The Missing Year: Day 227
Sharon suppressed the urge to come to attention when Adama strolled through the open door of her cell. Instead she slowly rose to her feet.
His blue eyes fastened on her and held steady. "Major Agathon said you had something to tell me."
She walked around the low table; gestured at it, the two chairs, and the drapery that adorned her cell. "I wanted to thank you for these. Both Helo and I appreciate what you've done." Even though I don't understand why. She looked away from his scrutiny. You don't trust me. She raised her eyes to meet his. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He held her gaze.
Unlike the other times she'd asked to meet with him, this time there was no hint of impatience in is demeanor. His utter calm unnerved her. "You once asked me if I would tell you the identities of the Cylons in the Fleet," she stammered. And I refused because I was angry. Angry at myself because I'd betrayed my people for Helo. Angry with you because I felt I belonged her and you didn't trust me.
"Yes," he growled. She saw that he remembered her refusal as well, as his jaw tensed and he glared at her.
"Well," She took a deep breath. "If you were to ask me now the answer would be different." I'm not angry anymore. I want you to trust me. I've forgiven myself. I want to belong here.
"Thank you." His glare faded. They stood in silence for a moment. Sharon squashed the need to shift from foot to foot while Adama regarded her steadily. He turned and walked away.
"Aren't you going to ask?" she called after him.
He stopped and looked back at her, one hand on the door of her cell. "No."
"Why?" She took a step closer to him.
"It doesn't matter anymore."
Adama turned and left.
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The Missing Year: Day 242
"Those'll kill you. Take it from someone who knows."
Adama looked up as Doc Cottle ambled into his quarters and sank down on the chair across from him. The doctor's face was brown and wind burned, and Cottle's hair was longer than Adama remembered. He looks tired, but relaxed. The realization brought Adama's senses to Condition One. He had seen Cottle bushed many times, but only tired and at ease when his CMO was planning something. What are you up to, Doc?
The former CMO picked up the pack of cigarettes laying on the table, frowned and reached into his pocket. "Here. These are slightly less lethal." He tossed a different pack to Adama.
Adama discarded the smoke in his hand, examined the pack for a moment, and selected a cigarette. He turned the white cylinder over in his fingers. It crackled faintly. Adama decisively broke off the filter and snatched up his lighter from the table. He lit it and took a deep drag.
"Well that makes them about even." Cottle observed dryly.
Adama's gaze flicked to the doctor. Cottle sighed and took a cigarette. Adama offered the doctor a light. The two men smoked in silence.
"Why are you here, Doc?" Adama snubbed out his cigarette and studied the doctor through the blue haze surrounding them.
"I'm still the senior flight surgeon." Cottle grunted. "Ishay consults me about problems with the crew." He leaned back and pulled another cigarette from the pack. "And she likes to remind me that I gave up a warm dry Sickbay on a broken down battlestar for a cold wet tent on a frakking mudball planet." Cottle picked up Adama's lighter and fired the end of his smoke. He took a deep drag and blew a cloud of smoke toward the overhead.
Adama waited. He stared at Cottle. Com'on Doc. I know you're here for something other than a smoke ….
"Besides," Cottle smirked at Adama, "it's past time for someone's annual physical."
Damn. Adama blinked. "Doc …" He shook his head.
"No getting out of it, Admiral," Cottle interrupted. "I'm not leaving until your exam is complete." He smiled.
"Okay Doc. I won't keep you from your work on New Caprica." Adama laughed at the look on Cottle's face and stood. "Let's get to it."
"Seems like you'll do for another year, Admiral." Cottle put his stethoscope back into his black bag.
"Thanks Doc." Adama sighed and put on his tunic. He didn't button it.
"By the way, she's fine." Cottle caught Adama's eyes.
"I know." Adama nodded at Cottle. "I spoke with Kara a few days ago. She wanted me to come to Helo's bachelor party." He smiled but it didn't touch his eyes. "I took a rain check. After all I'm officiating at the ceremony …"
"No." Cottle shook his head. "What I meant is - Roslin is healthy. She's busy with the school and the children."
