Coffee.

He'd started off the day joking about the quality of the coffee. There was some irony there, and William Adama wondered if Saul would remember it later. If he would remember it, and quote one of Caprica's oldest axioms.

"Tempting the fates is a dangerous pastime."

Will tried to force a chuckle, tried to find the irony in this himself. He'd deadpanned his own concern so accurately that he'd even had Tigh believing that his biggest concern was, indeed, the poor quality of the coffee. There had been so little else to voice a complaint over then that it seemed appropriate. There wasn't supposed to be life after the end of the world, and yet, they had discovered it existed - and perhaps wasn't quite as bad as they'd feared.

He stopped and looked down at his watch. 10:36 a.m. It had been just over two hours ago that he'd been concerning himself with the coffee. And now, it had been 31 minutes since the medical staff had separated him from his son. Another five minutes beyond that, and he had heard words that chilled his very soul.

"You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality."

Will hadn't told Tigh about that. He had reasoned with himself that his XO did not need to know, that his mind should be fully on the crisis at hand. That his friend had the same low tolerance for euphemisms that Adama did, and would be able to understand Lee's condition.

But that wasn't the truth. He hadn't told Tigh because his emotions had threatened to gain control at that moment. Countless times, Adama had taken numerous condition reports that involved members of his crew - hell, members of his family. He prided himself on the fact he knew every face on board this ship, and that he cared about all of them.

None of those situations had cut through his harsh control like this. None of them had involved his son.

"Sir, he's got a severe concussion, and also a hairline fracture of the skull. But right now, they don't think that's causing the major problem. He has numerous broken ribs on both sides. At least one of those ribs has punctured his left lung, collapsing it. There's a lot of bleeding both into the chest cavity and the airways. They've already put a tube in to help him breathe, and now they've got to put in another to re-inflate his lung. And then they need to go in and surgically repair the damage. They'll be able to see how badly he's hurt at that point."

The medtech's words had been gentle, kind - as if she'd been dealing with a wounded animal that might lash back at her if given half a chance. She'd even placed a hand on his shoulder. A compassionate, sympathetic gesture that he'd resented the hell out of until he sat down and digested her words.

"He's in critical condition, sir. I'm sorry. You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality."

It was then that he realized that the medical personnel weren't treating him as their commander any longer. They were treating him like the father of a gravely wounded young man who might not survive. In here, he was no longer the fleet commander, no longer in control. What happened in the next few hours -- both here in sickbay, and on board the Hephaestus -- would be completely outside of his control. No action -- or inaction -- would be able to alter the course that time would take.

That realization frightened him. For all that he had been able to achieve in his lifetime, there had been very few instances where he had not had control of the events surrounding him. He'd built his career around maintaining that control, maintaining the ability to manipulate events and people to a positive outcome. For every action, there existed a multitude of reactions. His ability to chose the correct course had made him into one of the most respected men in the fleet.

Now he could not choose an action, because there was nothing for him to do.

An intense wave of helplessness, in turn fueling frustration, had flooded his senses at the first sight of his son on the shuttle. He became acutely aware of the passage of time -- not merely now, but in the past two years and beyond. He found he could not remember the first time Lee had flown a solo flight, or the day his older son had earned his wings. The passage of time that he had craved would eventually bring Lee back to him had now turned into an enemy. Will wanted to remember his son smiling, feeling proud, exhibiting the self-confidence that had seemed to infuse his soul from his very birth.

That was lost to him now. What he could remember was the pain.

"Dad, please, you gotta come!" William Adama's head snapped up as his older son came bounding into the room. Instantly, Will knew there was a problem. The nine-year-old was out of breath and gasping for air -- telltale signs he'd run as fast as his short legs would carry him. "Zak, Dad, out in the field!"

William reached out and grabbed Lee's shoulders, intending just to steady him. Instead, the young boy almost pulled away.

"Lee, what's wrong?" Will knew his voice sounded harsh, but he couldn't help it. Lee looked scared, and in turn was scaring his father. "Is your brother hurt? Do I need to call for help?"

Lee shook under his father's hands, his whole body trembling.

"Dad...sir... I don't know. A hole, out by the east lake. He fell, and he didn't answer me, and then I ran to get you. You said ... you always told us if one of us got hurt, to mark the spot and run for help, so I ran. Sir..."

William was already on his feet, pulling his jacket off the chair and debating the quickest way of finding his younger son. They could drive, but the old fields that led up to the lakes had numerous obstacles -- holes caused by erosion, tree roots that had never been completely removed, wild grass that grew almost up to Lee's shoulders. No, they would have to walk, and Will would have to rely on his older son to find the spot again.

After making sure his wireless was in his pocket, Will steered Lee out of the room, grabbing a flashlight from the front hall closet.

When they reached the door, Will knelt down in front of his son.

