Event Horizon: Defiance

by setivalen

AU, beginning with "missing year" on New Caprica. Different leadership is in place on Galactica and Pegasus as the invasion/occupation is about to begin. Multi-arc story, covering occupation through to discovery of Earth and final conflict with Cylons.

21. Ch 16: Let No Man Put Asunder

A/N: I apologize the update's been so long in coming. I started my PhD program, my husband had some health issues, and it took me a while to get back in the right frame of mind. It also took some time for me to work out how I wanted the chess pieces to move—I knew the strategy, but not the details that would match the overall design. Things came to be in bits and pieces; thankfully, however, at least they did manifest!

I also wanted to issue a warning about the content of this chapter, specifically relating to Kara. I have friends who are professionals in helping others deal with sexual abuse; it's a complex and difficult psychological trauma, particularly when the abuse is repeated over a longer period of time.

I'm NOT a psychologist myself, so I don't claim to cover the topic with clinical accuracy. I tried, however, to capture some of the nuances of the trauma, the layers of emotion/thoughts that make recovery a long process requiring patience—on behalf of the victim him/herself, and on behalf of the people who love the victim. I certainly don't mean to over-emphasize that aspect of her trauma in relation to everything else Kara experienced; however, in relation to her dynamic with Lee, it was important to establish why there couldn't a "smooth" progression yet.

There will come a point when all of the major characters get to enjoy life more for a while. It just won't be in this chapter. :-).

Please see notes at end for additional information regarding some definitions.

Section II. Chapter 16: Let No Man Put Asunder

"The test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves." Logan Pearsall Smith

"Turbulence is life force. It is opportunity. Let's love turbulence and use it for change." Ramsay Clark

"…I try to hold the rising floods that fill my skin. Don't ask me why, I'll keep my promise…melt the ice. And you wanted to dance, so I asked you to dance—but fear is in your soul…" Save a Prayer, Duran Duran

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Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration

Gaius pulled the rough blanket closer around his body, shivering. He'd hoped, by agreeing to Admiral Adama's terms, there might be recompense, at least in basic comforts, but he should have known better. The hatred was palpable when Adama had first entered Gaius' cell, and it only intensified in the days that followed.

There'd been no point in denying the veracity of the letter they'd found; Gaius had committed worse sins, of which they were blissfully unaware, and it was better to only admit to what was already exposed. If they'd understood what he had really been working on, found the portable data drive with all of the information he'd downloaded before the exodus from New Caprica, they might have rescinded their "offer," such as it was, and forced him through the airlock.

He was safe, for the moment, because no one would understand the complexity of his research. The portable drive itself was with his personal effects, which he assumed were locked up in a forgotten pile of prisoner confiscations. The backpack containing his notebooks, warm clothes, and all other things related to his New Caprican life had been removed before the 'rescue' vessel had landed on Pegasus nearly two weeks ago; he hadn't seen the contents since.

It was unlikely, though, the items were lost—military people never missed an opportunity to catalogue and store—so it was going to be a matter of biding time. Gaius would get his hands back on his possessions, once he proved his value. It could take a long time—the Cylon Sharon, Helo's wife, had been imprisoned over a year before earning her freedom—and Baltar had a deeper hole to dig out of. Still, if he could manage patience, he might gain privileges long before he gained free roam of the ship, and all he needed was one privilege granted—the right to have his belongings. What he did with them afterward would be no one's frakking business.

Still cold, Baltar pulled his legs in closer to his chest. Tomorrow would be his first day in the laboratory Cottle had supposedly set up, and it was important to get some rest, if he could; they expected production from the first day. It was vital to make a good show of progress, if only to keep the suspicions from growing. And the faster Gaius worked, the sooner he could free up time to focus his attentions on his own projects: developing a specific cancer treatment for Roslin and continuing his research on Cylon reproduction.

Longer-term survival—and his true freedom—depended on possession of the right bargaining chips. For now, Gaius needed an item of value to the humans, and a cure for Laura Roslin's cancer would provide clear leverage. He was fairly confident no one was aware of her condition yet, including Laura herself. Producing the treatment, coupled with the shock of the announcement of her cancer, would jolt the Admiral into more vulnerable position. Gaius would just as soon airlock the woman—sometimes he was convinced he truly despised her—but leverage was leverage. He would have power only if he had something of essential value; being able to save Roslin's life was the best chip he'd have to play.

At the same time, Gaius had to acknowledge another possibility for his future: the humans might decide he could be traded—or discarded—to the Cylons. If he was dumped back with them, he would have to prove his value to the Cylon Council, and he knew he had enemies among that group. He would need leverage to survive there as well.

The Cylons hadn't realized—yet—the real extent of their "propagation" problem. Gaius had discovered a fundamental flaw in the resurrection process, one that hadn't reached critical mass. When it did, the Cylons would become more desperate to find a way to reproduce through more "traditional" means. Baltar would be ready with the solution, though it would only be revealed to the Council (and never to the humans) only if necessary for his own survival. Gaius definitely had no desire to help the Cylons, he just wanted to be sure he was guaranteed safety.

Truthfully, as Gaius lay there on his thin cot and continued shivering, he was beginning to think he didn't give a tinker's dam about who won anymore—humans or Cylons. Neither would claim him; he no longer fit in either domain. He was truly a man who belonged nowhere, and that was painfully isolating, though it was also status quo. Baltar had been in solitary confinement for much longer than the few days he'd been locked in the Pegasus brig. For the better part of a year, on New Caprica, he'd been treated as an outcast by many of his own people, and once D'Anna had taken him in, Gaius had only been allowed to interact with her—the other Cylons ignored him or distrusted him.

So it would seem that the mercenary role might fit him best, all things considered. Gaius was only noticed when they needed his mind, and the last laugh belonged to him, since no one could control or replicate his actual thought processes. As long as the humans and the Cylons continued to view him as an "on demand" intelligence hub, he'd oblige, to the extent it gained him something. The most valuable commodities, safely locked away as they were inside his brain, were was powerful as any weapons, and he'd use them with the same precision as a mercenary military commander.

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Boomer sat up quickly as she heard the metal door lock click. Stepping past the threshold, Galen stared at her intently for a moment, as though he were sizing her up. He had a bag in his hands; shuffling over a few paces, he set the contents on the bed next to her.

Neither seemed willing to break the silence, for some reason. Watching Boomer rub her arms, her shoulders clearly arched from the cold, Galen pulled out a sweater and handed it to her. She nodded in thanks, yanking it over her torso in one swift motion.

"Is it a tactical move, keeping it so cold down here?" Boomer finally asked.

Galen shook his head. "No, just crappy ventilation. The builders always went cheap when it came to the lower levels of a battlestar, and the brig was usually one of the last sections to come on line; there wasn't time or inclination to make adjustments when things like temp control were outside of specs."

"It was never intended for permanent residents," Boomer said quietly, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

"True enough," Galen said casually, avoiding her eyes. "Look, I'm on duty in a few minutes, and I've got my hands full, so I'll cut to the chase. Last time we met, I told you to come up with some bargaining points, ways you and the other one could help us gain a strategic advantage against the Cylons. I need to know what you came up with."

Sharon straightened her back, tensing at the matter-of-fact expectation she would just hand over Cylon secrets, actively work for the destruction of her own people. Despite the time that had passed—more than two years since she'd learned she was a Cylon—Boomer often felt conflicted. She'd wanted desperately to be back with the Colonials again; even if some of her memories had been manufactured, the ones from the Academy were real enough, the friendships on Galactica tangible enough.

At the same time, her recent experiences with Caprica were fresh and no less potent, and she had the advantage of understanding more of the Cylon perspective since she'd downloaded into this body. While a part of her mind wanted to reject the Cylon arguments, another part readily grasped the validity of their superiority—her superiority—over humans. On New Caprica, she didn't trust some of the members of the Council, but she had no feelings of ill will towards the majority of Cylons. And some of the humans—she'd been spat upon, forced to fight when her safety had been threatened, and openly been called a traitor when dealing with them.

It was lonely, feeling she couldn't trust Cylons and she couldn't trust humans. Frak, she couldn't trust herself either, in a sense—what was real, what was programmed, what was a genuine emotion, what had been an echo of one. Her own motivations seemed suspect at times, and while Boomer believed she was aware of all of her Cylon programming levels, there were fleeting moments of terror when she sensed perhaps she didn't know.

Regardless, she was certain of two things, at present: the Cylons had betrayed her, and the only way to survive had been—and was now—to forge some sort of alliance with the humans. She was Cylon by design, but in her heart, in some ineffable transformation, she felt human. That had to be the root of her salvation.

"I have knowledge that would be valuable to the fleet, but it involves technology—building equipment. I can't do it without Caprica's help. I need to talk to her, find out if she'll go along with things." Boomer stood up, keeping her gaze focused on Galen's face. He wouldn't engage.

"I can't get you two in a room together, Boomer, so you'll have to make your best guess about her and take your chances." His chin jutted out in profile, and she saw his index finger and thumb tapping rapidly, a sure sign he was agitated. She wondered why he was so high-strung, and wished there was more time to talk and find out what was going on in the world outside of the brig.

"I know I can't see Caprica, Galen, but if you can get me a portable amplifier and receiver, along with some wiring, I think I can still communicate with her."

Tyrol turned completely away from Boomer, pacing. "What the frak…tell me why the hell I'd do that? What are you trying to do, Sharon—get us both airlocked?" He stopped suddenly, swiveling to face her for the first time since he'd entered the cell. For a moment, Boomer thought he might lunge forward and start choking her—the look on his face was so wild, she had the sensation he wanted to release the tension by snapping her in two. She involuntarily took a step backward.

"The Cylons recently built an FTL drive enhancer that increased jump distances by thirty percent. The Sixes were responsible for the development and deployment. If Caprica tuned with the other sisters in the last few weeks, she'd know the engineering specs, the blueprints, the programming—everything the Colonials would need to retrofit the same technology."

"Tuned? Do you just make this crap up? How gullible do you think I—"

"It's a massive exchange of uploads and downloads, done voluntarily, so that all of the Cylons of one model can share experiences and learning. It's an efficient way of increasing everyone's knowledge base." Boomer was beginning to think she wanted to slam Galen against the wall in a chokehold herself; he wasn't even trying to give her a chance to explain.

Without explanation, Tyrol's body slumped, his shoulders dropping as though in defeat. Very quietly, he asked Boomer why she specifically needed the amplifier and receiver.

"When we were on the ship together, preparing to leave New Caprica, I told you about a way Cylons can communicate through electromagnetic conduits—a ghost network."

Galen nodded. "But you said it only happened when a lot of Cylons were gathered in a certain radius of one another, so how does that…"

"If I can amplify the waves, she'll pick up at least parts of a message. I can adjust the receiver to try to catch her responses."

"How will she know to listen for you, though? She might just think she's dreaming." Galen seemed to be considering Boomer's plan, although it was hard to gauge; he was turned away from her again.

"You'd have to make her aware—if you said the words 'ghost network,' Caprica would understand."

Shifting slightly, his face in profile and staring at the floor, Galen just nodded. "Okay," he said finally, his voice suddenly soft and barely audible. "I'll get you the equipment—maybe tomorrow—and I'll have to figure out a way to block the cameras for a while. If the guards see it, we're both—"

"Airlocked. I know." Sharon watched Galen's body language carefully; he was tensing up again.

Looking at the chrono on his wrist, he swore. "I have to get out of here." Still studying the floor, fingers tapping, he seemed ready to run and yet frozen in place.

In a blur of movement, Sharon saw Galen move towards her. Fear swept through her for a second, but before she could register his intent, he was completely pressed against her. His large, warm hands grabbed her wrists, holding them against her thighs as he tilted his head over her mouth. His lips crushed into her own, bending her backwards slightly with the force of his weight against her. She gasped as his tongue wet her lips before she met the full intensity of his kiss, tangling and wet. He pulled her tightly into him, hands slipping to grip her back, his body taking over.

They both moaned as the sensations hit, movements quickening in response to the built-up emotions transferring between them. Galen's hands found their way into Boomer's long, loose hair, strands clinging to his fingers as he cupped her face before breaking apart.

Sharon stared fiercely into his eyes as they both stood there, panting and disoriented. His pupils seemed to swirl, wide and feral; she could read the fear and want and anguish pouring from his soul. He stumbled as he pivoted around to leave, and all she could see was the back of his head, shaking in disbelief, as he rushed past the cell door.

Bewildered, Boomer sank onto the cot, body trembling. The range of feeling radiating off Galen in the span of ten minutes had been breathtaking and unnerving. She couldn't escape the sense he was on the verge of killing her or frakking her, and somehow he'd managed to leave before he did either.

Her own emotions churning, Boomer wondered how she'd keep her mind occupied the rest of the day. She felt certain Tyrol would make it back with the equipment within twenty-four hours, and she needed to be ready for anything when he returned. He clearly wasn't sure of his own mind—they were in a precarious place with each other. Closing her eyes, Boomer could still feel the desire that had arced when his body made contact. And that's when it finally sank in: she was here because she wanted to be.

All those months, from resurrection to the present, Boomer had been driven by something. She'd told herself it was about finding a way to be fully Cylon while still remembering what it had been like to live with humans, and she'd convinced the other Cylons, for a while, to look for an alternative to human extinction. But when things went poorly on New Caprica, and the other Cylon Council members had begun to question her loyalty, Boomer believed they were operating from the wrong motives. She was angry they suspected her of betrayal, because until the Council had plotted to leave her abandoned in the frigid wastelands of that planet, she had not considered or taken any actions against her own kind.

Now, though, Boomer could see why the Council members who suspected her had been right. She was prepared to support humans over Cylons, because she wanted go back. Not to the Colonials, not to an illusion of who Boomer had been, but back to him. To Galen. Everything Boomer had done, the energy propelling her, was calculated—however subconsciously—to move her closer to her goal. And really, how else could she have ever returned to the fleet, if not as a prisoner—his prisoner? The one person who wouldn't kill her for what had happened when she'd shot the Admiral, the only person she'd be willing to suffer for.

The Cylons hadn't forced Boomer into exile. She'd walked into it, because she was never a part of them. She'd managed to find the one path that could get her home. He was home. And now, Boomer would help the humans defeat the Cylons, because it was her one chance to finish what she'd started on the long road to salvation. If she protected the Colonials, showed where her loyalty had actually always remained, then Galen might accept her once more. And that hope had been worth the risks behind her and ahead of her.

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Sit Rep: Pegasus CIC, Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration

Helo and Dee were on watch. CIC rotations were grueling right now, and it was taking two officers to keep track of movements, communications, and potential threats. CAP size had been doubled to conduct sweeps between the ships as well as around the perimeter of the fleet.

As he studied the dradis, Helo cursed the Fates. It was still hard to grasp that after the past few months of tension, and a rescue operation that would have been considered a great victory under other circumstances, they found themselves engulfed in an internal struggle of alarming proportions. Worse, the opponents—Helo had to consider these New Capricans as insurgents now, given their actions—seemed to have no clear purpose.

The insurgents were angry at the "military" for what they perceived as failures, and they wanted to be recognized as a separate group from the Colonials who had remained in space during the New Caprican period. However, the only distinguishing feature of this separatist faction was that the people had lived on the planet, and beyond that fact, none of the group agreed on what the "demands" should be. Some wanted to organize as a new "state," able to break away from the fleet. Others wanted to be compensated in some way for their suffering as "prisoners of war." Still others wanted a complete change in military leadership and limited powers granted to the new senior officers.

None of those demands made sense to Helo. One large group, leaving the fleet, would be unlikely to survive, and both "fragments" would probably be too depleted to continue to earth or settle on another habitable planet. There were no reparations to offer New Capricans, given limited resources, and technically everyone could be considered a "prisoner of war" these days—none of the Colonial survivors had bargained for genocide at the hands of the Cylons.

