We sat around the still, even though, beyond a first shot, none of us felt like drinking. Diana was tightlipped, aloof, and returned Up Top.

All of us knuckledraggers sat around the shop, quiet, when Ed started chuckling. All our eyes darted upward, toward him. It was so out of place, that his laughter was actually a little scary.

"What," Toby asked him.

Ed Coursen sighed.

"I was just thinkin' about the time Trichosek--he was the guy you replaced, Marty--got shitfaced, and passed out in his drawers next to the toilet. . . "

A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, and the others smiled a little, too. Even Mangan, who was generally hard-faced enough, without losing one of his best friends. I knew what he was going to say.

"And," Ed continued, fighting another swelling of laughter, which spread some to us, in the form of muted giggles. "And Caff found him, right? And…and he told you…." He pointed to Mangan, who nodded, and took up where Ed left off.

"He told me to run up and tell the Cap'n. And I asked him when he was gonna wake him. And he said…" Mangan started laughing now. I could count on one hand he genuinely laughed out loud. "And he said 'Leave him there! As long as he's still out, he's still got a job!'"

We erupted with laughter, and then everyone else passed around his own Caff stories. They were beginning to heal. I took that as my cue to make a discreet exit. I told them I needed to run Up Top for a minute. I grabbed a couple towels, a bar of soap, and a roll of toilet paper--the basic things Diana would need.

After taking a left at CiC, and down another left, I stood before my door, which was next to Moore's quarters, at the end of the hall. It felt absurd, but I still knocked, before I entered my own space for the first time.

Nothing. I tapped on the hatch again.

"Diana? I brought you up some towels and soap."

Still no answer. I figured she may be in the bathroom. A few months limited to washing over a sink on Colonial One probably would make another shower too good to pass up.

"Okay," I said, into the door. "I'm coming in, I'll just leave it on the bed. So…if you're, uh, indecent, cover up!"

I spun the wheel. It was unlocked. The door creaked open. I expected to hear the shower running, see her clothes laid out on the bed. She seemed the type that took great care of her suits. She had to be to look good in her environment. Instead, she sat at the same table Caff and I did, before everything fell apart. Diana's hands cradled her head, propped up on her elbows. Her hair shined in the dim light that came from the lamp on the end table, still tight in its official bun. She hadn't taken her suit off, which still clung to her the way only finely tailored garments can. Her eyes, with wet, black mascara stains, tracking down her cheeks, stared at the pistol I gave her, which lay before her, muzzle pointing toward her chest.

"Diana?"

Quiet tears were her only answer, as if the 9mm was the only thing in the universe that mattered. I put the towels, soap, and toilet paper down, slid another chair around, and sat on her right, so close our shoulders touched.

I gave her that weapon, and showed her how to load and fire it. My blood turned to ice, when I saw that the safety was off. I felt her trembling, could feel her dark need to focus.

"Hey," I whispered. "Talk to me."

I knew she blamed herself, always would. She demanded miracles from herself every day, and was knocked down. She always got back up, though, to fight again. I wouldn't let her lay down, now. I had lost one person I cared about already. I could not--would not-- let her end it. There weren't many of us left, and I wasn't sure if there was anyone left like her, anymore.

She didn't look at me.

"Leave me alone...please."

I took a deep breath, foundering for what to say next. I fought the urge to just snatch her up and take the gun away, but it held a full magazine, and I didn't know how quick she was. She could snap up the weapon and it could misfire.

"Well," I began, fighting to keep my tone even and calm. "I noticed you forgot some of what I showed you. The safety is off."

Her voice grew soft, almost like that of a little girl, barely breaking the silence.

"I didn't forget."

I leaned in close enough to catch the scent of fresh soap, a cleanliness that she didn't seem to feel within.

"Why?"

She exhaled raggedly.

"He died...for me."

I shook my head. Would she ever see it for what it was?

"Caff died because marines from Galactica killed him. Because Colonel Tigh gave the order. You don't deserve to take the blame from him."

Her fingertips pressed, tensing against her skull. Tendons stood out in her hands, as she bit her lower lip.

"This isn't about blame."

"So what's it about then?"

She let her hands go under the table into her lap, and she turned to me, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in a mix of anger and despair.

"I told you. He died for me."

She trapped herself in a philosophical loop that wouldn't be broken. Let her think what she wanted. She wouldn't die here--not by her own hand.

"And?"

"And I can't let that happen again! Don't you understand? As long as I'm here, as long as I'm anywhere, I'm a risk to those around me. I can't let anyone else die because of me. I can't let anyone else die FOR me."

I shivered a little, at her newly discovered anger. I had never seen her this manic, full of despair.

"So, this is a noble cause, then? Biting down on the gun barrel? Diana Thalyka's last grand altruistic act for mankind? For everything you stand for? I can't believe that."

I was close enough to get at the pistol, but all she had to do was lean toward it to block my path. I silently cursed myself not sitting across from her. Diana's eyes were still on me, though. I had a chance. As I spoke, I slowly eased my right hand across the small table, seeing the weapon in my peripheral vision. I expected cold steel, but I suddenly felt her knuckles underneath, as she slammed her left palm on top of the gun, and pushed futily, against my chest with her free hand. I was close enough to feel her exasperated breath on my face, the weight behind her gaze.

