill, I couldn't tell you. It was a vulnerability that you could have used against me, declared me unfit to hold office if you thought it warranted, and I just couldn't take that risk. Not with almost 50,000 people scrambling for a grip on whatever was left to believe in. That list was already dangerously short."
Adama nods, jaw working soundlessly for a moment before he speaks again. "Not for me. That's why this whole mess…that's why I reacted the way I did. I had a lot of faith—in what we were building together. So when you sent Starbuck away and went off on this tangent that I couldn't follow, and it seemed to be all that mattered to you…well, it was a couple of short hops from hurt to angry to holding the mother of all grudges." He shoots her a rueful grin, squeezes her hand once more and lets it drop. "When Lee followed…I was furious, but it took a while for me to realize that I didn't know whom I hated or why, it was just pure rage. No real target, just feeding on itself. I couldn't live with that; there was too much at stake. For the Fleet, and for me."
She leans forward, slides to her knees in front of him. "Commander, I'm afraid that the time will come when our roads will diverge, and I will leave you behind. But until that day actually threatens…we are so much stronger together. I do believe that, I promise." She levers herself to her feet with a hand on his shoulder. "I think I'll try and get some more sleep. Looks like the rain's stopped."
He nods solemnly. "Looks like."
Roslin goes a few paces, stops and looks back. "I never said—thank you. And thanks for bringing Billy. It was so good to see him."
She wins a rare, full-on grin from him, and her balance suddenly shifts, nearly turning her ankle on the rocky terrain. "He was pretty glad to see you, too."