Finally, the current military leadership had saved the New Capricans—both the leaders on the planet and the leaders remaining in the fleet. Replacement was not an option. Limiting power was also dangerous and short-sighted; the Colonials were still at war. This was not a peace-time debate over re-allocation of resources to reduce the influence of military. Like it or not, a "floating nation" was, by definition, a vulnerable entity. It could be attacked on any side, from 360 degrees; there were no "natural boundaries" or fortifications. As revealed in the rescue operation, the military was still in the best position to ensure the safety and unification of the fleet.

The entire situation was deeply upsetting to Helo. The Colonials needed to be focused on the identified enemy—the Cylons—not fighting one another over ghosts of what might have been. More importantly, they needed to be committed to the future—to finding Earth. The reason the fleet had divided itself, why it was still fragmented, was because as a people the Colonials had forgotten what had been pledged and the reasons for that pledge.

The search for Earth wasn't just about finding a place to settle. It was about finding the rest of their "tribe"—the descendants from Kobol. It was about honoring the Lords of Kobol, capricious though they might appear at times. And it was about home, where "home" was more than dirt and rock and air to breathe. Home was love of the land, of the people, of the gods who made it all possible, but it was also something ineffable: resonance. When the inhabitants and the planet resonated at the same energy frequency, infused with something beyond science and evolution. Of the gods, perhaps, but more than they themselves could create. Even the gods, after all, had left Kobol to search for a new home. So it was now; the Colonials couldn't stop searching until they found the affirming resonance of Earth itself. Every other attempt at settlement would fail.

The sound of Sam Anders approaching shook Helo from his inner thoughts. "Hello, Anders…Tyrol. Good to see you both." Helo gestured over to the CIC ready room. "Let's go in there to talk. Captain Dualla, you have the deck."

He could hear Dee's "Yes, Sir," as the three of them moved into the small inner space. Each took a chair, and Helo watched as Anders spread out a number of blueprints across the console.

"What've we got, Sam?"

"First, let's go over the security retrofit for the Senior Commanders' quarters section. It's primarily complete; we've got two camera installations left—here, and here—" Sam pointed to the hall coordinates—"and you're good to go. People could start moving in at 1200 tomorrow."

"That's great news—really great news." Helo took a deep inward sigh of relief; living in the Bunker was fraying nerves, testing people who'd already been asked to bear up under more prolonged, extreme stress than most could physically handle. For himself, just the prospect of privacy with his wife was enough to make him almost giddy.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," Sam said, grinning briefly. A pain washed over his face immediately after, and Helo tried to understand what it signified, before he remembered that the room assignments on the blueprints clearly showed Kara was staying in Lee Adama's quarters. Helo swallowed hard, knowing he had to push the flickering feelings of guilt aside and move on quickly to the next topic. "Now tell me about the police forces training."

Anders switched documents. "We've set up stations on these ships—you can see how they're positioned in the current fleet configuration—and I'm working with Kitridge to get the arms lockers installed and stocked with the right weapons and ammunition."

Helo looked alarmed. "I thought the police weren't going to carry weapons, Anders, only the Marines. We can't have skirmishes taking place all over the ships!"

"Easy, Captain. The police won't be carrying arms, they'll just have access to them. You don't realize how bad its getting out there, Helo—even on the ships aligned with us, there're rumors of insurgents hiding among the other civilians, waiting for the signal from Hamathos to act. Galen's picked up intel suggesting they are getting weapons. We could have hostage situations, riots, and yes, guerilla skirmishes. The police have to protect the civilians, and if we don't want to create panic—with Marines running up and down the halls with automatic rifles—this is the best alternative."

Helo shook his head in frustration. "Frakkers—they can't even articulate what they're fighting for, but they want blood."

Galen looked at Karl. His face was tense and somber. "They're fighting for revenge, Sir. They do want blood, but they can't drain it from the Cylon bastards who made their lives so miserable, so they're lashing out at who's available."

"But it's stupid, Chief, and it will cost them as dearly as anyone else! It makes no sense!"

"No, it doesn't, but we underestimate the insurgents if we dismiss their emotion as stupid—with respect, Sir." Galen's fist was clenched on the console; Helo realized Tyrol was using up his last reserves of control not to punch someone.

Changing his voice, Helo leaned in closer to Galen's face, meeting his gaze. "Help me understand, Chief. From where I sit, these people don't even know what they want, except to create chaos in an already frakked-up universe."

"They want…they need it to mean something. All the suffering. And they want to stop feeling guilty—for surviving. For going down there in the first place. For thinking humans could actually stop running from the Cylons."

Sam inclined his head in agreement. "Tyrol's right. There's all this anger and no way to get rid of it. The New Capricans are struggling to feel a part of anything because the people who went down to that rock aren't the people who came back. They feel different—they are different."

"They're not "different" from the Colonials who remained in space—that's semantics. And it wasn't a breeze up here either! We worked so frakking hard to put that rescue together—"

"Hey, man, don't take what I said the wrong way—okay?" Sam was standing up, because Helo had gotten out of his chair, and he put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm not agreeing with the insurgents, and I'm not doubting it was tough for you—all of you. It isn't personal."

Helo sat back down. "Yeah, I knew that…sorry. I guess I'm just…we weren't prepared for this, Sam. We realized there'd be some readjustments, but an all-out civil war? I can't wrap my mind around how this is really happening."

"Believe me, I can't either." Sam let out a deep sigh. "Everything shifted, right under our feet. And there doesn't seem to be a way to…to…" he couldn't finish. Images of Kara came to mind—Kara before Leoben took her. Laughing, kissing, teasing, and cajoling—his wife. The woman who hadn't come back.

Galen lightly tapped Sam on the back, as a show of support. "Let's finish up the briefing here, so we can take a break and get some sleep before our next shift."

Helo watched the two men, noting the concern on Galen's face for his friend. The guilt swung back into his chest with full force.

"Yeah, we can wrap this up pretty quickly. I guess the last piece of business is covering the scuttlebutt from the fleet ships. You mentioned the rumors about the insurgents arming themselves…what el—"

Loud alarms blared and the warning lights came on. All three jumped forward and into the CIC. "Dualla, sit rep!" Helo moved quickly around the console to get a good view of the dradis and other system readings.

"Three incoming raiders, Sir. Likely on a scout mission. Not detecting any sign of basestars."

Move CAP to intercept and tell them to make it fast. The Cylons have probably gotten lonely without us—they're likely to jump in a basestar right over our heads."

"Yes, Sir." Dee started issuing orders through the wireless.

Karl turned to Hoshi. "We identified a jump location in our last briefing—send the coordinates to the other ships now."

Helo watched the telemetry and listened to the viper pilots. Racetrack was point, which was a stroke of good fortune; she'd know how to make quick work of the raiders.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hoshi's face lock in concern, and then realized the officer's conversation had been transferred to Dualla. Once on the call, she immediately began pacing, arguing with the person on the other end.

"Hoshi, what's going on?" Helo asked, as he mentally kept track of the vipers' progress on dradis.

It's the ship Helios, Sir—she's refusing to jump. She's at the back of the fleet line; her captain's instruments aren't picking up the raiders, so apparently he thinks this is a…I believe the word he used was 'ploy'—to scare the fleet so they'll feel more loyal to the military."

"Frak me!" Helo said in disbelief. "Are they out of their frakkin' minds?" He moved over to Dee. Dualla! Hang up." Sweeping back to the console, he barked "Hoshi—fleet-wide comm—now!"

Hoshi nodded for Helo to proceed. "Fleet, this is Captain Karl Agathon of the Battlestar Pegasus. We are under attack. Repeat—we are under attack. Cylon Basestar arrival imminent. This is not a drill. Prepare to jump on our mark."

The dradis showed two of the raiders were taken out; Racetrack was on the tail of the last one.

"Sir," Hoshi called out, "three more fleet ships are also refusing to spool up FTL drives."

"Godsdamnit!" Helo muttered under his breath. He flipped on the comm again. "This is the Pegasus. Any ship that does not jump will risk being destroyed by a basestar. There won't be other defenses. All vessels must engage FTLs immediately."

Shaking his head, Hoshi said, "no responses, Sir."

"Fine. Put me through to the flight squadron." Helo worked to even out his voice, not let the anger seep through. "Racetrack, the raiders are gone. Head back to the barn. All vipers—head back to the barn."

"Sir, the Admiral's asking for you—he's been monitoring the situation from the Bunker—"

"Transfer to console, Hoshi." Helo picked up the receiver. "Sir."

"We're not on speaker…"

"No Sir."

"This has to be a trap set by Hamathos; they've probably been waiting for the chance to put the plan in action. Once the Cylons showed up, Hamathos knew we'd be damned if we do and damned if we don't—if we jump, we leave those 'New Caprican' ships without defenses, and if we don't jump, we risk the whole fleet being attacked in a new location."

"I realize that, Sir." It was obvious Hamathos intended to make the strategy pay politically, knowing the military could be painted in a bad light either way.

"What are your orders, Admiral?"

"We jump. They have the coordinates; when they see the Cylon ships, they'll be motivated to meet up with the rest of us."

"Consider it done."

Helo hung up the receiver. "Status of FTL, Dualla."

"Ready."

"Hoshi, send the signal."

They watched as the ships flashed out of systems range; as soon as the last of the cooperating vessels was gone, the Pegasus jumped too.

Dualla called out the all clear once she tracked all of the expected ships in the new location. Hoshi let Helo know he thought he'd picked up the signal of a basestar on dradis right before the FTL drive kicked in.

The CIC was silent as the officers and crew waited to see if the three insurgent ships would reappear.

Hoshi turned around to face Helo. "The board's flooded with calls about the ships that stayed behind—"

"They'll have to hold on and see. We're all waiting to find out."

Two minutes later, the Helios showed up on dradis, followed by the Apocrypha. Both were damaged, according to the viper pilot who'd been at the ready was conducting the fly-by. The third vessel's fate, relayed by the clearly shaken captain of the Helios, was complete destruction.

Patched into the captains of two damaged ships, Helo tried to assess the immediate danger to those aboard and to the surrounding vessels. The Apocrypha agreed to abandon ship, shutting down engines and venting all fuel to prevent an explosion. Scrambling to make arrangements for the three hundred civilians aboard, Helo reluctantly decided the raptors would ferry those people to Pegasus; a side storage deck would have to serve as a shelter until better accommodations could be secured.

As for the other ship, the Helios needed repairs, but the captain indicated he could relocate people away from the damaged areas and onto other levels. Karl was relieved he didn't have to find cots or supplies beyond the three hundred from the Apocrypha; he wasn't sure he could have dug up anything else. As it was, there would probably be civilians sleeping on the metal deck floor. They'd have to set up portable heaters to hope to keep everyone from developing mild hypothermia.

The tap on the back from Tyrol startled Helo. "Gods, I totally forgot…you and Sam are still here."

"What do you need us to do, Captain?" Galen's look was earnest, but Helo couldn't help but notice how tired the man really was.

"No, no, you and Sam take your down shift, as planned. You both look like you could use it. We've got things covered."

Galen didn't protest; he was barely holding on after the emotions and pace of the day, and he still needed to slip away unnoticed long enough to find the amplifier and receiver for Boomer.

"Thanks, Helo. We'll contact you in the Bunker as soon as the final work's completed in the Senior Quarters section tomorrow."

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Sit Rep: Junior Officers' Section, End of Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration

Sam sank into the chair at the foot of his bed, pulling his boots off with a low moan of relief. He was glad to have a little time to himself; his emotions had been too close to the surface all day, and he wanted to be in a quiet place where he could try to clear his head. Maybe Galen was off doing the same thing. Sam could tell something had been eating at the guy. He assumed it had something to do with Boomer, but at the moment, he was grateful he didn't have to console anyone else.

It wasn't that Sam hadn't known about the "living arrangements" for Kara before now; he'd seen the blueprints five days ago. But that knowledge had slowly eaten away at his core until he was ready to implode, and ground zero was today. Sam had heard it was Helo's doing, but he couldn't bring himself to ask Karl, or he might do something he'd regret. Realizing, however, that tomorrow was it—Lee and Sam's wife would be sharing the same room, while Sam was housed on another floor—that squeezed his chest so tight he thought he'd pass out from the lack of oxygen.

Hoping he could take a few shots of Galen's rotgut version of alcohol and fall asleep before his thoughts turned more morose, Sam walked over to Tyrol's closet. The sound of the door comm startled him; he almost dropped the bottle as he tried to register what the noise meant.

Opening the hatch, he was happy to see Tory standing there, smiling warmly.

"Gods, Tory, it's good to see you! It's been, what, a week? How did you know I was here?"

"Um, could you save the questions until after you've invited me in?" Tory said with a bemused look.

"Oh, right, gods…where's my head…" Sam reached out to grab Tory's wrist and lightly tug her forward past the hatch. Without another word, he pulled her in for a long, full hug.

They stayed that way for a moment, both clearly a little overcome with emotions they hadn't completely expected. "I guess I missed you more than I knew," Sam murmured in her ear.

"Yeah," Tory commented as she finally pulled away. "I suppose, when you're used to seeing someone every day for the better part of a year…"

Sam silently agreed, though something in the pit of his stomach suggested that wasn't all of it.

"Well, you're just in time for some of Tyrol's great brew—wanna have a drink with me?" Sam smiled as he talked to her, but Tory detected the sadness hovering in the back of his throat.

"What's the occasion?" she said, hoping to get him to open up about the heaviness clearly hanging over him.

"None—just happy to unwind after a grinding shift," he muttered.

"Is that how you unwind—drowning sorrows? That's not the Sam I remember."

He cocked his head at her, a sneer forming at the corners of his mouth. "Did you come to judge my methods, or join me in unwinding? I'm really too tired if it's just to be the judging."

Tory hung her head a bit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to be that…you seem…I just wanted to find out what's wrong."

Sam turned away, pouring liquor in glasses. "What makes you think there's—"

"Don't do that, Sam. I've been friends with you long enough to know when you're upset about Kara. So tell me about it. Have you talked to her? How is she?"

Sam spun around, nearly spilling the glass in his hand. He gave it to Tory. "I haven't seen her at all. You'd know more about how she's doing than I would—aren't you staying in the Bunker?"

"Well, yes, but I…I assumed she'd gotten in touch with you by wireless, at least."

"Nope." He flopped into the chair next to Tory, taking a long drink from his cup.

There was simply silence for a few minutes, and Tory sank back into her chair, trying to relax. The conversation had taken an immediate and strange turn; it wasn't what she'd bargained for in coming to visit Sam, but she sensed she shouldn't leave until she helped him get into a better frame of mind.

He downed two glasses of alcohol in less than sixty seconds, then, with a loud exhale, leaned forward, head bent towards the floor. "She's moving in with Apollo tomorrow."

"What? Who is?" Tory was confused.

"Kara. Starbuck. You're all relocating to permanent quarters in another 24 hours, and those two were assigned the same berth. The great Apollo and Starbuck."

Tory's mouth hung open as she tried to piece together what Sam was actually saying.

"How do you…how did that…happen?"

"It's on the blueprints for the security; I'm not sure how it was arranged, but rumor has it that Helo set it up that way."

"Why, though, Sam? I know those two are close, but—"

"They used to be lovers. At least, I think they were. Here—read for yourself." Sam pulled out the piece of paper from under his mattress and handed it to Tory. She read carefully, hand over her lips, brow furrowed in concern.

"Are you sure this is from…"

"Galen confirmed it's Lee's handwriting. I found it with Kara's things from New Caprica."

Oh, Sam. I don't know what to say…" Tory was reviewing scenes in her mind from the last few days. She had to admit, in this light, there was an intimacy between them that could be more than friendship; the brushing touches, whispered comments, and knowing looks. But there was a hesitancy there as well; they weren't sure of one another.

"You need to talk to her, Sam, ask her about it openly. She had ample opportunity with Lee before she went back to Caprica for you; she married you. That has to mean something significant."

Sam laughed sarcastically. "You'd think. But you don't know my wife. Sometimes she'll do the opposite of what she wants, just to prove she doesn't need that thing. That person."

"You can't know when this was written. It looks worn, old. Maybe they had a past, but it doesn't mean they have a future."

"Helo knows something. He wouldn't have been as bold to arrange this unless he had a clear reason, a sign from Kara. Otherwise, he'd incur her wrath, and no one would willingly step into that."