"Get away from me, Jay."

I leaned into her pressing hand.

"No."

Her expression weakened, as she looked at me, her mouth working, but nothing coming out. I felt the pressure against my chest cease.

"You don't understand at all, do you? You heard what the Priest said, at the funeral? 'And, with the help of the Lords of Kobol, make ourselves worthy of that gift.' But I wasn't worthy of it anymore! And I can't let anyone else die because they somehow still think I am! And yes, this is for everything I believe in. Because I can't fulfill it, anymore! Because I'm helpless here, to help my people!"

I felt her fingers shift under mine, curl around the gun. I squeezed her hand, to let her know I still remembered it was there. My brain swam in and around her words, without being able to really understand them. How could she think that she was doing everyone a favor?

I felt a tug against my shirt, and Diana bowed her head a little, in a shame I could not break past.

"And worse than that…not only can I not help them…as long as I'm here…I hurt them, and you--all of you. I'm not worth anything here, anymore. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can change. I can no longer fulfill any of my responsibilities. Nothing more than this: If I cannot help them, I will not put them at risk. It is all I can do, anymore."

"So you don't have a seal and a flag behind you, so you're nothing? You're not just a symbol, nobody is just a symbol, or a number, or a statistic, no matter what anyone else thinks."

"Just a symbol? Who cares, either way? I don't give a damn about symbols! I want RESULTS! It isn't the seal, and it isn't the flag! It's whether or not I can make a difference, for the people, for the Colonies! And I can't….not anymore. Without the resources, the legitimacy, the authority, the others, I have none of it, anymore. I have no authority anymore. I have no colleagues. I have no legitimacy. I have no way to change anything, make any difference in anything--except bad differences. And that tells me…that they are better off…without me."

I gently released her hand from my shirt, took it in mine, and squeezed. There it was, that fire she carried inside, the cadence in her voice, that let you know that she believed what came out of her mouth was important, vital. I knew, then, what was important to me, in that little room, where she wanted to end herself. I realized I had known it ever since she stood proudly on the steps that day, on Colonial One, looking upon me.

"Well, I don't know, about everyone else," I said, leaning in so close that our foreheads nearly touched. "I'm not."

"No, you're not better off with me. As long as I'm here, I'm a liability. I give none of you anything…give no one anywhere anything, anymore. And I probably never will, again. Because this isn't like it would be, back...back home. We can't fight him. His ship could just blow anyone out of the sky. His marines could blow anyone away aboard their ships. So as much as I...as much as I want to believe things will change, as much as I want to fight...HAVE to fight, even, to fulfill my duties…I can't. "

Her hand slid out from around the pistol, from under mine.

"It isn't possible. And if I try, I do nothing but put people at risk. And if I don't try…I still put people at risk. Dammit, you think I WANT it to end this way?"

Shaking hands covered her face as she tried to turn away from me, but I wouldn't let her. I grabbed her wrists, forced them into her lap.

"Look at me."

She would not, but she didn't fight my grip, either.

"Diana, look at me."

I felt weakness in my knees and starched dryness at the back of my throat, as her eyes locked onto mine. I didn't want her to die. I couldn't let her die. I had already lost Caff, and wasn't sure if I could take it if she ended herself. If the most adamant of us didn't want to go on, what was the point?

I didn't know what else to say. How many times can you just tell someone you want her to stay? I raised my hand up to her face, brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead.

I ran my fingers along her cheek, her jaw line, letting them come to rest along the back of her neck, and tilted her chin up with my thumb. I could feel her breath quicken, as my lips pressed against hers, and they were warm, tinged with the salt sting that she had cried out, contemplating her suicide.

For a breath, I felt her lean into me, give back what I was making her feel, and then her arms slid around me, and she buried her face in my neck and sobbed, quietly. Her hand rubbed along my back, as I embraced her. Diana was frail, almost, in my arms, as shudders coursed through her.

"Shhh," I whispered. "It'll be okay. It will…"

I took her by the shoulders, ended the embrace, and cradled her face in my hands. Diana looked to me as if she wanted to believe, but couldn't, maybe never could. I kissed her on the forehead, and stood. She just watched me, lips parted, hands piled in her lap, as I took the gun, switched on the safety, and stuck it in the back of my waistband.

I could not find words, all I could do was stare into her eyes a moment longer, before shutting the door behind me.

"Well, I don't know, about everyone else," he said as he leaned in even closer. "I'm not."

Better off? He didn't understand. He wasn't better off with me—I put his life at risk, and everyone else's. And even if he somehow was better off with me around…I couldn't just think about one person, or five, or ten. I had to think about ALL of them. Only he didn't understand that. He was foreman now…Maybe, sometime soon, he would understand, on a smaller scale, at least. But not yet. And yet…I looked into his face, and couldn't bear to lay that truth on him…couldn't bear to tell him that in the cold, hard calculations of my life and duty…One person better off with me wasn't nearly enough to outweigh all those who would be better off without me.

