Authors Note

First of all, thanks to Mikki for kicking me in the butt for motivation to get this chapter up! I'm sorry it's taken so long, but this week has been semi-hectic, so I was writing little notes about it in my notepad instead of typing.

I would like to apologise if anyone is confused by my story at all. If there is something you do not understand, please do message me and ask – I'll try my very best to explain. My story is probably a weird one, I understand.

With that out of the way, on with the show!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters what-so-ever, so please don't sue. If you're still keen on suing me, then do it over the story that you think is the best. Leave me a little bit of ego as I go to prison.

Colonial Raptor,

Halfway between Galactica & Enemy Vessel

"C'mon you mother-frakker," Kara whispered faintly, her eyes closed slightly. She clutched the injection pen tightly in her hand, willing the Morpha to act quickly, "please help me…"

She didn't have long left at all, but Kara hoped for her sake and the sake of the Fleet that the Morpha lasted long enough for her to achieve her aim, or else they were all royally screwed. Galactica was outnumbered. There were too many enemy basestars to count, all bunched together, floating calmly, untouched.

A calm enemy is a deadly one.

That thought, drilled into all potential nuggets heads back at the Caprica academy, kept Kara's head in the game at this moment in time. She had to be able to outwit this vastly superior force, it was resting on her. Not that the Old Man knows it yet, she thought to herself, he is probably trying to think up tactics right now. Probably putting enough forces out there to give the rest of the Fleet a chance to jump. It wouldn't work of course.

The basestars were too close, had too many Raiders. It was going to be a bloodbath for the Colonial fleet, unless anyone acted right now. Kara sat lazily in the chair, her body relaxing. She let a sigh of relief escape her lips as she felt the cool numbness of the Morpha taking effect. It should last her just long enough. If there was one thing she didn't need, it was the pain of her wound at a time when she needed full concentration.

The comm. in front of her crackled for a minute, the static causing her ears to ring. Maybe someone was trying to contact her? After all, she wasn't supposed to be sitting here in a raptor. The thought soon vanished, however, when Hotdog's voice came over it;

"Galactica this is Hotdog! Frakking toasters took down Sandman!"

"Frak!" Kara smacked the console in front weakly, her head falling back against the seat. Sandman was one of their best pilots out there. Those toasters were going to pay for that one, she knew that for sure.

"Hotdog, this is Galactica Actual. Take as many down as you can. We need to divert the attention away from civilian vessels! I repeat, take them down!"

The Admiral's voice sounded strained, anger emanating from it. Pushing her Raptor forwards faster, Kara willed for it to all be over soon. Using her fast reflexes, she pulled it upwards, avoiding raider gunfire. It flew past her, the mechanical whirring silenced by the steady hum of the raptor. It seemed to have switched targets, Kara noticed, as it followed a viper that streaked past. Time slowed as Kara watched the raider trailing, firing small bursts at the viper in front. The viper stilled in space, before imploding from the inside, scattering debris everywhere. As a part of the wing gently skimmed the raptor, she heard screaming over the comm.;

"Frak! Galactica this is Nosedive! We have lost Gunner! I repeat! Gunner is down!"

Kara drew in a shaky breath, keeping her emotions in check. There was no time to feel sympathy or loss. They were in the middle of a battle, people die. She hammered it into her head over and over again. However, it didn't keep her from wondering if there was some sort of injection to numb the mental pain, not just the physical.

"Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer …" Kara murmured, directing her raptor back en route to the basestars in front.

Corridor,

Battlestar Galactica

"Gaius Baltar."

Baltar stopped in his tracks, turning slowly around at his name. That voice, he knew that voice. It was calm, collected, in control. That voice haunted his dreams not that long ago, the mouth perfectly forming the word "airlock" with the same calm collectiveness as right now. Laura Roslin.

"Madam President," He acknowledged grudgingly, facing the woman behind him. She stood, arms crossed in front of her, a look of disgust on her face. Baltar felt anger slowly swell up at that. She looks at me as if I am something particularly pleasant off of the bottom of her shoe, he thought, "to what do I owe this dubious honour?"

Roslin smiled slightly, and he couldn't help but notice how pale her face was. He immediately attributed it to the Diloxin treatments, but somehow he knew it wasn't. In fact, something wasn't right about her. She didn't look her usual formidable self, her straight back giving way to a slight stoop. She couldn't possibly be injured, however, as she would be in Sick Bay right now, not wandering the corridors.