Tory sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching Sam. She reached out to take his hand and held it tightly. He looked over at her, his lower lip trembling, and then the tears started to fall. Without hesitation, she rose from her chair and knelt in front of him, pulling him into her arms for comfort. Tory stroked his back, silently wishing she knew something healing to say or do.

Leaning away, she wrapped her hands around Sam's face, looking deep into his eyes. An internal struggle seemed to move across his features, and Tory had the strangest feeling he wanted to kiss her. She understood she needed to break the connection temporarily, regain normal footing, and she rocked back on her heels to stand. Sam rose with her, his hands holding her arms to keep her body close to him.

Tory wanted to look away, but something in his gaze forced her still. As he moved his face close to hers, she was horrified to realize the tingle in her spine—anticipation. Oh gods, I want him to kiss me…what's wrong with me?

His lips were warm as they claimed hers—light but not tentative. He pulled her tight against his chest and began kissing her with fervor, a rapid succession of nipping and gliding and coaxing. It was intense, and Tory found herself sinking into the thrall of his presence, letting the kiss deepen into something too intimate to explain away later as a misunderstanding. His hands were playing with her hair, exposing her neck, and when he began using his tongue against her ear, she moaned.

Sharply she pushed Sam from her. "We can't do this, Sam…you don't want to do this. We're just—"

"I do, though. I do." He drew her back quickly, wrapping his hand behind her neck and kissing her with force. The passion was real, whatever the reasons bringing it forward. Tory was matching his intensity, stunned at her feelings surging to the surface. How long had she been harboring this attraction to him in her subconscious?

Sam, sensing she was pliant in his arms again, began drawing his fingers in long lines along her torso, her arms, her back. He was skilled, Tory realized, more sensual and fluid in his movements than she would have previously imagined. I'm in real trouble here.

The next kisses were deep and tender; Tory lost awareness of things other than need and emotional longing...his, hers, and something forming between them that felt like fate claiming its due.

His hands were warm and unexpectedly smooth as he worked her clothes off and reveled in her curves. "You're stunning," he whispered, and Tory found herself shivering from the timbre of awe in his voice. Something deep in her chest caught flame. She started grabbing his shirt to pull it over his head, and everything escalated into a desperate interplay of fingers, lips, and muscles under hot skin, guided by the alternating rhythms of moaning.

"Sam, Sam," Tory found herself repeating. She was overwhelmed with sensations; the smell of his skin was addictive, the sensitivity of his touch mesmerizing. They staggered together towards his bunk, and he moved above her, letting his mouth trace patterns all over her body. He stroked between her legs, groaning in appreciation as her slender, toned legs slid apart.

As Sam finally sank himself within her, his size brought a shocking depth of pleasure, causing Tory to open her eyes in surprise. She caught the wonder on his face too, a deep moan escaping as he started thrusting. His blue eyes were penetrating as he sought out something in her expression. She stared back, her hands drifting up to his face. When he shifted position, they moaned again and her legs wrapped tight around his thighs to match his timing. Tory arched her neck, losing herself in the building tensions, until his hand cradled her head and she was captured by the emotional pitch in his voice as he murmured her name. They locked eyes, unnamed expressions of meaning being revealed.

All at once, the intensity was too much; Tory turned aside to break the spell. A different kind of desperation pushed them now; as Tory went over the edge, she felt the tears swell. Shame was rising up where need…and what other emotions?...had centered in her chest before. Sam came with a pained cry, and almost immediately moved to Tory's back as soon as she rolled on her side. He held her lightly, sensing he wouldn't be allowed the privilege for long; two minutes later, she sprang up from the bunk, almost frantically grabbing at the pile of clothing on the floor.

Sam jumped up, frightened. He didn't want her leaving this way. "Tory…hey. Come on, slow down a sec!" He pulled on his pants and managed to grab her arm before she made it to the hatch.

"Let me go." Her voice was low and controlled; Sam knew that was a sign she was very upset.

"No. Not until you at least look at me. Please, Tory, we're…I have to make sure…I can't lose you." He swallowed the last words, his gut roiling with anxiety as he cupped her face.

"Sam," Tory said helplessly. "This was a mistake. We're both raw, missing other people we've lost. You weren't…this wasn't about me. And I wasn't…gods, Sam, Tom's only been dead two weeks. I was so wrong to let this happen. I can't explain how…" her voice trailed off. She wasn't able to frame into words what seemed to have passed between them. She knew it felt like something significant had manifested itself, but that couldn't be true. They were both in love with other people. And Sam still had a chance with his partner, even if she didn't.

Her voice turned pleading. "Think about Kara, Sam. Nothing can substitute for what you've had…you have to fight for that. Or settle it. But we can't use…anything else as a crutch."

Tory stepped out of Sam's grip, and this time he let her go. "Tory, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry if this—if it changes us. How we are together. You do mean a lot to me." His throat was rough with tears held in check.

Turning quickly, she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Sam. And tal—" she struggled to get the words out—"talk to Kara." Tory left the room, the hatch making an eerie sound as it sealed behind her.

Sam sank to the floor, sitting with legs crossed, almost in a stupor. He tried to put his thoughts in order, looking over the events of the past hour hoping to figure out what was really going on internally.

Tory was absolutely right; his grief and jealousy over Kara had driven his initial actions. But that wasn't all of it. His feelings, when he'd gazed into Tory's eyes, were real and separate from the other emotional storms he'd been grappling with. And they'd been returned by Tory—he hadn't imagined that—she was obviously surprised by the power of her own responses.

Fear still sat high and tight in the back of his chest. He was really afraid he might lose Tory's friendship, and the pain of that, layered on top of the loss of Kara's love, seemed to force all air out of his lungs. But he couldn't think about Tory any more at this point; it wasn't right. He had to talk to his wife, find out what was really going on. He wasn't prepared to write off his marriage, his passion for Kara, and he needed to do exactly what Tory had said—fight for her or settle things. He had to start getting some answers. He couldn't be whole again until he worked out what he meant to Kara, and if Lee was a threat or…or a crutch. It was time Kara made things plain.

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Sit Rep: The Bunker, End of Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration

Everyone had gathered in the Bunker for the evening planning meetings. Faces were drawn and tired; no one was getting good rest and the tensions inside and outside the room were escalating.

After forty-five minutes of heated arguments over how to address the "New Caprican" issue, Adama decided the people in the room had been stretched too thin, at least in the moment. They weren't solving problems, they were creating them—with one another. Tigh and Thrace were nearly at blows, Tory Foster was withdrawn and unusually inarticulate when asked questions, and Lee was visibly in poor health—sweating, hands shaking, comments rushed and disjointed. He'd clearly pushed himself too far on the stims; Cottle had refused to give Lee any additional supply, and was threatening to force him into a long stay in Life Station if he didn't start looking after himself.

It was when Roslin and Karl Agathon got into a heated exchange, however, that Adama declared an end to the meeting and a mandatory "lights out" in thirty minutes. He'd rarely seen Helo lose his temper, but the Captain had actually started yelling at Laura. Adama knew that was a definite sign of frayed nerves; if Helo was at that stage, then the others in the room were surely in worse phases.

The Admiral hoped that the relocation to private quarters the following day would bring some immediate relief to the leadership team. If there was one thing he was realizing, based on his session with the psychiatrist, it was that all of the people currently in the Bunker had been through repeated, exhaustive trauma. While having external crises to focus on meant they could keep themselves distracted, it also meant they couldn't actually deal with anything going on internally. Emotions that hit without warning, memories that came, unbidden, to the front of the mind at inappropriate moments—these "aftershocks" of trauma could derail them at a precipitous moment.

Every person in that Bunker needed time to collect his or her thoughts and nurse unseen wounds. Even though Adama himself was not partial to Dr. Martin, or the tactics of any shrink, he recognized the people around him needed help. Things were falling apart at the seams; it was unjust, unfair, disturbing—and probably par for the course. He needed to make sure all of them—himself included—started acknowledging the impact of the past and taking time to clear their heads. If they didn't, he was truly afraid they might finally reach the collective breaking point. Surviving so much, to lose it all now—Bill had to be certain that didn't happen.

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Lee flipped restlessly in his bunk. He was exhausted and ragged, but his mind would give him no peace. Or, more accurately, his heart wouldn't. Four nights ago, he'd held her. They'd…he'd caressed her, pleasured her, treasured her. And he was sure Kara was…that she'd wanted him to…he didn't understand where he'd gone wrong. Lee hadn't pressured her, he hadn't blurted out he loved her, he hadn't asked for explanations. He hadn't asked for anything. Was he destined to push her away simply by the existence of his love for her?

The nightmares were still happening with Kara, he was sure of that. He could hear her every night—muttered half-words, whimpers, and thrashing. Her lack of sleep was evident to all, because she was deteriorating rapidly—dark circles under her eyes and increasingly erratic, angry behavior. But she didn't come to Lee's rack for comfort, and he was too worried to go to hers instead. It was driving him insane, keeping him from sleep too, because he wanted to do something. He wanted to soothe her fears, if nothing else, and make sure she got some rest. Long experience, however, stopped him from taking action, because he was certain his overtures would be interpreted as pressure.

He'd already tried to broach a more personal conversation with Kara two days ago, and she'd turned heel on him so abruptly he'd hardly registered he was talking to himself. Kara had moved over to a conversation with Tyrol, Helo, and Sharon, carefully fixing her gaze away from where Lee'd been standing with her only fleeting moments before. He'd taken the hint.

Which left Lee with the familiar, uncomfortable ache. He wasn't sure if her behavior was related to the suffering on New Caprica or to fears that Lee would expect more intimacy in the future. That's what he'd hoped to explain when he'd tried to talk to her—that he knew how to give her space. He wasn't going to place any demands on her, physical or otherwise. He just wanted to be…gods, it was easier to describe what he didn't want to be. He didn't want to be shut out; he didn't want to be an emotional mess longing for her from afar any more; he didn't want to be without the sound of her voice and the comfort of her gaze.

Right now, of course, he was facing all those things. She didn't talk to him, didn't touch him, didn't look at him. And he was withering away in the freezing cold. Again.

But Lee knew he couldn't afford to be bitter. He could even less afford to interpret her actions as a personal rejection. He was all too aware what the situation felt like; still, that didn't mean it was actually what he feared. Because it was based on his singular terror: that he was doomed to repeat his failings with Kara Thrace. And Lee Adama had resolved that wasn't reality. He wouldn't permit a lack of mental discipline to derail him—or them.

If she needed space, he shouldn't tell her about it, he should just give it. If he didn't expect continued intimacy, he needn't explain that either—he just had to make sure he truly wasn't expecting anything.

One more possibility struck Lee the previous night, as he tossed fitfully; she might have withdrawn from him because she was still in love with her husband. Gods knew Kara hadn't had any opportunity to talk to Sam in the last week, and given her reluctance to discuss anything heavy, it wasn't likely she'd have addressed the status of their marriage, even if she'd had a chance to. Lee needed to be willing to accept that Kara might want to resume her relationship with Sam. At the very least, she was probably uncertain about where things stood, and it would take time for her to sort things out with her husband. Lee would be expected to give them room. He would insist, for himself, that he gave her that space too.

Awkwardly, tomorrow the two of them would be living in quarters together. When Kara and Lee had first been told about the assignments, she hadn't protested; Lee had interpreted that as a positive sign. Now, he was beginning to dread the change. He definitely had to prepare himself that she might not stay out the week there.

That last bit of reality somehow hit the hardest. Lee sighed audibly, pressing his palms against his eyes as he lay on his back, willing himself not to cry. Overwhelming grief began pushing down on him; he was in the grip of counting losses. Between the brewing civil war, the physical limitations with his leg, and the rollercoaster moments with Kara, he was struggling to find something to feel hopeful about. It was a dangerous juncture, on so many levels, and he felt inadequate to the tasks ahead.

Loud words made Lee jerk up, resting on his arms as he listened in a state of hyper-alertness.

"Let me the frak out of here! I'll frakking kill you where you stand if you don't!"

Rapidly padding feet could be heard as someone ran past Lee's bunk; he recognized the shadow as Kara's. She was the one yelling. Lee turned around to look behind; no one else was standing there. Who was she talking to? Was she having a walking night terror?

Heavy banging on the metal hatch filled the area with sound. Kara was screaming in rage as she swung a metal coffeepot against the door. "Open the frakking cell! Open the godsdamn frakkin' cell! I can't breathe in here anymore…" she staggered back slightly, swinging the pot widely as she spun around. "You sonofabitch—think you can keep me locked up here—I've killed you before and I'll do it again!"

Lee was out of his rack, taking quick strides towards Kara. Helo was also approaching. They wordlessly took up positions to Kara's left and right; she didn't acknowledge them as she flung herself at the hatch again. "Let me out!" she shrieked. "Let me out, Let me out, let me out!"

The door opened, several marines peering into the darkness of the Bunker. Lee and Helo held up their hands to signal the soldiers should stay outside. The light flooded the area around the hatch; both men could tell Kara wasn't making sense of her surroundings at all. She squinted, her arm with the coffeepot falling. The metal object dropped out of her hand and clanked on the floor.

Stepping forward, Lee tried to talk to her. "Kara, it's okay. You're on the Pegasus—remember? Wake up, Starbuck. It's time to wake up."

Kara looked at him strangely. "Lee. You know those mind tricks won't work with me. I know you're pumping me with drugs so I won't remember, can't keep it all straight, but it isn't enough. I'm still going to kill you, motherfrakker!"

She lunged at him with a feral grunt, her leg unexpectedly sweeping out to knock Apollo off balance. He smacked down hard against the metal, his bad leg stuttering wildly along the slick surface. In another second, Kara was standing over him, her foot poised to strike him fully in his face. "Killed you this way before, bastard, and I'll be happy to do it again."

Lee moaned; he'd hit his head as he fell, and everything was blurry. He realized Kara was standing over him, but he didn't understand what she intended to do until he saw her foot swinging straight for his nose. She's going to take me out, he thought, as he tried to move. His body wasn't responding.

Suddenly Kara was half in the air as Karl lifted her away from Lee's body at the last possible second. She was screaming and flailing; Karl almost fell himself as he fought for control. Two Marines rushed forward to help him; they grabbed her arms and legs. Cottle moved up quickly and put a shot into Kara's arm; moments later, her body went limp.

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Adama, Laura, Lee, Helo, and Cottle huddled on the sofas. No one else was sleeping, but Cottle wanted to limit this medical discussion to as few people as possible. Laura had insisted she had information that would help explain Kara's mental state, which was the only reason Cottle reluctantly allowed her to join in the conversation.

"So, Roslin, what do you know about Kara's imprisonment on New Caprica?" Cottle asked with some sarcasm.

"Leoben put the two of us together for a while as one of his sick experiments. He wanted to see what I might tell her about the Resistance."

"Go on," Adama said gently. He resented the glares from Cottle, and knew Laura needed support. Leoben's "experiments" had damaged more than one person.

"Leoben was keeping her heavily medicated—he did the same with me," Roslin continued.

Adama nodded. "And with me."

"She was in bad shape….Leoben had been working her over for months by then. Her foot had been broken; she was on crutches. Kara didn't even recognize me at first—she could barely form sentences."

Lee ground his teeth together, and caught Helo's look of sympathy in his direction. They were both feeling guilty for not reaching New Caprica sooner.

Laura took a deep breath. "It became clear that the Cylon had twisted a lot of things in Kara's mind, confusing her. He forced her to—" she looked at Apollo carefully—"he forced her to say she 'loved' him. And he told her she had to call him 'Lee.'"

Adama tensed, staring in disbelief at Laura. "What do you mean? Why would the Cylon—"

"He thought it was a special name she had for him. Leoben didn't realize she was referring to someone else." Lee swallowed hard after he made the statement; it was hard to explain, and even harder to believe, sometimes. He hadn't allowed himself to think much about what had transpired in the Cellar with that Cylon, how disorienting and unsettling it had been.

Helo examined Apollo's face intently. "How did you find out?"