"Lee, I need you to take me to your brother. Now. The exact same way you came, no alterations. I want you to take me directly to him. Do you understand?"

Lee drew himself almost up to attention, straightening his back and rolling back his shoulders.

"Yes...yes, sir!" And then he took off running, his small legs moving so quickly that Adama fell 10 yards behind before he could react.

In spite of being an adult - taller by two feet, legs longer by at least half that - Will found himself struggling to keep pace with his son. Lee obviously knew where he was going; Adama could see now the path his older son had trodden through the flattened grass on his way back to the house. Lee was following that now, a child's endurance and abandon carrying him forward. Will kept catching the toes of his shoes on small roots, rocks, even loose dirt that shifted around unexpectedly.

With Lee so far ahead, Will could see exactly when he came to a dead stop. His son turned quickly around, and waved his father forward frantically. Will grabbed a bit of reserve energy, and sprinted the last few yards to the small hole Lee now stood next to.

Will could hardly contain his surprise. If asked beforehand, he would never have thought either of his sons could have fit into this hole -- even deliberately. It was a foot, perhaps a foot and a half wide, and at one side, Will could see where the edge had been eroded - either by Zak's fall or Lee trying to lean in after him.

He crouched down, and peered into the hole.

"Zak?" William didn't hear a thing. Raising his voice, he tried again, peering down into the hole. "Zak!"

There was still no answer. Fear settled into his stomach like a lead weight, and William pulled out the flashlight as he raised his voice.

"Zachariah William Adama, this is your fath--"

He got cut off as Lee pushed in underneath him. Surprised, Will lost his balance and dropped onto his rear end as his older son stuck his head in the hole.

"Zak!" Lee's voice … William could hear the worry in it, the fear. "Zak, it's me! C'mon, answer me, please, say some­-"

William reached over and grabbed Lee by his shoulders, pulling him away from the hole. Lee looked at him balefully for a moment, anger blazing so clearly in his eyes that William unconsciously slid back on his heels. He only wanted to keep Lee safe, out of harm's way for the moment. The look he received in return bordered on uncontrollable fury.

Lee only relaxed when Will leaned forward into the hole and turned on the flashlight. What he saw made him freeze, the air seizing uncomfortably in his chest.

Zak was crumpled at the bottom of the hole, his limbs sprawled motionless in every direction. He quickly scanned the walls, looking for handholds, and sighted several jagged rock edges and gnarled tree roots which only increased his worry. Frightening possibilities ran through his mind, from the likelihood of a simple concussion to terrible possibility of a broken neck. Face-down, William could not even tell if his younger son was breathing.

The flashlight was pulled up and away, and Will found himself almost nose to nose with his son. To his shock, tears were streaming down Lee's face.

"Let me climb down, Dad, let me see." Lee already had his body leaning towards the hole, his hand tugging gently at the flashlight. "I can get him out of there, and you won't fit. He's my responsibility, he needs me. You have to let me go. Please..."

Will wanted to shake his head no, refuse his son's request and deflect the pain those words had caused. Zak should not have been Lee's charge; he should have been Adama's own. And he certainly didn't want to risk Lee being injured as well. But even if he called for help - and he would have to rather quickly - there would not be an adult able to crawl into the hole. They would need someone down there with Zak, and Lee was correct -- he knew his brother perhaps better than anyone.

He nodded, and Lee climbed into the hole. William noted with pride how much care Lee took, placing his feet on one side and wedging his back against the other. Lee inched his way down, making sure to avoid gouging his back on the rough surface.

Lee jumped lightly to the bottom, and reached out with his left hand. William felt every muscle in his body tense when he realized Lee was trying to figure out if his brother was alive. To see his older son's hand slip along Zak's, looking for a pulse, unnerved him.

In a fraction of a second, however, he saw Lee look up at him and nod. As Will reached for his wireless to call for help, he saw Lee move again out of the corner of his eye and pull Zak into his lap. And just as he was about to push the comm button, Will saw the blood on Zak's face.

Six feet below him, Lee burst into uncontrollable sobs.

"Wake up, Zak. Please, wake up." Lee's words were barely understandable, he was crying so hard. "I'm here now, and I'm going to get you out of here. Wake up, Zak, please...wake up ..."

"I'd offer you a cubit for your thoughts, Commander, but I'm reasonably sure what they are."

The gentle, pleasant voice snapped Adama out of his reverie and back into the present, where Laura Roslin stood in front of him, a half-smile on her gaunt features.

William felt a rush of annoyance as she pulled him out of his mental fog and back to the present. There were very few people he would have welcomed at the moment -- and the President of the Colonies was certainly not among them. Her uninvited presence was interrupting his self-reprisals, forcing him back into the present instead of the past.

He stood and crossed his arms, leveling a stare at Roslin that would've made anyone under his command quiver.