"That's twice now we have had the misfortune of meeting like this. Galactica being such a large Battlestar, I must say that fate has one hell of a sense of humour, does it not?" Laura remarked.

Baltar nodded silently, regarding the hatch that was open beside him and thinking quickly of a way to evade any kind of conversation with the woman in front. She was obviously still bitter about the trial, and he did not want to be on the receiving end of her anger at the apparent injustice of it. Something caught his eye, however, just behind Roslin. A glow at the end of the corridor, slowly getting larger and larger. What was a dull orange at the far end of the corridor now streaked bright yellow as it was only a short distance away.

Laura regarded the tangible worry on his face, her back to whatever was coming. She couldn't understand his sudden concern. Suddenly, he grabbed the collar of the jacket she was wearing. Roslin opened her mouth in surprise, looking shocked at his hands clutching her jacket tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"What the frak are you doing!?" She ordered, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but fear reflecting back at her, with a touch of reluctance.

"Saving your life." He replied quickly. With that, he pulled her close to him and, using the leverage of her jacket, he threw them both into the open room beside them. The force caused Laura to hit the floor hard, eliciting a groan of pain as she landed on her newly stitched wound. Baltar himself gave a shout of pain, as he landed on his knees. They lay there for a few seconds, causing Roslin to wonder what he meant by his last comment. Her silent query was soon answered however, as flames rushed past the hatch, with a deafening roar. The room shook violently from obvious impact of a Cylon missile, and the hatch slammed shut on them.

Admiral Adama's Quarters,

Battlestar Galactica

She loves me. Kara Thrace loves me.

It was all Lee could do not to jump and shout it out down the corridors. He was a member of the government however, and he kept his professional persona up right until he stepped through the hatch of his father's quarters. He had a meeting to attend, and Adama allowed him use of his quarters to change. As soon as he locked the hatch, however, Lee ripped the tie from around his neck, a big smile appearing on his face.

"She loves me!" He shouted, swinging the tie around and throwing it across the room, where it landed on a heap of fuel reports. Moving towards the rack, he noticed gentle additions to his father's quarters. A fluffy white dressing gown draped over a chair, a glass stained slightly with lipstick, an extra toothbrush in the head. Lee's smile faltered as he thought of his father's obvious affection for Laura Roslin. Laura could leave, break Bill's heart, and yet he obviously didn't seem to care. Maybe it was more than affection? Lee shook his head quickly, banishing such morbid thoughts about death. Right now, Lee was in love, and it was requited.

Humming softly to himself, he turned towards where a newly cleaned suit hung from a hook on the bulkhead. Lee asked for it delivered straight to the quarters, knowing he would have no time to get ready over on Colonial One. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off of his shoulders. His thoughts were all on what had happened just a little while ago. Kara had kissed him. She had said she loved him. In the middle of the corridor, they had confessed their love.

The smile still graced Lee's face as he moved to softly place the shirt down on the sofa. It was then that he spotted it. A massive red mark stained part of his shirt. Confusion hit Lee immediately. How did he not notice that when he put the shirt on?

Because it wasn't there when you put the shirt on, a voice inside his head informed him. Lee closed his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts on everything that had happened today. When would anyone have had a chance to get something over him? … For that matter, what was it that stained his shirt? It looked like blood, but he couldn't figure out how someone managed to get that on him. He would have noticed at such a close range. Thinking back, Lee tried to remember all the people who could have got close enough to place blood on his shirt.

There was the deck hand who bumped into me, Lee thought, but he only caught my arm, not my side. No-one else aside from him had gotten close enough to leave that mark … well no-one else aside from-

His insides went cold, and Lee stood still. He had hugged Kara. But Kara couldn't be injured … he'd have noticed surely.

"No." Lee told himself out loud, wanting to laugh at the absurdity. She would have told him. She would have been in Sick Bay, not the corridor. But then again-

She looked in pretty bad shape, and you did knock her over. Maybe that was something? A knock to the floor wouldn't have caused that, he told himself adamantly, clutching a new shirt in his hand ready to put on. Ok, maybe she was slightly injured beforehand? Lee concentrated on where he met her. She would have been heading back from the small arms locker at the time, he suspected.

After quickly buttoning up his clean shirt, Lee ran out of his father's quarters, towards the small arms locker. Something didn't add up, and Lee wanted to know just what the hell was going on.

A/N

Any confusion, please don't hesitate to message me and ask about it. I'll explain it to the best of my ability, I promise! Anyway, reviews are always more than welcome.