"Before we escaped. In the Cellar…Leoben found us. She kept calling him Lee and only recognized me as Apollo. Leoben was trying to control her, get her to help him—"

"That makes no sense, Lee. Kara wouldn't help—" Adama interrupted, perplexed.

"Bill, there are techniques of torture, in long-term hostage situations, that can unravel the mind. What Apollo and Roslin are describing—it's possible the Cylon really had her mixed up." Cottle nodded at Lee. "Continue, son."

"Leoben thought 'Lee' was short for his name. The sick frak—" Apollo fought for emotional control—"Kara talked in her sleep sometimes. I guess my name came out. The Cylon was arrogant enough to assume somehow it was directed at him."

Laura looked at Lee in surprise. "So she remembered you as Apollo, to keep those thoughts separate. Gods, it must have been so frightening and chaotic, trying to hold onto a sense of who she was in the midst of that."

A lump formed high in Lee's throat. "She tried to fight back; that's what she meant about 'killing' Lee—Leoben more than once. He just kept resurrecting to torture her all over again."

Helo shook his head. "What a colossal mind-frak. Gods. I knew she was tough, but I can't imagine what it's taken for her to…" his eyes welled. He marveled she was functioning at all. And they didn't know the half of it. Karl doubted the broken foot was her only physical injury during that time period.

"Why now, Doc? What triggered her reaction tonight?" Adama was wondering how to handle the situation, how to help Kara.

"If I had to guess, it's her lack of sleep. I warned her, if she didn't get real rest, there'd be mental problems. She won't take any sleeping aids, because she was drugged for so long, but without them…" Cottle shrugged his shoulders.

Lee winced, knowing that she'd been sleeping when she'd come to his rack those few nights; he'd ruined the safety of that, letting desire overrule common sense, and now she was paying the price.

"We're all supposed to relocate to quarters tomorrow. Given what's happened, do we need to make changes for her? Does she need to be in sickbay for a while?" The Admiral still wasn't sure what Cottle had in mind.

"I think…let's leave things as planned. She shouldn't be alone, in case her sleep-walking becomes a more serious problem. And I'm going to order her to use the meds at night, over her objections. I'll inject her every time, if it comes to that, if she refuses to take the oral dose. We don't need a psychotic Thrace running around the CIC."

Adama raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. "Are you sure that Lee is…I mean, given the circumstances with the Cylon…"

"It's better if it's Lee, in my estimation. She has to be reminded of the reality—that Apollo and Lee are the same person and that Leoben was a Cylon bastard. I'll check with Dr. Martin, but I feel confident she'll agree. Kara's probably better off if Lee's nearby, for the time being." Cottle met the Admiral's gaze with conviction. He'd seen Kara's responses in sickbay—to Sam and to Lee—and while he didn't want to describe the events of those hours to the people in the room, he was sure he was making the best decision overall.

As the group broke up and quiet permeated the Bunker again, everyone's mood was somber. The costs of the last few months hadn't really been measured yet. Whatever happened within the fleet next, it was becoming clear that the New Capricans had faced unique, terrible circumstances; it was essential to acknowledge the dissidents had legitimate feelings, even if their approach for redress was ill-considered and poorly articulated. Kara was an example of the tragedies many had experienced, in some part, while on New Caprica.

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Sit Rep: Senior Officers Quarters Section, Day Fifteen, Operation Restoration

Kara bit her lower lip as she concentrated on the repair of the sim board components. The parts were strewn across the table; she pulled the portable lamp closer to squint at the tiny wires she was trying to reroute. She cursed as she dropped the tweezers she'd been using and attempted to shake out her hand. There was a slight tremor in her fingers, throwing off her accuracy, and she didn't want to think about why it was there or what it might take to get it to stop.

Desperate to find something to occupy her time, Kara had originally begged to work on viper repairs, but Cottle had nixed the idea. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd approved; the Old Man was in a tizzy over security and protecting his "leadership team." He was prohibiting any of them from taking shifts outside of the CIC. It was driving Kara over the edge—she'd been cooped up inside a small space for months, unable to have any say in where she went or with whom, and after her rescue, it just seemed like more of the same.

Her—their—new quarters were comfortable, by military standards, but the size and design reminded her too much of the cell Leoben had kept her in. Of course, everything seemed to remind her of that awful place, mocking her attempts to reconnect with her former life, her world before New Caprica.

It was Helo who'd suggested Kara work on the viper simulation equipment; she was grateful he'd thought of something that could keep her occupied and meet the Admiral's quarters restrictions. One of the Marines had hauled two sim machine motherboards over, also carrying the tools she'd need to fix the delicate components. The Marine had brought a portable laptop for the programming tasks; once Kara managed to get the boards functioning, the real fun could begin, creating new test scenarios for the viper pilots. It would give her a chance to start thinking like a pilot herself. Gods knew it had been too long.

Kara sighed as she tried to figure out how much time had to pass before someone would let her back in an actual cockpit. She was out of shape, with physical problems to boot. But of course, that wasn't the worst of it. The mental "issues" were what concerned everyone else the most; she could see it on their faces, this strained look of worry whenever she caught their eyes. Since her little nighttime meltdown forty-eight hours ago, people had been overly nice and too distant at the same time; she hated it.

Then there was Apollo. She was so confused by her own behavior, and she cringed every time she allowed herself to consider what he must be thinking. After that night…what had been shared between them…her reactions were unexpected and painful. Images of Apollo mixed with images of CylonLee…she kept trying to sort it all out, but her mind was scrambled.

There were too many memories of the Cylon climbing on top of her; Kara must have floated in and out of awareness a lot, when he was…was violating her. When she had to say that name, and the drugs made her forget what was real and what was in the past, she couldn't keep track of what was happening, who was having sex with her, and sometimes…sometimes…Kara couldn't accept what she'd realized. Her body had…responded. Despite the circumstances, when she'd lose track of who was really with her, where she was, falling into distant memories or simply blanking out from the meds, her body had seemed separate from her sense of self.

It was shameful to view how her body had betrayed her, how she'd betrayed her body. She seethed with hatred for the Cylon, but she was just as disgusted with herself. How could I have…what sick person actually responds when in that situation? Did that mean I was encouraging CylonLee? Maybe it's my fault he kept frakking me; he thought I wanted it.

"Shut the frak up Thrace," she said aloud, pushing herself to renew her efforts with the motherboard. The damage was extensive; Kara had to wonder what had blown out the circuitry. "Looks like a power surge went through the damned thing, but what would have caused it in that section of the ship?" Karafound herself laughing harshly—maybe she really was going crazy, as she was officially talking to herself.

A door comm went off. Kara wiped her hands on her pants and went over, wondering who might be visiting. An image of Dee popped into her head; she gulped while she opened the door.

Sam Anders stood there. Kara gasped, immediately wishing that hadn't been her first reaction, as Sam recoiled, his eyes darting to the floor.

"Gods, Sammy. Wow. I…glad to see you. Come in." Kara stepped aside, simultaneously realizing how awkward it must be for the man, coming to Lee Adama's quarters to see his long-absent wife.

She watched as Sam scanned the room, taking in the additional single rack built into the wall and Kara's belongings sitting on the shelf above it.

"We're roommates, nothing more," Kara said, secretly wondering why it felt strange to say that and irritated she felt the necessity to explain.

"Okay," was all Sam managed to get out in reply.

Knowing it was probably difficult for him to figure out what to do next, Kara stepped close and moved in to give him a hug. He stiffened in surprise at first but quickly returned the embrace.

"I am glad to see you, Sam," she repeated gently. He just nodded, continuing to hold her close.

"Have a seat," Kara gestured. A small couch fit into one corner of the room; as he eased into it, she took up a spot on her bunk.

"So, Galen's told us a few things about your exploits on New Caprica—said you're a natural leader." Kara squirmed; she'd wanted to say something positive and kind, but it came out stilted.

He didn't talk, just kept his keen eyes trained on her. Kara squirmed again. Breaking the gaze, she studiously examined the rivets in the floor.

In a burst of expression, Sam stammered, "I tried to rescue you. I'd worked so hard on the plan, and we made it to the right area, but that Cylon prick had moved you. You and Roslin. I'm so sorry that we couldn't…that I didn't…" his face contorted in anguish.

"Sam, it's alright. I swear to you, it is. I knew you would have…Galen made sure to describe how well-designed and executed the plan was. I never doubted you'd go through hell to…to…find me." Kara's voice sounded so small, even to herself; she wondered why nothing came normally any more.

"Then how come you didn't—haven't—tried to talk to me? Find me? I thought maybe you were angry, that you stayed away because you believed I didn't try." Sam stood up, coming to kneel in front of her. He put his hands on her knees. "Why, Kara?"

She felt the tears sear her cheeks. His face was so earnest. Gods help him; he loved her. Didn't he understand the Kara he knew was gone, and this woman in front of him couldn't be with him?

"I'm…I apologize. Truly." With a sob, Kara leaned forward, her hands falling to his shoulders as she planted a kiss on his forehead. He shifted on his feet, moving to kiss her; he grazed her lips before she managed to turn her head aside.

"I can't…please don't do that. It's too—"

Anger flashed in Sam's eyes. "What, are only men named after gods allowed to kiss Kara Thrace now?"

She looked at him, slightly terrified. "That's not how it is, Sammy. I told you." Kara raised her eyebrows as her eyes narrowed. She held her breath, wondering what he was going to tell her next: Had he somehow learned about her night with Lee on New Caprica, the fateful eve of their impromptu wedding? Did Galen know and tell Sam about what had happened a few days ago in the Bunker? Or had Sam just finally learned how to see right through the lies she told even herself?

"Right. Stupid me. Kara, don't you think it's about time you told me the real history of you and the illustrious Lee Adama?" Sam was standing again, his body language emanating rage.

Kara went into survival mode, senses shifting gears. She watched him like an animal taking stock of another creature, sizing up the danger and the best route for escape or attack.

"What are you driving at?" she said evenly. She needed more information—she still wasn't sure of the creature she was dealing with.

"Driving at? Driving at. How about this, Kara. The love letter, poem, whatever it is that you valued enough to drag all over the frakkin' universe!" Sam pulled a folded piece of paper out of his vest pocket and waved it in her face.

Kara saw the coloring and folds and knew right away what he was holding. She felt panic and relief in the same moment—despite the costs, the fact the document survived New Caprica to make it back to her gave her a shot of unexpected hope, like an allegory for her whole improbable relationship with Apollo.

With caution, Kara put out her hand to take the paper from Sam. As she opened it, slowly stroking the page wide, her eyes fell upon the words "This bitter pill I swallow is the silence that I keep. It poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep." Will you keep your silence now, Kara? She heard Apollo's voice internally, asking the question.

Kara opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. She wasn't sure how to start. Finally, with a whooshing of air, as she shut her eyes and slid her hands down her thighs, she threw herself into the words.

"It's a po—a love poem. Apollo wrote it nearly five years ago; he gave it to me at Zak's funeral. He was saying goodbye, and that was his way of telling me what I meant to him and why I wasn't going to be seeing him again after that horrific day."

"So you were lovers before that. While you were…while you were with Zak?" Sam was stunned.

Kara nodded, new tears falling, glistening against her eyelashes. "It began before him, though, before Zak."

"What the frak is wrong with you, Kara? Is this your M.O., stringing two men along at a time? Gods!" Sam slammed his hand on the table; computer components clattered against metal.

Kara stood up, her defiant streak making a brief appearance. "It wasn't like that. Frak you, Sam. You wanted to know the truth, so here's the whole thing. The whole of it. We met while I was still in the Academy; we didn't tell each other at the time, but we—" Kara started shaking, because she'd never said it aloud before—"we fell in love with each other." Gods, that was so strange, actually getting the phrase out…

"There wasn't any time to be together, though; Apollo was already a commissioned officer assigned to the Eos. It was a long-term, deep-space mission—top secret. He put Zak in touch with me—I was supposed to help him with classes at the Academy—but I think it was Apollo's way of making sure someone was looking after me. He never…never told Zak that we'd been involved, because of fraternization rules."

Kara closed her eyes again. Those feelings, learning that Apollo was dead—they slammed through her body as though it had just happened. "About a year into the mission, we received word Apollo had been killed in action. There was no body, no explanation of the circumstances, just the official notice from the Admiral Board. I was so…lost. No one had known that Apollo and I were involved, certainly not Zak; I couldn't even mourn him that way."

"So you took up with Lee's brother as a consolation." Sam scoffed.

"Gods, Sammy, how you look at me. It's a wonder, if you believe me capable of so much heartlessness, that you would've wanted to rescue me back there." Kara stared him down, trying to keep him from seeing how his words flayed her faltering sense of self.

Sam hung his head, sinking onto the couch. "That was a cruel thing I said; I'm sorry, Kara. This is just a lot to…"

Kara's face softened. "And I'm sorry for that, Sam. For how you found out, for the pain it's added."

"But Lee didn't really die; what happened when he came back?" Sam looked miserable as he met her eyes. He wanted the truth; Kara wasn't sure he could bear it.

"Apollo wasn't the same after he returned from Eos. He was on the mission for eighteen months. It was long and dangerous, and he was tortured at one point. He was finally brought home because he nearly died from a bombing accident, the result of a battle. The scars—seen and unseen—it was a struggle for him."

"You stayed with Zak. Why?"

Kara smiled, bitter and melancholy. "Apollo wanted it that way. Or that's what he said, at the time. He didn't consider himself relationship material."

"So you agreed to marry Zak by default," Sam said slowly, uncomfortable parallels coming to the forefront of his mind.

Kara got up quickly, pacing. "No, Sam. That's not right. I loved Zak; I truly did. It was confusing. I'm a screw up, after all. I loved them both."

Sam went to push that point with her, but thought better of it. "Finish the story. I don't understand why you and Lee didn't resume your relationship later."

"Gods, Sammy. Don't expect me to explain that. I can't. The best I could say is that Zak's death changed a lot of things. For both of us. We didn't talk for two years, and likely wouldn't have seen each other again if we hadn't been thrown together by extraordinary circumstances. When we ended up on Galactica, after the end of the worlds, we'd found an equilibrium of sorts. It seemed to be a friendship."

Sam walked the three steps to Kara and placed his hands around her arms. He was breathing fast, looking pale and deeply upset.

What did I mean to you Kara, when you married me? Was I like Zak?"

Kara tried to meet his look with some calmness in her features. "I've loved you, Sam. That's genuine. I didn't risk my ass bringing you back because I felt obligation."

"But the marriage…it was impulsive."

"I usually am, Sammy." Kara offered a weak smile while her heart pounded frantically. Sam was too close to a level of truth she wasn't going to be able to verbalize, too close to finding out that Kara spent the night with Apollo before marrying him. Sam would realize the deceit, regardless of the lack of words, and the damage of that…if she loved him at all, she wouldn't inflict such wounds.

"Weren't you happy, Kara? On New Caprica? I thought—"

"Yes, Sam, I was happy with you." That wasn't a lie; she'd been hiding from a number of things then, but she was content enough to be with him. It had been her choice, after all.

His grip on her arms tightened. "Then help me understand. You didn't reach out to me, you're staying in Lee's quarters…I can't make sense of any of it."

Kara twisted hard, freeing herself. "Sam, a lot of bad things happened to me down there. The Cylon—" she choked on the word—"he played a lot of mind games. Tortured me, drugged me. Changed me. I'm not the person you knew before."

"But Kara, I can help you. I love you, and I promised I'd support you through the best and worst—you have to believe I meant that!" Anders pulled her around to face him.

Kara was close to flying into a fit of anger. Too many emotions were rumbling within and she didn't want to give Sam the meaning to the more essential questions he was asking behind his stated ones.

"Sammy, I know you want to…to be with me, take care of me. And I'm telling you, as plainly as I can, that I'm not fit for anyone to be with. I'm damaged, do get that? Maybe beyond repair. Last night I tried to kill Apollo, thinking he was the Cylon. I'm not going to be in a relationship with anyone. Not now, maybe not ever again." A bone-chilling sensation ran up and down Kara's spine as she uttered those sentences. I sound just like Apollo did at the cabins. I didn't understand. Not until this moment. No wonder he ran…

"Kara, I understand you believe what you're saying, but I don't accept that. I want to fight for our marriage, and I—"

"No, Sam. No!" Her voice became much louder. She wanted to start hitting him, smashing him until he couldn't move. The man was going to force her into the final corner and she would hate him for it.