"Do you, Madame President?" He tried glaring at her, but it seemed to have no effect. And for a moment, he let the control slip out of his voice. "Why don't you tell me exactly what I'm thinking?"

If she was put off by his tone, she didn't show it.

"I would say you were thinking of your son." She again showed that gentle smile, her face calm and unruffled. "I've been standing her for a full minute without you noticing."

If she had been -- and he had no reason to doubt her -- he had indeed not noticed. The annoyance grew to grew to an intolerable level. Her presence was an intrusion, and he resented the hell out of it. She had no right to be here. This was his problem, his fear, and he had the right to be alone.

Adama looked down at his watch out of habit, and the irritation died abruptly. 10:51. It had been 45 minutes now, a space of time he could break down into fractions -- seconds spent thinking of Lee's long-ago sobs, and the reasons for them. Zak's pain, and how the sight of blood had unnerved him.

"Zak!" Lee almost screamed his brother's name. "Please--"

"--just leave you alone." Roslin's voice filtered through to him again, and he looked up mutely. Vaguely, he wondered why she hadn't left yet, but he agreed with her sentiment, and nodded.

"That would be fine, Madame President. I'm truly not in the mood to talk." He let his gaze wander across the room. The entrance to the operating theater -- where his son lay beyond -- was quiet, and he fought the urge to look at his watch again. The waiting felt interminable.

"Commander, are you listening to me?" He looked up sharply, and found Roslin still standing there. She looked ... Adama couldn't quite place the look on her face, nor did he really care to try.

"No." He might as well be honest.

Roslin's face set itself in the familiar inarguable determination he had come to expect.

"You might consider doing so." She leveled a glance at him that looked vaguely scolding now, making him feel just a bit guilty at his own self-absorption. "I said I would NOT leave, Commander, not that I would."

He looked at her mutely for a moment, at a loss for words.

"Why?"

Roslin gently grabbed his elbow and steered him back into his chair. He followed the direction and sank gratefully back into it, puzzled by her kindness and cursing himself for his own weakness.

But Roslin didn't seem to see anything amiss.

"Because, Commander, you are a father whose son is suffering." Her mouth quirked into a sad smile as she sat down in the chair next to his. "I know all too well how it is to watch a child endure pain, and how difficult it can be to simply watch and wait."

For a clear moment, Roslin was no longer the President of the Colonies of Kobol. She was a simple schoolteacher, who had likely seen many children through their agony -- both physical and emotional. He knew little about Roslin's past career, but he knew of her steady devotion to the people under her charge and her sense of moral principle. It came in sharp contrast to his military bearings in so many ways.

But had that been the only thing that had drawn her to him? For a moment, his grief lost its hold on him.

"Do you have children of your own, Madame President?" Better to phrase it that way, than to state it in past tense. If she'd had children on Caprica, the likelihood they had survived was not only improbable, but close to impossible. With that realization, he found himself regretting the impetuous question, and he felt a touch of color rise in his cheeks. She had come here to comfort him, and now he would likely do nothing more than stir up bad memories.

Roslin held eye contact with him, though, the small half-smile he'd grown accustomed to seeing gracing her features again. It gave nothing away.

"I did, Commander." Adama winced and regretted the question again. But her voice was quiet and soft, the half-smile not slipping. "Have you ever heard of Ulsten-Ebarr Syndrome?"

The question forced Adama to concentrate for a minute, trying to remember what medical reading he had done. In a moment, he had it.

"The nerve disorder?"

Roslin nodded, folding her hands in front of her and staring down at her fingers.

"It's not a pretty disease, Commander. It's congenital, and the damage to the nerve sheaths begins at birth. Once those sheaths are destroyed, the nerves are gradually eaten away. It does not kill quickly, nor painlessly." She paused and then looked up at him again. "My daughter, Edina, was diagnosed with it within a few weeks of her birth. She died when she was five, two weeks before her sixth birthday."

Adama's breath stilled at her words. To lose a child, so young ...

"Daddy, it hurts." Zak's voice, almost a moan instead of words, reached Adama at the top of the shaft. "Lee, make Dad make it stop. Please..."

He could not imagine that pain, nor did he want to. His sons had lived a truly blessed childhood. Neither of them had ever been in true peril as a child -- even with Zak's fall down the hollowed, dried-out water hole. He'd suffered a concussion, needed stitches, sprained an ankle. But he had been silent only from the blow to the head.

The true challenge of the day had been trying to get them both out of the hole. It had been a full hour before emergency personnel could rig a safety harness to safety remove Zak. Lee had remained down there until the end, silent and strong beside his brother. But for years afterward, he would not voluntarily go anyplace that was not well-lit. Adama was willing to wager a good amount that Lee's memories of the incident were as strong as his own.