"Oh. That's good." Not a subject I'm going to discuss, Doc.
Cottle looked at Adama, his head tilted to one side. The doctor slowly raised an eyebrow and frowned, but Adama looked back at him intently. It doesn't matter Doc. He blew out a soft snort. I'm up here and she's down there. We made our choices. Forget the past and move on.
The comm unit buzzed. Adama turned and picked up the handset. "Adama." He looked at Cottle. "He's here." He handed the phone to Cottle.
"Yeah, we're done. Okay. Okay." Cottle hung up the comm. "The Raptor pilot is frakking anxious to leave," he snarled. "I guess I should go."
"See you next year Doc." Adama held out a hand. Cottle took it in a firm grip.
"Until next year, sir." Cottle picked up his bag and headed for the hatch. Halfway there he stopped and turned to face Adama. He drew himself to attention. "Sir, request permission to return to New Caprica." He raised his arm in a salute.
"Permission granted, Major." Adama slowly drew a hand to his forehead and flicked it at Cottle. "You're dismissed."
The Missing Year: Day 257
Cottle waded through the rushing children as he headed toward the school tent and his meeting with Roslin. Doctor Roslin, he corrected himself and dug into his pocket for a cigarette. Leaving it unlit, he stuck it in his mouth, pushed aside the flap, and stepped into the tent.
Roslin worked at her makeshift chalkboard slowly rubbing away the day's lesson on Colonial history. She wore a too large baggy grey sweater, dark pants, and heavy boots. Her auburn hair, grown long in the past months, fanned across her shoulders, swinging fractionally with the movement of her arm.
Cottle walked between the rows of desks and stood to one side as Maya and Isis passed. He nodded to the young mother and winked at her baby. Isis responded with a wail.
"Well, she's certainly thriving in this place," Cottle growled. He watched Maya as she hurried away, cradling the child to her chest and soothing her to silence. Turning back he met Roslin's amused gaze with a raised eyebrow. He frowned when her look developed into a glare.
"Doctor Cottle." She pointed at his cigarette. "Don't."
Cottle laughed and took the butt from his lips. He rolled it between his fingers and waved it at Roslin before he stuck it in his pocket. "Now what's so damned important? I have to finish rounds before dark."
"Sarah's parents mentioned that the messenger Raptor has been grounded for the past two days." Roslin crossed her arms.
"It's grounded permanently." Cottle snorted. "There's no one to fix it. The scheduled shuttles going up to the Galactica have stopped as well."
"Why?" Roslin took off her glasses and frowned at Cottle.
"There's no reason for people going up and down anymore." Cottle grunted. "Adama let every one leave who asked."
"Baltar wouldn't let him keep …"
"Baltar barely knows where his pants are." Cottle interrupted. "He spends his days in bed or on his couch, smoking that herb you found and taking meds he confiscates from my supplies. Gaeta is the only one holding things together."
Roslin paced across the tent.
"Gaeta could use some help. Your help," Cottle said pointedly.
Roslin whirled and glared at Cottle. "No." She shook her head and drifted to the open flap. She flicked a fleeting look out into the muddy street and pulled it closed. "No."
"Why not?" Cottle asked. "Baltar's bullyboys are busy breaking legs for the merchants. They haven't been watching you for weeks." I've been watching them watch you. And I talked to Bill after I saw you avoiding him.
"Weeks?" She blinked and sat down heavily.
"Weeks," he repeated. Cottle lifted a chair from one of the student desks and sat it next to Roslin. He straddled it. "There's no one to hold you back now." Cottle smirked at her. "You should visit the Galactica." He waved at her partially erased chalkboard. "You're teaching Colonial history. There's several million tons of it in orbit above us. Let your students see it."
"A field trip, Doctor?" she smiled at Cottle.
"A field trip, Doctor."