The room fell quiet. Kara wouldn't look any more, but she could hear Sam's sobs. They stood in silence for more than ten minutes. Then Sam broke through the last barrier—just as Kara had feared he would.

"Are you still in love with him, with Lee?"

"Frak you, Sammy. Why do you insist—"

"Frak you, Kara. I asked you a question."

"I can't give you an answer."

"You mean you won't."

Kara flew towards him, her anger finally boiling over. "Sammy, in the art of hurting people beyond recovery, I'm much more skilled than you. Ask Apollo. You don't want to take this any further, not today."

"Why the hostility? The walls? If this is over, this thing between us, then I want to know. I want to be sure I understand why. Is it because of that monster Leoben, or because you've never stopped loving Lee Adama?"

He grabbed her roughly and started shaking her, hard. "Tell me, Kara. Say it, Godsdamnit. You frakkin' coward, say it! Say it!"

Fear, anguish, and exhaustion broke the floodgates. Kara began sobbing. "Stop it, Sammy. Stop—"

"No. I'm not gonna stop, Kara. You're not winning. Not this time." He was still shaking her; without warning, he slammed her into the wall. He lifted her away and smashed her into the wall a second time. She was screeching.

"It's both of them. Both of them! They haunt my dreams, my waking hours…everything! Everything." Kara was crying uncontrollably. Her legs buckled; they both sank to the floor. Sam finally let go of her shoulders.

His voice cracking, Sam whispered, "This is the last door, Kara. Are you…if you tell me, this moment, that we're done, I won't be back. I won't be like Lee, carrying some frakkin' torch for you. I'm stronger than he is. I can get over you."

"Then—that's—what—you—should—do." Kara crawled onto all fours and slowly stood up. He followed suit.

Sam's eyes locked on hers. She moved in and unexpectedly put her arms around him. He cried out sharply as he squeezed her and went kiss her. This time, Kara gave in, but only for a moment. He let go, understanding she wasn't going to respond further.

Shirt wet with tears, Sam moved to the hatch. "I'll…we'll talk again. Not for a while—too hard—but…" he sobbed and tried to finish his thought. "You can still…if you need something, I'll help you." He whispered, as he stepped beyond the threshold. "I love you."

As soon as Sam was in the hall, he slammed into someone. It was Lee, returning to quarters. Unmitigated rage pulsed through him and in a split second Sam had swung his fist, connecting with Lee's jaw and smashing sideways into his nose.

Completely caught off guard, Lee lost his balance, saved from a complete fall by part of the bulkhead as he flailed his arms, instinctively trying to keep from damaging his leg further. Sam stared somewhat uncomprehendingly at Lee's face, watching the blood beginning to gush. He gave him a helpless look and ran down the corridor, leaving Lee slumped along the wall.

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Dazed and in pain, Lee scrambled to get his weight rebalanced over his casted leg. He was leaving bloody handprints everywhere. Getting the door open, he groaned as he saw Kara sitting on her bunk; he'd rather have dealt with his injury alone. Then again, Sam probably wouldn't have slugged me in the first place if she wasn't already in my quarters…

Kara sprang up as soon as she caught a look at Apollo. He managed to register the tears on her cheeks, but he was too distracted by the blood running down his own face to manage to ask any questions.

"Gods, Apollo, what the frak happened?" Kara hurried to the small sink and wet a towel. She went to touch his face, but Lee stopped her, grabbing the cloth to handle it himself.

"Nose broken," he managed to sputter, as he held the bunched up towel around the lower half of his features and tilted his head back.

"What? How did—" Kara stopped mid-sentence as she understood exactly who had hit Apollo.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry." Her voice was a rasp; she sank back onto her rack, anguish gripping her face.

Lee couldn't see anything. He was still staring at the ceiling, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Kara, can you grab the first aid kit? It's on the shelf above the desk." He gritted his teeth; talking wasn't very easy at the moment, and he was already getting a bad headache.

Seconds later, with a tug on his arm, Lee looked over to see Kara had the chemical cold packs broken and activated. He kept one hand with the towel over his nose, and took a pack with the other to press across his cheeks. He sighed as the cold started to blot some of the pain.

Kara pulled out the topical numbing agent and gently moved the towel out of the way to spray it up each nostril. Lee coughed and closed his eyes against the sudden hit of the drug; it made him slightly nauseous.

"You're still bleeding," Kara muttered as she held the cloth too, her hand covering Apollo's. She slid her other hand behind his neck to provide support while his head tilted back again.

Holding on, Kara directed Apollo to sit down, easing him into the small couch. She sat next to him, neither one saying anything.

Many minutes passed; Lee wasn't sure how long they stayed there in that configuration. He was a little faint and definitely tired. It finally occurred to him to see if the blood had clotted; gingerly, he sat more upright. Kara kept a hand on his back and took a look.

"Seems to have stopped."

Lee nodded. "I should tape it up, then, before the drug wears off."

Kara went for another wetted towel and carefully began wiping the blood from Apollo's face and neck. He kept his eyes closed; he didn't want to look at her, didn't want to try and figure out what she was thinking or feeling at that moment. He wasn't sure he could deal with anything else in this day, and he just wanted to lie down and sleep, assuming the pain didn't keep him up all night now.

Lee was a little surprised when he felt Kara start to actually tape his nose. He cried out in unexpected shock as she manipulated the tissue, his headache roaring to the next level.

"Apollo…maybe we should go to Sick Bay. I'm not sure if…what if your jaw's fractured?" Her voice was hesitant and full of worry.

"No frakkin' way." Lee wanted to scream the words, but managed to keep his voice under control. He opened his eyes to see Kara looking intensely distraught.

"I'm sorry if I'm…gods, I'm just tired, Kara. Really exhausted. All I could think about for the past two hours was crawling into a real bed, and instead I'm dealing with this."

Kara flinched, and Lee wished he was more alert, able to find better words. Despite his misgivings, Lee didn't want to chase her away when they'd just gotten into these quarters, and he understood she was probably wondering about the wisdom of staying there.

"Aren't you going to ask me about Sam?"

Lee looked at her, surprised. "No. It's not my…my place."

Kara's features were melancholy. "Considering he punched you, I think you might want—"

Both of them jumped straight up as the door slammed open and Helo rushed into the room with two Marines, guns drawn.

"Lee, Kara, are you alright? Who attacked you?" Helo was quickly at Lee's side, scanning for injuries.

"I'm okay. What the frak led you break in here?" Lee was still trying to get his heart to settle back to a normal rhythm.

"We saw the blood on the wall and door, and assumed the worst," Helo said quickly.

Lee nodded, immediately wishing he hadn't moved his head. "It wasn't an attack, just a broken nose."

Helo looked to Kara, hoping for a better explanation.

"I think…Sam was here…he left upset and—"

"Karl, don't do anything. He's been through enough." Lee looked at his friend. "This arrangement isn't…I can't blame him for being angry." Another surge of pain swept through Lee's head, and he abruptly sat down.

"You need to see Cottle, Lee," Helo said with concern.

"No. Just frakkin' no! Gods, I want to sleep in my own quarters, left in peace!"

"He's down the hall, and I'm getting him over here," Karl spoke with emphasis, signaling to one of the Marines to go and find the doctor.

Half an hour later, bandaged and pleasantly buzzed on a decent shot of morpha, Lee sighed as Cottle and Helo finally left. They'd helped him change into sweats and get situated in the bed, only leaving after Kara promised to keep an eye on Apollo's breathing and find Cottle if his headache got any worse.

Lee was drifting off to sleep, only vaguely aware of the sounds of Kara's movements as she got ready to climb into her own rack. He was startled awake by the sensation of someone sitting on the bed, and turned his head to find Kara leaning over. The room was dark, but her eyes seemed to find his even in the blackness.

"Making sure you were breathing, Apollo," she whispered.

Inhibitions lowered by the meds in his system, Lee lifted his arm to touch her face. "Glad it's you," he mumbled, smiling. "Don't be 'fraid to come here…if bad dreams…miss holding you," he exhaled. "An' I wouldn't expect 'nything. Kay? Too important to…mess up."

"Okay," Kara said, her voice straining.

Lee slipped into dozing again, unaware of Kara's movements as she eased herself down onto the double bed next to him. She lay there, not touching him but staying close enough she could watch the rise and fall of his chest throughout the night.

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Sit Rep: Senior Officers Quarters Section, end of Day Sixteen, Operation Restoration

Bill Adama poured himself a glass of ambrosia. He wasn't sure how they survived, but somehow three bottles of the good stuff—original, premium brand—were ensconced in the cabinet. One had been opened and was nearly empty, but the other two remained pristine.

Handing a glass to Laura, they both sat in reflection for a few minutes, savoring the flavor and the value of enjoying something from life before the end of the worlds. Bill lightly rubbed Laura's feet, enjoying the look of relaxation on her face. He didn't want to break the mood, but they would have company soon, and he needed to make her aware.

"Listen, Tigh's coming by in a little while. I'd like you be a part of the conversation—he's going to fill me in on some of the events that took place while we were on New Caprica."

Laura nodded, though her face scrunched up in disappointment. "I know you've been waiting for the opportunity. I appreciate the chance to hear the details myself."

Bill cleared his throat, looking pensive. "I've been reading the Commander's logs, and I have to say, they definitely had to think outside the box to put the rescue together."

"Why does that seem to upset you?" Laura pressed, wondering at his expression.

"If I understand the reports, it seems the Colonial military went ahead with projects I'd thought were terminated."

"Bill, that can't be material now…"

"But it is. Lee used a weapon…it won us our freedom, but it also meant—some of the Galactica crew died a horrible death."

"I'm confident Lee weighed the consequences…"

"So am I. It's just sobering."

Laura sighed plaintively. "Isn't everything?"

Bill looked over at her. "I finished reading his report covering the rescue operation itself. There's something even more disturbing there, according to Lee's account. It appears the humanoid Cylons were hiding among us for much longer than we knew."

Sitting up straighter and putting her glasses on, Laura waited for Bill to elaborate.

"On Lee's first assignment a number of years ago, he fought the terrorist Aias Group. At one point, he was captured and tortured by them."

"I remember you mentioning that; for a time, everyone believed he'd been killed."

"Right. According to Lee, when he was on New Caprica at the end of the rescue operation, he saw the man who'd tortured him those years before, only then understanding it was a Cylon model. Based on the description, I think it's the one we know as Simon."

Laura was shocked. "The Aias was a front for the Cylons? What could they have been—"

"They wanted to slow down our military building. That was the ostensible purpose of the Aias Group, after all—arguing that the military shouldn't have too much power and attempting to prevent the development of new weapons technology."

Something occurred to Roslin. "The weapon you mentioned before—was that linked to the Aias activities?"

"Yes. Lee was protecting the development of the prototype back then; he had to ensure the terrorists didn't get their hands on it. Ironically, it's the same weapon he deployed a few weeks ago to gain the advantage against the Cylons."

"This weapon—you said you didn't know it had continued under development. How could Lee have used it?"

"The Pegasus had the weapon installed, but it was top secret—according to Lee's logs, it doesn't seem that even Cain was aware it was on board. If Lee hadn't already been familiar with the design, he wouldn't have discovered the equipment—no one would have."

A sound at the hatch alerted them to Tigh's arrival, interrupting the conversation. After a round of general greetings, Tigh made himself comfortable on one couch, with Bill and Laura taking up places on the other. Each grabbed a mug of coffee, and Bill launched into his questions.

Tigh kept them riveted for the next four hours. He decided to cover everything—how Dee came to the Galactica, the way Lee and Kat discovered the EMP weapon, what caused the Galactica to explode. He even went into the eerie experience when Lee gave his speech to the fleet shortly after the first signal from New Caprica had been received, and shared that they were currently jumping along coordinates based on the information from that "revelation" moment.

Throughout the conversation, Tigh's reluctant admiration for Lee was obvious. At moments, Bill wondered if he was talking to the same XO he remembered, the man who'd have appreciated an opportunity to take a good shot at Lee's "pretty jaw," as Tigh used to say. Although Bill had always chided Saul for his animosity towards his son, he'd also tolerated it, to some degree, because he knew the real reason for Saul's sniping, and it had to do with allegiance and a twinge of jealousy.

But all of that seemed to have washed over Tigh now; he was committed to Lee. It was more than someone having grown accustomed to taking orders under that person's command; it was true loyalty. For yet another time, Bill swallowed his own twinges of jealousy. He was going to have to get past it, this envy over his son's talents—surely William Adama had enough sense of his own worth to be the proud father instead of the competitive rival. Questions pounded incessantly as he tracked Tigh's comments: How did that Cylon manage to frak me up this way? Why don't I recognize myself? Where did my own confidence go?

Laura nudged Bill gently, getting him to turn towards her. She was analyzing his expressions. Tigh, sensing a strange lull in the focus of the conversation, excused himself to go to the head.

"What's going on in that noisy mind of yours, Bill? Personally, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, myself," she said as she smiled somewhat wearily.

"Mmm. The same." Laura continued watching him.

"When we've had a chance to sleep on all of this, I think we should discuss Lee's future again."

Bill refused to meet her eyes, instead staring straight ahead as he took his third shot of Ambrosia for the evening. "At some point. But it won't be soon. I'm not…comfortable with where you want to take that conversation."

Roslin looked down at the floor, nodding. "I know. And dealing with the New Capricans is the bigger issue right now. But the two elements are linked, Bill—Lee and the future of the fleet. And I can't help feeling that—"

"Gods, woman, don't tell me this relates to some religious intuition—I've had enough of that crap for one evening!"

Laura stood up. "Don't talk to me that way, William Adama. I can tell something's eating at you, but I'm not the one—"

Tigh walked back into the room. "Maybe I should head back to my own quarters now," he said rather quickly. "Ellen's waiting for me, and I haven't been able to spend time with her. Doc's planning on her surgery in a couple days." He didn't wait for acknowledgement. "We can pick up the rest of the history lesson later," Tigh offered as he reached the door. Bill's only response was a short nod as the hatch opened and he left.

"Laura, I shouldn't have barked like that," Bill rushed to explain as soon as they were alone. He stood up to wrap his arms around her. "Sometimes…" his voice trembled lightly. "I don't know how it happened, how Leoben managed to get under my skin. I'm not used to…" he shook his head. "Nothing seems familiar right now. I keep thinking I'll get my bearings, but another day goes by, and another, and I can't escape the sensation that I'm a ghost. I walk by people, watch them interact, hear about what's going on, and yet I'm not a part of it. Observing events, not acting in them. Even my XO…" Bill dropped his forehead lightly to Laura's.

"…Comes across as though he's reporting to another person," she finished gently.

This time, Bill looked directly into her eyes. "Yes." I should have known she'd work it out...

Reaching to caress his cheeks, Laura smiled. "I realize how worn and tired it sounds, but it really is going to take time, Bill. I wish—whenever I'd imagined our rescue, it never ended with a fleet split apart by diverging experiences. I thought we'd have more of a chance to heal, to absorb and grieve and figure out how to move ahead." Her voice was filled with regret and disbelief. "But we'll find a way to navigate the course. Stay with the currents."

He pulled her into a hug, letting his nose rub against her hair. "At least I'm not a ghost to you."

Laura gripped him fiercely. "You are the most real part of my day. All my days."

Bill pulled away, clasping her hand to lead her to the bedroom enclosure.

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Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, end of Day Sixteen, Operation Restoration

It had taken quite a bit of orchestration to smuggle the equipment in to Boomer and figure out a way to keep the guards from seeing what was going on. Galen had violated a dozen security protocols already, and he'd likely end up in the brig himself under suspicion of collaborating with the enemy if anyone figured out what he'd done. For the umpteenth time, he wondered why he was taking such big risks, and he could only feel shame for his weakness. All the same, he felt a strange rush of elation when he thought back to the kiss he'd shared with Boomer a few days ago. She'd responded with the same urgency, and that fact both energized and paralyzed him by turn.