The same memories that had been chasing him all day. He looked at the president, his own pain suddenly falling into perspective to hers.

"I'm sorry." And he truly was. He hadn't intended to hurt her with the question, but ... He wondered now what he had been searching for when he had asked. A sympathetic soul, or perhaps he'd seen some of Ilya in her for a few moments.

Across from him, Laura Roslin surprised him with a smile.

"There's no need to apologize, Commander. It's been 20 years." She folded her hands together, relaxing slightly in the chair. "Time has had the effect of making memories ... golden. It's no longer just pain anymore. I've come to terms with it, found my peace."

Adama's anger suddenly, furiously flared up again. He pushed up and away from his chair, not daring to let himself stay within reach of her. He had hit a woman only once in his life -- just once -- and it had lost him a great many things. He would not allow it to happen again.

He glared down at her, though, intending to wound in return.

"Forgive for not being able to achieve that same peace, Madame President." His voice was laced with sarcasm, and pain. "Death and I are not on good terms."

He turned to leave, but fingers sunk into his command jacket and pulled him back around. He found himself face to face with Roslin, who had gotten to her feet.

"Is that what you think I am telling you?" Her smile was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression. But Adama could hear the hurt and pain he was feeling echoed in her voice. "Commander, I am not at ease with death, and I'm not saying your son will die or that you should accept it. I just..."

Her voice trailed off, a hint of color rising in her cheeks.

"Just what?"

"I'm sorry, Commander. This entire conversation is not what I had intended. I came down here to try and offer you some hope, not to have you think about the deaths of your children. I know you've already lost one son, and I wanted you to know I understood your suffering and that I cared."

"Why? Why do you ... you hardly know me, or my son."

"Commander, over the past 10 days, I've had my life saved at least three separate times by your son. I've had some time to get to know him, and I've heard about him ... and his brother." Her voice grew quiet again. "I also heard a good deal about what you and he have been through in the past two years. Forgive me, but I thought you might like to talk to someone, rather than dwell on the current situation."

"What would you like me to say?"

"That's entirely up to you, Commander. But I wanted you to have an ear if you chose to voice some of your thoughts." She pulled him gently back towards his chair, that gentle smile on her face yet again. "I've been where you are right now. Sometimes, a person just needs to talk."

And that, in a simple statement was the crux of the problem. He had held Lee less than an hour ago, certain that he would lose his son without being able to say the words they both most needed to hear. He had held Lee, and known that his sins had indeed been revisited -- like he known two weeks ago when his son had come aboard. Like he had known since then, but hadn't had the courage to address. He didn't have the words for what he needed to say to his son -- the words to bridge the gaping chasm the last two years had become. So much damage had been done. How could a few simple words repair what had taken a lifetime to rend?

He looked up at Roslin, a slight smile gracing his features.

"I don't know the right words, Madame President. For my son ... or myself. I'm ... afraid to take the next step." Or to lose what I've already gained. "Right now ..." Adama paused, reaching for the right words. "Right now, I simply want my son to remain in this world. And there is nothing I can do to facilitate that outcome."

Roslin regarded him for a moment, and then offered a small smile that seemed tinged with sadness -- and not a small amount of understanding. He raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, Madame President?"

She shook her head slowly, her features becoming sober.

"Sometimes, Commander, all we can do is surrender control of the situation to those better equiped than ourselves." Then her features softened. "Or perhaps, find a soul to share that situation with until we can regain that control."

Confusion swirled through his brain.

"Madame President?"

Roslin cracked a grim smile.

"Your XO ordered me down here, Commander, claiming that my security and yours were vital to the survival of this fleet. Listening to him talk, one could quickly assume that no one aboard this ship -- or as importantly, in this entire fleet -- is safe at the moment."

Prepare yourself for every eventuality. The possibilities of why this had happened were endless. A Cylon attack, dissendents ... even the horror of an assasination attempt. He remembered now that merely the family name had appeared on the personnel list issued to the Hephaestus early this morning, and a bitter smile crept across his face.

"He may be correct."

The president reached out and took his hand. She squeezed softly, and offered him a generous look.

"Then perhaps we should both make the best of the situation, Commander. Forget about trying to control the future for a little while, let others do their job." She leaned back in the chair, and inclined her head towards the operating room. "Why don't you tell me about Lee -- and your other son, Zak, was it? It might do you some good to remember them both."

"Dad, please..."

He was already remembering, and starting to realize a few things about himself and his remaining son. How much had his control cost him in his life? It was a question he wasn't sure he could totally comprehend, much less begin to answer it. And he couldn't do quite what she wanted -- surrendering complete control wasn't in his personality.

But he could speak of his sons, and hope they wouldn't share the same fate. He turned back towards the president, and raised her hand to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles in a show of respect.

"What would you like to know, Madame President?"