He hadn't seen her in nearly three days, and he hoped she would realize that it required planning to enact this little strategy. Galen had to wonder what reception he'd get when he finally arrived.

Trying to remember what his lungs were for, he rounded the corner to Boomer's cell. She immediately stood up when she spied him coming towards her, offering a small smile. He sped up his steps. Once the door was open, Galen set the equipment and bags down and pulled Boomer into an embrace.

"I was beginning to worry," Sharon said, her voice heavy. "I thought you'd changed your mind, or that you just…just didn't want to come."

Galen's heart clinched. "I had to find a way to get us off the cameras; it took a while." He kissed her ear. "I wanted to be here." His voice was soft and low; everything seemed very quiet.

Dropping back, Tyrol sat on the cot and pulled the bags over. "I'm assuming you'll, um, plug in the same way Sha—Athena did, so I brought some basic medical supplies. I also brought you a couple long-sleeved shirts—you'll have to keep the bandage hidden."

"Good point," Boomer replied as she sat next to him, her face serious. "You saw the other Sharon do this?"

"She jacked into the mainframe on Galactica to wipe out a Cylon-activated virus; the cut was made above the wrist for the coaxial cable."

"I'll be managing the same way." Boomer dragged the amplifier and receiver by her feet. "Did you alert Caprica?"

"Yeah; I saw her briefly on my way here. Thankfully, Baltar's out in his lab, so I wasn't spotted by anyone."

"How is she? Did you get to talk to her at all?"

Galen was struck by the loneliness that washed across Boomer's face; she missed the other Cylon. Strange, to think of Cylons as friends of one another…

"She said she's alright—no one's harmed her and her arm is healing up from the crash on New Caprica. She's been very concerned about you and she's going crazy being so cut off from anything to do or anyone to talk to."

Sharon just nodded her head. Galen offered, "if this works, maybe we'll be able to improve the conditions for both of you. Gods know, if Baltar is being allowed to do things, then…"

"We'll see. At the end of the day, he's still a human, still seen as a part of all of you." Boomer's voice was tense with frustration.

"Look, we need to get started. I couldn't do anything about Caprica's camera feed, so she's going to pretend she's resting and try to manage her facial expressions. I've fixed the feed in here on a loop, but it only lasts forty-four minutes; there's an automatic recording reset at forty-five minutes, so I have to be out of here before then."

"How long ago did it start?"

"We've got thirty-eight minutes left."

Opening up the bag, Galen pulled out the cable, a knife, and a med kit. Grabbing Boomer's hand, he shuddered as he felt the emotion arc between them. Without looking at her face, Galen swiped her inner forearm with alcohol and pulled out a syringe.

"Wait, Galen, what's that? It can't interfere with the transmissions."

He had to look up then, and felt himself being pulled into the depth of her gaze. It was getting harder to concentrate. "It's…um, it's…a local anesthetic. When Athena plugged in, it seemed painful—I thought this might help." Galen swallowed hard, unable to stop staring at her.

"No, that's good. That won't be a problem—thanks for thinking of it." She wasn't breaking the eye contact either.

With strain, Galen looked back down at Boomer's arm and completed the injection. He swabbed the knife with alcohol too and handed that to her. She waited a minute for the anesthetic to take effect, then expertly plunged the knife in and made a two-inch incision. Nodding to Galen to start, she worked one end of the cable into her arm while he completed the connections with the equipment.

"I'll need you to stay silent while I do this. As I pick up information from Caprica, I'll repeat it out loud…it may take two of us to figure out the exact meaning of the words. They'll only come as fragments, not necessarily in sequence."

Galen pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen to keep track of Boomer's utterances.

After a long spell of tense waiting, Sharon began saying things. Her face twisted as she tried to make out the faint transmissions from Caprica, eyes shut and head tilted forward. Tyrol wrote down every syllable or word he could put together.

Seven minutes passed. It felt much longer, but Galen had been tracking it on his stopwatch. They had thirty minutes remaining before the camera feed in the cell would pick up new images.

Suddenly, Sharon slumped over; Tyrol grabbed her in concern. She leaned against him momentarily. "I'm okay, just a little dizzy." She pulled out the cable, dropping it to the floor. Galen held a cloth to the wound with one hand as he fumbled with the contents of the med kit opened on the cot. He found a butterfly seal to place over the incision and then he positioned a larger gauze rectangle, taping it quickly and administering a second injection to numb the arm for a while longer.

"Hopefully that'll be enough for you to stay comfortable," he whispered.

"So let's take a look at what I picked up—I know we're running out of time," Sharon said, still obviously slightly disoriented.

"Twenty-nine and counting," Galen acknowledged.

Boomer scanned Tyrol's notes, nodding in remembrance. "Caprica's on board with building the FTL enhancer. And she came up with something else we can offer. A way track Cylon ship signals in hyperspace."

Galen looked at her, perplexed. "But the jump period's too fast—we couldn't program new coordinates mid-jump—"

"You set up an automatic cascade. When a Cylon signal's detected within a one hundred eighty-light-year target area—raider or basestar—the ship moves to the next pre-programmed coordinates. As long as you're still in hyperspace, it doesn't matter yet where you planned to come out. With the enhancer, the jumps are longer—it's enough time, within the safety margins."

"Are you sure we could retrofit all of the ships in the fleet with this technology?"

"Yes—but the Pegasus has to sync them. No more staggered jumps, based on spooling times…all the ships have to go together, so they can be certain to end up in hyperspace simultaneously. The auto-shift in the coordinates has to be spiked off Pegasus' system."

He whistled lightly. "Damn. Is there any way this technology could detect signals that far out when in normal space? If we had a way to leave before they detected us, and a way to keep from jumping near their vessels—we might get a clean shot to Earth."

"I can't say, Chief. It's possible." Boomer was deep in thought.

Putting his hand on her knee, Galen smiled. "It's enough, Sharon—it's enough. I'll get this in front of Helo first; if he'll help me win Lee over, I'm confident I can get the Old Man's sign-off. This is—it's big. It might even change things within the fleet right now."

Boomer could see the excitement building within Tyrol, the surge of hope. "Gods, Galen, I'd forgotten how..."

He looked in her eyes. "What?"

"The way your whole body radiates that infectious energy when you're happy about something. It's been a long time since I was able to…see you this way." Her face became earnest.

"Yeah, well, it's been a while since anyone did." Galen was getting swept up in the emotion communicated through her gaze. He felt the pull of her, so deep, from a place in his soul he hadn't allowed to see the light of day since she'd been shot and left him.

"Sharon," he mouthed, his voice too taut to work properly. He was losing his footing; if he didn't move, he might just give into his hunger. Galen abruptly stood up, turning his head to break the spell. "Twenty minutes left. I need to pack up and get out of here."

Boomer helped Tyrol rapidly put everything back into the bag and prepare the equipment for transport. She walked with him the few steps to the door of the cell, handing him everything he'd brought in.

"I'll talk to Karl tomorrow. It might be better if I didn't come down here for few days; I'll find a way to get you a message though."

"Be safe." Galen could see the sorrow on her face as she said it. He had the sense Sharon wanted to convey something else, but she held back.

"Yeah. You too." Turning around, he grabbed the door. He needed to go, to step through and make his escape. Just keep going, Galen, he told himself silently.

Without warning, his gut uncoiled. Feelings flooded him; Galen managed to set the items he'd been carrying onto the floor before instinct overwhelmed conscious thought.

Galen grabbed Boomer's hand and twisted her body into the cell bars as he swept her into his arms. He was of a singular purpose, driven to fill up the spaces of loss in his heart. Their lips met with roughness; he was feverish.

Galen's hands were immediately under her shirt, feeling her breasts, remembering the way she responded to his touch. He felt her hands tugging at his pants and moaned at the stroke of her fingers along his length, his clothes pushed past his hips. He slid his hands along her backside, enjoying the feeling of her ass in his palms. Boomer began suckling his neck, her teeth nipping as he pressed her further into the bars.

Yanking her sweats down, his fingers insistently slipped between her legs. He growled as the scent hit him, his hand slick with her. "So wet," he hissed as she attacked his ear with her tongue, and he shuddered, his body wanting one thing, no matter the cost.

She pulled his cock down at a sharp angle, fully aware the sensation would take him past his limits of control; he moaned wildly as he positioned himself, lifting her as he thrust hard. They were both trembling, the metal making scraping sounds as he started moving with her, frantic and brutal with each drive. She put her arms above her head, grabbing the bars for leverage, whimpering. They came nearly together, breathless and dazed, bruised from the way their bodies had assaulted each other. Galen's legs caved; they collapsed, clinging tightly, shuddering.

He moved to hold her face, his large palms covering all of her cheeks. Their eyes locked. Kissing her tenderly, his heart ached as her whole form folded into his.

Abruptly Galen pulled away, suddenly realizing the clock was still counting down. He couldn't be seen on camera.

"Go…go," Boomer urged, immediately understanding the danger.

"Sharon, I…gods, you have to know—"

"I do, my love, I do. I know your heart; I always did."

Galen scrambled, barely managing to dress and get the equipment out before the camera feed rebooted. He struggled to walk normally as he slipped down the back hall, hiding momentarily behind an open door to time his walk past the main guard station and avoid detection.

As soon as he made it out of the brig area, Tyrol let everything clatter to the ground, leaning heavily against the wall as he fought to regain emotional and physical control. He couldn't accept what had just happened. Worse, the only thing running through his mind was how he'd make it back there to take her again. He wasn't sure how he'd find his way towards sanity.

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Sit Rep: Senior Officer's Quarters, Dr. Linda Martin, Day Seventeen

"Welcome, Kara. Please have a seat." Dr. Martin gestured to a large stuffed armchair across from her; vaguely, Kara wondered how she'd managed to get her hands on such a strange luxury.

Moments later, a bemused look on her face, the doctor observed, "You know, I think I'd call that perching more than sitting. I realize this is uncomfortable, but at least give your back a rest."

Kara let out a deep breath and slid backwards until her head was touching the chair cushion. She wouldn't have admitted it, but it did feel good, all that support pressed against her body.

Dr. Martin sat with Kara silently for a few minutes, reading her body language. She'd learned some things about this patient before her arrival, and knew it was going to be important to establish trust through small steps.

"Kara, I'd like to ask you a few things. Are you willing to play along, at least for a couple of questions?"

"Yeah, okay." Kara fidgeted, rolling her lower lip between her teeth rapidly.

"Well first, I'd like to be up front with you. Dr. Cottle's shared some information with me about your captivity on New Caprica, at least what little he knows.

"Normally, I'd prefer not to learn things from others; I'd rather hear it from you. However, given the larger circumstances—with the fleet, with the importance of your role, with your significance to others in important roles—I'm going to have to accept some shortcuts may be necessary.

"What this means is I may ask you some questions about events or people you haven't talked to me about before. If I have the facts wrong, or you're not ready to tackle a topic yet, you need to let me know. Will you agree to do that?"

Kara eyed her warily. "Look, you can ask me whatever you want. That doesn't mean I'll say much in response."

Dr. Martin laughed softly. "I've worked with viper pilots before—they don't tend to be much into soul-baring. They are, however, pretty goal-oriented—they want to get back to flying. Is that part of the reason you're here, Kara?"

"What kind of a question is that? Why else would I come?" Kara raised her eyebrows in disdain.

"Well, sometimes people's motivations change. I'm not going to assume things, or I wouldn't be very good at my job."

A strained atmosphere settled in the room.

"It might be helpful if I share some guidelines with you on how this works. My role is to help you get back to active duty status. I'm invested in making you whole again, to the point you can function effectively in your position. This isn't meant to be a history lesson, where you have to relive all the painful events in your life; in our work together, we're focusing on the present, the here and now.

"Now, if you want to share more about your past, I'll always be there to walk through it with you. I'm only going to ask questions, though, about those events that seem linked to your ability to move forward."

"That makes things simpler," Kara said tartly, grateful she wasn't being forced to have heart-to-hearts about her childhood or her mother issues.

"I know that coming to see me isn't your idea, and I'm not interested in watching you squirm. We won't always have to talk; sometimes I may ask you to paint or draw something instead. I could ask you to keep a personal journal; I wouldn't read it, I'd just ask you to share what stood out to you."

Nodding, Kara masked her surprise; what Dr. Martin was describing didn't match any stories she'd heard about therapy in the past.

"I'm going to revisit the question I asked you earlier, Kara. I'd like you to tell me two goals you have for your near future—one related to your role in the military and one related to your personal/private life. Are you willing to talk about that?"

Dr. Martin seemed sincere in her question, but Kara was beginning to get irritated that the shrink kept asking for her permission or agreement. It wasn't like Kara believed she could say no; if she didn't go along with these sessions, she wouldn't be cleared for flying. That was coercion, no matter how nicely the person couched it.

"Okay. Sure. My professional goal is to get back in a cockpit; I've missed flying too much. It's been more than eighteen months since I piloted a viper, and I need to get back in the air."

Kara stopped there; she really wasn't ready to talk about her personal wants. They didn't matter, because they were too out of reach.

"I notice you didn't volunteer the second goal yet. What do desire personally, Kara?"

Kara rolled her lower lip between her teeth again; she could taste blood from the pressure on the sensitive inner tissue.

"I lost…" She shook her head.

"It can be hard to put it out there, Kara. Saying something out loud is powerful. And that's why it's important to do it, to be clear about what you're going after."

"What if I don't have the right to it? What if it's wrong to want it?"

Dr. Martin paused a beat before responding. "Are we talking about a thing or a person, Kara?"

"A person." Kara's head was tilted downward, studying her hands in her lap.

"Someone you've been close to in the past…"

"Yeah."

"You still haven't putthis into words, your personal goal—give it a try." Dr. Martin gave a small smile.

Kara stared back, weighing her options. She didn't want to do this—have to talk. She was a doer—she did things. Talking was just frustrating. But deep down, Kara realized she was pretty frakked up emotionally—worse than she'd ever been. She wasn't fit to fly, and her thoughts—it was frightening to remember what she'd admitted to Sam. No one could fight Cylons when the demons within were louder and draining every last ounce of energy and concentration.

Fists clenched, eyes tightly shut, she let the words out slowly. "I'm still…in love…with Apollo. And I don't…I'm not…I hurt him. Gods, how I hurt him." Kara let the sensation of wanting to cry burn in the back of her throat; she wasn't about to increase her emotional exposure right now.

"Kara, please open your eyes."

She did; something about the compassion in the other woman's face increased the fire in her throat, and Kara immediately looked away.

Dr. Martin repositioned herself to meet Kara's gaze. "Okay. That's about how you feel and how you interpret the past. What do you want now, Kara?"

Blinking hard, sobs rumbling in her chest, she shook her head. The words were so burdened. She tried to move her tongue, put her lips together, but Kara felt paralyzed. After so many months where her needs didn't matter, where there was little control over her fate, the simple idea she could put forth something she deeply wanted—it was overwhelming. Because saying would increase the wanting, and the potential for devastation. Kara wasn't sure she could handle more anguish.

But you're anguished now, her mind admonished, and the sobs came faster. Her thoughts flashed to the image of Apollo from the previous night, the way he'd touched her face and tried to let her know he was there for her. Miss holding you, he'd said. Too important to mess up.

"I want to be with Apollo." Memories…the morning he left for the Eos, the night he was medevac'ed to Caprica, the afternoon she read his letters, the moment she saw him safe on Galactica after the start of the Second Cylon War, the look on his face when she returned with the Arrow of Apollo, the way he smiled at her last night. "I want to be with him."

"Good work, Kara." Dr. Martin spoke quietly. "That was a big step, naming what you want for yourself. And we're going to take more steps together. Because you know where you're heading."

Kara studied the doctor's face, trying to sort out what had just happened. She felt better, somehow. It didn't make sense; words were just words. Things only happened with action. All the same, she was a little more tethered to the world, and suddenly, she was genuinely glad she was going to leave this room and walk back to Apollo's quarters. Their quarters.

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Sit Rep: Senior Officer's Quarters, The Agathons, End of Day Seventeen

Helo had just gotten his boots off and managed to hug his wife and child when the door comm went off. "Were we expecting company?" he called to Athena.

"Not that I know of," she said a little worried. Helo opened the hatch and was glad to see Lee standing there.

"Lee! Come in, put a foot up!" Helo laughed.

"That'll be two feet, thank you very much," Lee snorted as he walked inside.

"The brace and cast are off! Damn. That must feel good."

Athena and Hera came towards the two men. "Congrats, Commander—I'm sure that's a relief," Sharon offered, smiling.

Lee went to shake her hand, clasping with both his own. He gave her a big grin. "Good to see you, Athena," he said warmly. Sharon tried to cover her nervousness; she was still trying to adjust to his new attitude towards her and Hera.

"And please call me Lee or Apollo when we're off duty, 'cause I hope you'll consider me a friend of your family." He looked expectantly at Karl.

"I won't intrude long, just wanted to talk to Helo a minute, if that's possible…"

"Of course it is," Karl said as he stepped towards the hatch. "Let's go stretch those legs of yours."

The two men strolled down the long hallway. "How's the nose?"

"Umm. I've had worse. Losing the brace makes up for it."

"But I bet you didn't come to talk about recovering from war wounds," Helo said sympathetically.

"Nope. Honestly, I just wanted…with everything that's gone on, there hasn't been time to talk one on one. I've wondered how you're doing, and I've never had a chance to thank you properly for how you managed the last leg of the rescue operations."

Helo slapped his friend lightly on the back. "Well, other than the fleet going all to hell, I'm doing great. We're all…I have a family, Lee. It's a frakkin' miracle, and I'm just in awe."

They stopped and leaned against the bulkhead. "I'm happy for you, Karl—you deserve all of it."

"Hera's struggling a bit with adjusting…it's quite a change from how she'd been living on New Caprica. Somehow, though, she's accepted us as her parents now…she's already calling Sharon 'Mommy.' We let her spend time with Maya too…I think that's made a difference in her comfort level."

"I'm sorry about what happened to…what Roslin put you two through." Lee's voice hinted his anger.

"Yeah, I'm still controlling the urge to throttle her every time I get near the woman."

"I know what you mean," Lee said, laughing sardonically.

Helo had been anxious to talk to Lee about Laura's ideas, because he actually agreed with her, despite his distaste for the messenger. Karl could sense, however, it wasn't time to broach that subject yet.

"And what about the one staying in your quarters…ready to throttle her yet?" Helo raised an eyebrow for emphasis as he posed the question.

"Uh-Uh. Not yet. But we haven't exactly spent quality time together." Lee's tone was rueful.

"I haven't seen Sam today, but according to the Chief, whatever those two talked about, I don't think he was happy with the outcome," Karl offered.

Lee laughed caustically. "I could have told you that—he didn't break my nose over good news."

"You have a point…" Karl gestured they should start walking again. "Lee, how is Kara, really? I've been so worried about her." His voice was low and pained.

"Giving her the sim machines to work on helped, Karl—I know she's grateful to have something meaningful to keep her busy, keep her mind off…other things."

"Has she been to see Doc Martin yet?"

"Today. Though, knowing Kara, I'm not sure 'therapy' is going to accomplish much."

"I have faith in her, Lee, and I know you do too. If she managed to survive this far, we can all help her pull through."

Apollo stopped in place. "Need to rest the leg a minute."

They took up their positions against the wall again. "Karl, do you still think…the prophecy, I mean, is that still something—" Lee wasn't sure how to put his thoughts into something coherent.

Helo looked sideways, catching his friend's stare. "Yes, I think about it, and yes, I'm confident you're the one to lead us to Earth. But there are some pieces to put together…other people who received prophecies too."

Lee's eyes widened, his heart quickening. "Did Laura say something to you?"

Helo was puzzled. "No, Sharon told me. Something that happened between her, Roslin, and Hera—a shared dream. They wrote out the words from the vision; my wife tells me part of the prophecy has already come to pass, while other parts are still undecipherable."

"Like the flashes I had…" Lee was lost in thought.

"I think maybe it's a primer of sorts. Your encounters with the Priestess, our experience together, the words about the Eye of Jupiter, this dream of Sharon's…we have to match up the images and the codes."

"Gods, sometimes I don't…how do I navigate this now, Karl, with my father back and my command gone? If we figure out a 'message,' what makes us think William Adama will go along? He doesn't accept anything mystical. And I don't have a leadership position any more, the way things are assigned now—he has no mandate to listen to me."

"What if…what if Roslin's on the right track?"

Shaking his head, Lee pushed from the wall and started walking fast, even though he was wincing in pain. "That presidency stuff—is that what you mean? No. I can't accept that. I won't do that."

Grabbing his arm, Karl spun Lee around. "Look, I know you want to fly again. But if that isn't your identity any more—"

Lee shrugged away from Helo and turned to head back to quarters. "Don't say that. Just frakkin' don't."

"Whoa, okay, but stop moving long enough to talk, will ya?" Karl pulled on Lee's arm another time. "I didn't mean to piss you off. I'm behind you no matter what you do—you know that. Forget about what she said, and focus on what we need to do about the prophecies—at least see if there're any patterns, any clues that might trigger something internally."

With a loud exhale, Lee nodded. "Yeah. Alright. I'll do that much." He looked into his friend's eyes, clearly still torn about something.

"Go ahead, Apollo—you know you can trust me," Karl encouraged.

"There was another time I saw the Priestess."

Helo was surprised. He waited patiently for Lee to explain more.

"Frak, this sounds so crazy. And if I hadn't talked to Laura, I'd swear it was so much noise in my brain, but…"

Running his hand through his hair, Karl's eyes narrowed as he made the connection. "A shared vision—she had a shared vision with you, just like she did with Sharon on New Caprica."

"I was in a coma—"

"And she coded. I was there with your father when it happened." Helo whistled lightly.

"I'll have to describe the whole thing at another time, because it would take too long now, but the thing that has me spooked—" Lee closed his eyes at the memory.

"We were together, in front of Pythia. And the woman made Roslin promise 'fealty' to me, saying, quote, 'It is he who has the whole in view and he who carries the burden. From this point forward, he leads. You support.'"

"Roslin agreed?"

"She complied. And a few weeks later, Roslin's saying she won't run for the presidency again and is pushing me for the role."

Karl stood with his hands on his hips, concentrating. "What you've told me doesn't negate her suggestion, Lee—if anything, it strengthens the value of it."

"Or she's gone off on a tangent that doesn't have anything to do with my life, my function."

"Lee, is it possible you're just not open to it, that you're reacting vehemently because you know in your gut that she's right on target?"

Apollo gave Karl a cold stare. "You of all people know Laura can be way off base with her 'interpretations.' "

Rubbing his face in exasperation, Karl gave a drawn-out sigh. "According to Tyrol, she's also been eerily accurate. About a lot of things…too many things. At least, too many to dismiss out of turn what she's saying now."

Shaking his head vigorously, Lee crossed his arms and looked off in the distance. "I can't…I simply can't go there, Karl," he whispered, obviously unnerved.

His friend came close and lightly gripped his shoulders. "If someone told me I had 'the whole in view' and 'carry the burden,' I might react the same way. Not exactly an appealing description of someone's future."

"No, it isn't," Lee said with remorse.

"I wouldn't…I know this is hanging heavy over you. That's why you had to get it off your chest, tell someone. For now, I'd counsel you, as your friend, to let things play out. Listen to the information from the other prophecies, and see what comes of it. Trust yourself, Lee—as I do. As many of us do."

Smiling a little, Lee gave Helo a brief hug. "I appreciate the sounding board and the vote of confidence…I've been missing our conversations."

Karl smiled back. "So have I. Look, tell Kara I'll help her install the sims back in the training rooms tomorrow; she can keep the laptop to work on the scenarios over the next two weeks."

"I'll be happy to—I know that'll make her day." Secretly, Lee wondered if he'd even see her to have the chance to share the news; he was still anxious and wound tight, thinking he'd go back there only to find out she'd left without a word. It was the reason he'd stopped by Helo's quarters first; he didn't want to feel the pain of that absence. As Lee watched his friend enter his room, greeted by his family, his heart contracted. He walked slowly to his own quarters, fear in his veins.

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Sit Rep: Main Guard—Cylon Basestar, Adjacent to Resurrection Hub, Three Weeks After the End of New Caprica

D'Anna sat on the couch in her quarters, stunned. She didn't know what to think, or how to describe what she was feeling. And she had deep feelings about this…this news. Her mind was whirring at breakneck speed, but the thoughts were all fragments—incomplete and certainly below the standards of a Cylon.

There wouldn't be much time to keep the information from spreading. D'Anna would have to explain the situation to the Cylon Council, meeting in just a few minutes. This knowledge would change things. So many things.

She found herself wondering about Gaius, something that was becoming a bit of an obsession. D'Anna despised the sensation—compulsiveness was an unattractive quality, and it was damaging, as the particular one of the Leoben model had so amply demonstrated. It was difficult to deny, though, that her emotions were intense where Gaius was concerned. Love. That's what the humans would use to describe it. Something she'd believed in, as an abstract construct, but hadn't necessarily bargained that she'd be experiencing.

Bending her head, D'Anna began saying a prayer to God. It had been some time since she'd been inspired to talk with him in any profound way; she'd seen no need. She hadn't had any needs. But there was no denying the list developing in her head now:Need protection. Need a strategy. Need the right words. Need insight. Need Gaius. Please, God, help me find a way to get Gaius back.

As the anxiety spread through her gut, D'Anna sank to her knees to plead in earnest. She lost track of time until the comm startled her out of the trance.

Cavil's voice came through, petulant. "We're waiting on you. Were you planning on attending, or should we take this as an indication of your priorities?"

D'Anna ground her teeth together, distinctly aware it was mimicry of human behavior she was displaying involuntarily. How insidiously they affect us…

"I'm on my way now. Surely there's still time for prayer, or should I take your impatience as an indication God isn't one of your priorities?"

"Just get here." The comm went silent.

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When D'Anna swept into the room, she was surprised by the tension hitting her as she entered. Something had happened; she was sure they didn't know her news yet, which meant unfolding events were becoming complicated at the worst time.

"What is it?" she asked simply, moving to her place at the conference table.

"The Four will explain," Cavil replied tersely. "I'm sure he'll enjoy repeating himself for your sole benefit."

Rolling her eyes, D'Anna faced Simon. "Well?"

"As you know, we've been monitoring anomalies in the resurrection process for some time." Simon used the screen on the far wall to display several graphs.

"At first, the issues were contained within the raider population. Since New Caprica, however, the anomalies have been appearing in our Cylon ranks. More significantly, the problem has been progressing with the raiders exponentially."

D'Anna raised her eyebrows. She gestured dismissively. "I don't see the cause for the glum faces—there must be more."

Cavil sneered. "Oh, there's more. It seems our Creator has a perverted sense of humor."

The Six spoke in her normal measured tones. "What the Fours discovered is that there's a serious flaw in the resurrection process. There hadn't been a sufficient number of resurrections to detect the error until…until the loss of so many brothers and sisters on New Caprica."

"I don't understand—they weren't resurrected." D'Anna frowned.

"I'm not talking about the deaths. It's the others, the ones who were terminated abruptly by despicable human tactics and later downloaded into the Hub."

Simon interjected. "The memories have been traumatic. Even after download and re-assimilation, many of the individual models are experiencing disruptions—flawed thinking, emotionally charged episodes, corrupted thought processes leading to errors that are propagating exponentially as a type of virus."

The Five added his understanding. "It isn't just that individual Cylon errors are spreading—the tuning process has amplified the problem a hundred-fold. More of our brothers and sisters are having the same set of symptoms—nightmares, dissociation, emotional mood swings, faulty logic, even acting out against one another. Because the memories have been distributed, the traumas are also spreading, and individual Cylons appear to be responding differently, depending on other factors we have yet to conclusively identify. We think it may also be negatively affecting the Hybrids."

"Which is why I'm convinced we need to finish what we started with the Colonial home worlds and wipe out the humans completely. No more painful 'deaths' for raiders, Cylons, or centurions. Problem solved." Cavil drummed his fingers against the table.

"As I was explaining before Three arrived," Simon said with some frustration directed towards Cavil, "even if we had no further traumatic terminations with reloads, the problem has developed to such a point we currently have no way to reverse or remove the effects."

"Which means what?" Eight asked, her voice tight.

The entire resurrection programming has become corrupted. There isn't a way to prevent newly activated Cylons from becoming infected, and even if we could solve that issue, the resurrected ones wouldn't be able to tune with any existing Cylons. Sharing knowledge in any format—through the basestars, through other software, through Cylon tuning—all paths lead to contagion—traumatic memory, emotional instability, and errors in decision-making."

"Four, you keep referring to this as type of programming virus. Why can't we purge it from our systems?"

"Right now, the only way to do that would be wipe out all of the old programming—every Cylon, centurion, raider, and Hybrid memory. There's no way to eliminate the shared knowledge or its effects. The corrupted bits have made it into every sphere of our existence. We can't reprogram or reboot—there isn't a viable way to remove the mutations."

"Unless we could redirect the nanites," D'Anna said almost to herself.

"What was that?" Cavil muttered contemptuously.

"Nanites. At the molecular level, the nanites are the mechanism protecting us—the Cylons and the raiders—from other types of viruses and mutations. The issue's been that they're locked, so to speak—we can't alter the programming of the nanites themselves. They correct genetic mutations—"

"But not epigenetic ones. And the memories, the experiences—"

"Are like a form of epigenetic mutation." D'Anna was grateful Simon was grasping the connection, finishing her sentence.

"Where are you going with this, Three?" Cavil eyed her with increasing misgiving.

"Baltar's research was focused on how to break the lock on the nanites and re-construct their programming."

Six was alarmed. "You allowed him to work on a project like that? Don't you realize what he could have done, Three, if he'd been successful in his research, the harm he would be able to inflict on all of us? He could have developed a bio-weapon—"

"Six, you know Baltar wasn't the kind of person who'd be interested in that. He wasn't ever involved in using his mind to develop military weapons. Even with his work on the Caprica, he used his work to protect the humans' worlds, not destroy them."

"We're not of his kind, Three," Six replied with considerable anger in her tone.

"He lived among us for months without doing anything that could be considered against Cylon interests—"

"Enough! Take your bickering over the merits of that slimy creature to another venue. We have serious concerns to address here and this petty—"

"Cavil, brother, you are, as usual, failing to understand the larger picture. Baltar was reaching a critical point in his research. If he could 'unlock' the nanites, he could begin to work out the programming mechanisms. If we knew how to re-direct the nanites, we could eradicate the epigenetic mutations or introduce new ones and solve our problem literally from 'the inside out.'" D'Anna smiled triumphantly.

"And perhaps unleash a whole new set of unintended consequences, Three!" Six said with pressured loudness.

"What would you have us do, Sister—eliminate the resurrection process? Hope that talk therapy repairs the traumas our people are now carrying around? And for the raiders—what about them? Without resurrection, we jeopardize our own defenses—our raider forces dwindle." D'Anna shook her head at the other Cylon's limited thinking.

Simon addressed the group. "Three's observation is significant, and we should give consideration to the implications. It would take time to learn how to manipulate the nanite technology and still control the process, but it would definitively resolve the current dilemma. We would be able to restore our resurrected brothers and sisters to full functioning and maintain the soundness of our raiders. Frankly, it's the raider population where the conditions are currently the most alarming; I'm becoming concerned we'll begin seeing malfunctions during battles."

"Define 'malfunctions,'" Doral directed.

"Refusing to engage in maneuvers that would lead directly to termination—breaking off attack runs to avoid the resurrection process."

"I don't understand…"

"They're programmed with a basic consciousness, the instinct to survive. That's meant destroying the enemy, with a default process to resurrect when unsuccessful in the primary mission of attack. If the raiders become conditioned to avoid resurrection, based on previous imprinted memories of difficult terminations, they'll still seek survival, but interpret that differently—if destroying the enemy isn't possible, retreating will be a preferable option."

Simon turned from Doral to Cavil. "We can stop the resurrection process for the raiders without informing that population. There are enough of them in operation to provide sufficient defenses for a set period of time. The Cylons with noted problems can be given some treatments to temporarily mute the impacts. If we avoid tuning, it will slow down the spread of the contagion. But we need Baltar to begin working on the nanite solution; these other measures will only delay the inevitable."

Cavil moved to sit down; the others followed his lead. He propped his elbows on the conference table, steepling his fingers together. "What is the need for Baltar to be here? With his research, surely the Simon models, working together, can—"

"We don't have his research." Simon looked down at the table, feeling the irritation radiating from Cavil.

D'Anna smoothly moved to explain, "it was all on his portable computer when we were evacuating from New Caprica. When he was taken, we lost access. That's why it's imperative we stage a tactical operation to get him back from the humans."

"You're assuming he's alive. Given Adama's track record, I'm not sure that optimism is warranted."

"He's still one of their most gifted scientists, Brother. If they allowed the traitor Eight to survive, they wouldn't kill Baltar. He's there, and his research too. We have to rescue him."

Cavil stared at her strangely. "Rescue. How can you be so sure that's how it should be viewed?"

"Because he wants to be with us."

"You mean, with you," Six hissed derisively.

D'Anna felt the hostility climb up her spine. She smiled. It was time to share her news.

"Yes, with me. And his child."

Six's lower lip wavered. "That's not possible."

Doral smiled menacingly. "I thought he was just an experiment, Three. We've already seen how emotional attachments to humans can cloud Cylon thinking—I didn't realize we needed to add you to the list of the fallen."

"Brother Doral, you have mis-spoken. Baltar 'fell'—I didn't. It's the human who has to experience the feeling of love for conception to take place." D'Anna glanced at Six with a smug look. She hoped it would hide the truth; D'Anna would be in danger, and the baby, if the others on the Council thought she was equally "infected" with the virus of intense emotional responses. Despite the Cylons' previous fixation on natural procreation for their species, given the murder of so many Cylons on New Caprica, it was unclear how a hybrid child might be perceived.

"This news certainly adds a new dimension to our discussion," Cavil said slowly. "It suggests there may still be a purpose the humans can fulfill for us—based on the premise we actually think this matter of 'procreation' is part of God's plan for the Cylons—though personally, I'd rather concentrate on solving our resurrection problems and relying on our own process for sustaining our species."

Eight shook her head. "Cavil, your cynical, existential approach could be the reason we face this crisis with the resurrection process. Did that ever occur to you? God may force you to acknowledge the folly of your pursuits. D'Anna's news is the sign from God that He wants us to choose another path. We are not to destroy the humans!"

Cavil's eyes narrowed as he felt the wave of anger sweep through him. Simon, who had been quiet over the recent conversation, chose to speak again. "Eight is right. It confirms that the humans—Baltar specifically—have a role to play. We have more than one reason to bring Baltar with us now; it is God's will to learn from this human."

Distressed and subdued, Six nonetheless nodded her own assent.

Turning to Leoben, Cavil asked, "You've said nothing in this whole discussion, Two. As the most fervent about God's plan for us, what do you have to share?"

Leoben closed his eyes. "Love is God's purpose. D'Anna's child is a miracle. The first opportunity was squandered; we cannot fail to embrace a second chance to witness true creation. Baltar's work may hold the key to unveiling the mystery of our natural procreation—it was the original reason for his research. This is a sign. The path leads to Baltar and proves D'Anna's right—he belongs with us. He is part of us. If we fail Baltar, we fail ourselves and we fail God."

Huffing in resigned disgust, Cavil stood. "Then it's decided. I'll leave it to you, Four and Two, as far as developing the tactical strategy for this 'rescue.'"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sit Rep: Pegasus, Senior Officers' Quarters, End of Day Seventeen

When Lee stepped into his quarters and saw Kara sitting on the small couch, he couldn't help the grin that came to his cheeks, although the pain radiating from his broken nose immediately reminded him why he'd been limiting his facial expressions most of the day. Her returned smile—a view he'd had precious little of—made the discomfort fade into the background.

It was all Lee could do in the moment not to spring forward and pull her into his arms; he winced at the all-too habitual internal ache. How many more times will I be tortured with these fetters around my desires?

Kara continued to beam at him, pointing to his leg. "You're liberated!"

Lee just nodded, wishing he didn't feel conspicuous for the goofy smile he was showing. "I'm still gonna need the other surgery, but I'm able to walk around, at least for a few days."

A strange look of indecision and eagerness seemed to hover on Kara's face; as Lee tried to puzzle out what was going on, he was surprised to see her gesture for him to sit next to her. The minute he sank against the cushion, she threw her arms around him and pressed her body close, holding him tightly. An involuntary sound of pleasure escaped Lee's lips as he let his hands stutter across her back and return the embrace.

He sensed her muscles relax, drawing them completely together. The breath from Kara's small sigh tickled his ear and he squeezed her firmly, letting his mind absorb the sheer comfort.

"Apollo, I'm sorry if I…" Kara shifted to look at his face, her hands lightly resting on his neck. "I know it's hard to figure out what's going on with me." She paused to gently kiss his cheek. "And I'm not ready to talk about what happened on New Caprica yet, but I promise—" Kara held his eyes with hers—"I'll explain more, when I can.

"I want…" Emotion rocked through her. She whispered, "I want to let you in, Apollo. And I want to…I sleep better if I'm next to you. But I'm not ready for…for…"

Lee enveloped her in his arms again, his lips brushing against the hair over her ear. "You don't have to say anything else, Kara. I'm here for you. I'll meet you exactly where you are."

"Thank you." She gripped him firmly, soaking in the strength that seemed to emanate from his warm skin. Her heart was moving faster than her mind could overcome with objections, and more words began tumbling out.

"Forgive me, Apollo, about Sam. Gods, please, if you can ever…forgive me."

Lee cradled the back of her head in his hand, rubbing his face into her soft, blond strands. "The punch wasn't that bad; I probably had it coming."

"No, Apollo. I meant—" the wet drops began slipping from the bridge of her nose. She pulled away to capture his gaze again. "Forgive me. For New Caprica. For leaving you. Gods, the separation, the silence…I barely survived the first cycle, after Zak's death. And this second one, with the hatred I'd earned, it was so heavy, I can't tell you the power of it.

"I haven't been able to breathe since that day, the day I married Sam, the day I broke everything, and I need to breathe, Apollo, I need the air, I need…" She was choking on the sobs now. "I just didn't want to risk being the Medusa, killing you by looking upon you because I'm cursed. I'd already cost you so much. And you deserve more, the best. I didn't know how to be that, be the best person…" Kara's head fell forward, the shame and pain too much.

"Gods, Kara," Lee murmured, overcome. His mouth touched her skin, his hands skimming her arms as he brushed against her forehead, then her nose. He slowly moved his mouth above hers; their eyes caught, and he knew it was alright to kiss her. There was no pressure to it; he feathered a single slide, moving back to her cheek quickly. She looked at him through her soaked lashes, staring at his mouth. He fell to her again, with more focused intent, his heart clenching as their lips met with surety. The blood rushed away from his brain when he heard her soft sounds, and he kissed her deeply, their tongues slowly exploring.

Lee willed himself to stop. She wasn't ready for this, for where it would go next. Her body could respond, but her mind needed time to heal, to be in synch. She'd told him that, and he had to let her know he understood the boundaries, the pacing.

Using his palms to stroke her face, Lee tried to let his eyes communicate what she needed to know. He was still cautious about words; they were so weighted, they might tear the delicate fabric of the bond between them. He smiled, grateful his own emotions were just enough in his control he wasn't crying too; she'd see he was centered—he could keep them both grounded, at least in this. At some point, Kara leaned into him again, and they sank deeper into the couch.

After a long interlude of comfortable quiet, Kara found herself wanting to ask questions. She knew so little about Apollo's life over the past few months…no, over the past year and a half, she reminded herself.

"What happened with Dee?" Kara managed to finally get over her tongue. Apollo's muscles stiffened, and she wondered if she'd just made a mistake.

"I ended things. We both wanted other people." His words were supple, but there was a pressure behind them.

Kara angled her head to get a better look at his expressions. "Dualla fell for someone else?" She was astonished to think Dee would seek out other companionship.

"No. I meant she pictured me as a different person; she wanted to believe I was like my father. I don't know Dee ever really saw me clearly, to be honest. Maybe that went for both of us."

"And how did you…are you…"

"Am I upset that it turned out this way?" Lee stared out into the distance. "Not really. I'm not proud of the outcome, that my marriage failed, but we weren't a good…she deserved a chance to find a man who would love her completely. I wasn't ever gonna be that guy."

"Was there—you said you both wanted other people." Kara's throat felt so dry as she tried to figure out how to touch on the other question.

Apollo kissed the top of her head. "The last time we talked about that out loud, you weren't ready, Kara. Do you want me to speak the words now?" His tone was suddenly raspy and uneven.

Kara thought about what he was saying—Apollo was implying she was still the person he wanted to be with. Waves of grief hit her, though, as she remembered the sheer hostility Apollo had projected for more than a year. "But you hated me," Kara responded, shivering.

"Yes," Lee whispered, "yes, I did." He clasped her more closely. "Because I was cut off, shut out, with no recourse. But that was in the past. You know that, right?" He shifted his body, moving Kara beneath him, until he was directly over her. She could see his arms trembling as he propped himself up.

"I'm not going to pretend anymore. I've been so caught up in you, Kara, ever since…do you know why I followed you home that first time, when you were at the Academy? You assumed it was because I thought you were too drunk to take care of yourself. And that wasn't it. It's because I was besotted. I was obsessed with finding out what it was like to kiss you. I came so close, that very first night, to picking you up in my arms and carrying you to your bed to just take you, all regulations be damned.

"I hung back, though. And that's what I kept doing, over and over. Too many times, I let other people get ahead of me, capture your heart because I wouldn't step out and prove I would reach for you with both hands, full out, no reservations. So it shouldn't have surprised me that when I did finally do that—put it all out there—you didn't trust it.

"I had to get to the point I could admit I'd been shut out because I'd let the opportunities pass by. It wasn't really you I hated—it was myself. For allowing circumstances to get to the point that you'd rather pledge your life to someone else. For leaving you in Baltar's arms on Colonial Day and letting you leave the bunk room that night we almost frakked and letting you go back to Caprica for Sam without fighting for you first. For letting you practically frak Sam in front of me and not wrenching you from his arms to prove that nothing could match what existed between us. For waiting until you'd already moved to New Caprica to show the depth of my longing for you. For…for…for leaving you at that cabin on Caprica instead of claiming you as mine and no one else's, damn the gods, damn Zak, damn anyone who'd keep us apart."

Lee caught himself then, realizing how much he'd revealed. He was breathless and suddenly horrified. Kara deftly interpreted the expression on Apollo's face, her arms quickly drawing his chest to hers as she kissed him. Acute anguish was traded back and forth, their lips pleading, soothing, and attacking by turn. Trembling limbs, imploring fingers, desperate moans; their cellular memories conveyed tales their minds could not give conscious expression to.

Slowly becoming aware he was rutting his hard-on between her splayed legs, Lee reluctantly sat up, drawing his knees nearer his chest and wrapping his arms around them. It was a painful position, one he hoped would immediately dampen the intensity of the passions coursing through every nerve ending.

Kara sat as well, still panting, her skin flushed. She swung her legs around and stood, moving over to her own bunk. Fumbling with the few items on the shelf above, she pulled out a book and tenderly removed the paper from the inside cover. Walking back, she eased into the couch, taking deep breaths. Lee witnessed her hands shaking, and wondered if it was related to the moments before or to the content of the page clasped in her fingers.

Raising her head, she focused on Apollo's gaze. "Maybe you need to know that I kept this. That I'm as just as guilty of holding back and letting things slip away because I wouldn't put myself out there."

Lee took the document from her, feet shifting to the floor, head bent, as he processed the meaning of the thing she was revealing. He read the words he'd written so many years and lives ago, surprised by the relevance and poignancy still resonating within those lines. He felt the desire to cry, but the expression wouldn't relieve the pressure building in his chest, so the impulse lingered impotently.

Looking deep into the eyes of the person who'd affected him so intensely, he wondered if he was supposed to say something, wait for her to speak, or make love to her.

"I'd managed to keep that, this one piece of incontrovertible proof that there had been an 'us.' Sometimes I used it to remember being with you, and other times I used it to remind myself why I should never connect with anyone that intimately again. So deep it could kill me, so profound I wanted to believe in it over my own better judgment."

He grabbed her hands, letting his thumbs stroke her wrists. Kara looked down, shaking her head, lost in her warring thoughts. With a catch in her voice, she continued.

"Sam found the paper. Recently, I think, judging from the way he brought the subject up. I'd never talked to him about…about what had happened. Between you and me. I mean, any of it." She bit her lip.

Braving to look on him fully, Kara wrapped her fingers around Apollo's hands, stilling them. "I hadn't admitted that history to anyone before; even Helo only knows a few parts." Lee nodded, understanding all too well what it was like to carry the experiences as self-contained, the burdens borne alone and in secret.

I'm a mess, Apollo. I have less to offer you now than I did when you wrote that poem, or when we parted ways on New Caprica."

Lee swallowed hard. He wanted to argue with her, to stop these words that always preceded a devastating punch in the gut. Since the end of the worlds, she'd used this line of reasoning whenever she wanted to push him away, make him see the folly of pursuing her. And after the words would come the acting out, the self-fulfilling destruction that led to another tectonic shift, the painful upheavals that mapped out their relationship over the last few years.

He forced himself to find the calmness, a vein of rock deeper internally than the fissures representing the pains of the past. He remembered the conversations he'd had with the Priestess and disciplined his mind to focus strategically. Lee could let Kara finish, and then he'd determine the next best action to take.

"But I want. I want to—to—" Kara said, barely audible.

Lee felt the goosebumps ripple across his body. She wasn't taking the same course; she seemed to be ready to change directions. Was he reading her right? He made sure his gaze remained steady and open. She didn't avert her eyes.

"Are you still in love with my ghost, Apollo? Can the present have more pull than the past? Because I want to believe that you could…I could…"

"That we'll find our way back to each other?" Lee tentatively finished for her.

"Yeah," she said with an exhaled breath. Her eyes closed as the emotion seized in her sternum.

"We already are, Kara," Lee murmured as he let himself surrender once more to the draw of those lips trembling before him. When he pulled apart from her, breath heavy, he added, "and we can't hold back. Wherever it goes. We already know how it turns out if we aren't—"

"Going to fight for it until we can't anymore."

"Mmm," Lee hummed as he went for her mouth again. She stopped his momentum, her hands forcefully gripping his face. "No takebacks."

"No, Kara. No takebacks." He said the words slowly, his gaze penetrating. "And no sudden disappearances or marriages, okay?" He smiled briefly, but the edge in his voice gave away the depth of his fears.

"Okay." She curled up against him in a warm embrace. "Is it alright if we crawl into the rack now? I'm actually tired." Lee smiled as he nuzzled into her hair. That was a very good sign, if she wanted to fall asleep. And he'd be able to keep her close, in his arms, the whole night.

Lee thought back to his trepidation only a few hours before, his anxiety that she'd have disappeared, moved out. He marveled at the new path they were charting, and remembered to give a silent prayer to the Lords of Kobol that maybe their interventions were finally leading to tangible change.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: "Ghost network" concept comes from an episode of the TV show Fringe. Tuning concept comes from the movie Dark City. No infringements intended.

Epigenetics is a real area of study in the field of genetics. Basically, scientists are discovering that there are ways that changes can be passed down from one generation to the next that are NOT through alterations in the DNA code itself. Certain components—proteins or protein fragments—can attach to the DNA strands, changing the expression of genes (e.g., what we observe in a person, such as eye color) without changing the genes themselves. Amazingly, those expressions can be passed down to other generations, even though the genes haven't been altered! Equally important, these changes (the components) may come from environmental factors.

Baltar's research was revealed in Chapter Nine (about 2/3 of the way through the chapter).