"No...no, you're not better of with me. As long as I'm here, I'm a liability. I give none of you anything…give no one anywhere anything, anymore. And I probably never will, again. Because this isn't like it would be, back...back home. We can't fight him. His ship could just blow anyone out of the sky, his marines could blow anyone away aboard their ships. So as much as I...as much as I want to believe things will change, as much as I want to fight...HAVE to fight, even, to fulfill my duties…I can't. "

Maybe it was weakness, not being able to follow through, for once, with what was best for my people. But…I didn't WANT to die. And he didn't want me to die. And somewhere, in the back of my mind now, some little voice cried that in this world as it stood now…one could never count anything out….and maybe I had a duty to survive, for the slim chance that it all could change, that our break might come…Or maybe even just because, regardless of what he said with disdain, about symbols…I WAS a symbol to some of them, now….like I had been to Caffrey. I wasn't sure how it happened…But when he had looked into my face, on the Gideon, after his initial shock…his face had filled with an instant of hope. He had tried to explain it to me. I hadn't understood until now. I had been one of them, in the government. And I was still free. Whether I made a physical difference or not…to Caffrey, and to some of the men and women aboard now…I represented hope, resilience, survival. Slowly, I slid my hands off the gun…and I laid my head in my hands.

"It isn't possible. And if I try, I do nothing but put people at risk. And if I don't try…I still put people at risk. Dammit, you think I WANT it to end this way?"

I tried to turn away then, but he grabbed my hands, forced them away from my face, and turned my towards him.

"Look at me…..Diana, look at me."

I couldn't end it all. And yet…I still put them all at risk, by being here, alive, aboard. I felt trapped…as trapped as I had aboard Colonial One, the day this all started, when the President hung up that phone after speaking to Adama, and turned to us, and we all knew it was the beginning of the end of it all.

Suddenly, his fingers touched my cheek, and he ran them along my face…tilted my face up…and…

….Kissed me?

I don't know why…but I just couldn't resist. Maybe it was the stress, the need for release. Maybe it was the fact that I had craved human contact so much, since the destruction of the Colonies…and had had no chance for any beyond endless professional handshakes and the occasional friendly hand on the shoulder from or to Billy. Or maybe it was love, and I'd just never seen it until now. I'd figure it out all later. At the moment, here, and now…I didn't care….and I found myself finally returning his kiss, for a few moments….before I just couldn't take it all anymore. To my shame and confusion, I collapsed crying again, onto his shoulder.

"Shhh…. "It'll be okay. It will…"

No. No, it wouldn't….The odds of that…the odds of that are just as great as the odds were of me being on the ship that became Colonial One, the day the Colonies were destroyed. I got a miracle, that day. We all did…But I got even more so than most. I never should have been on that ship. But I was. And that captain during the water crisis, could have socked me, should have socked me, could have and should have easily gone on to kill me. But he stopped himself, for reasons I would never know. And shots should have been fired on Colonial One, during the standoff, killing us all. And I should have died on the Gideon, when Tigh's troops boarded it, instead of being spirited away. Most people live their whole lives without even one miracle. The human race had had so many, these past few months…And on top of those, I'd had four of my own. There's limit to how many miracles can occur, in one's life...and I'd probably already exceeded it.

He grabbed me by the shoulders, and held my face in his hands…looked into my eyes, and leaned foreword to kiss my forehead briefly…Then, he picked up the gun that lay forgotten on the table, flipped the safety, and stuck it his waist band…and walked out the door without another word.

I collapsed onto the bed then, in the room of the man who had given his life for mine, and just laid there, sobbing into the pillows…for how long, I don't know. Eventually, however--whether due to the lingering effects of dehydration, or the fact that after so many tears, these last few months, there come a time when you have none left—I found I had no more tears left to cry, at the moment. Slowly, I pulled myself into a sitting position, rubbed my eyes clear, and rose from the bed…Looking around the room, I felt as if I would rather do anything else—But I forced my eyes to sweep the entire room, twice over.

The man who had lived here had died, for me. I would have to live with that for the rest of my life…..however long that was. But the more I thought about it…the more I was certain he would have wanted me to stay here, of all places….to know that even in death, he was continuing to shelter me. Because for some reason, still somewhat beyond my comprehension, he had thought I was worth it…and like the Priest had said…it was now up to me to make myself worth it. And as I looked around that little room the last time, that seemed so huge to me after my months on Colonial One, an idea was already forming in my mind. Supplies. Tigh stormed the Gideon because he wanted supplies, for Galactica. But who was it, who had coordinated the distribution of supplies, to the fleet as a whole, ship to ship to ship? It wasn't Galactica…it had been Colonial One. And without us…I doubt anything was being done about it. Tigh wouldn't care…he probably wouldn't even think of it. And without anyone to control it all, even in the loosest of possible ways…I didn't even want to think of what would happen…of how many ships would turn on each other, of how many people wouldn't get what they needed. I could feel myself stand a little straighter, now…Straighter than I had since I had sat in that room and listened to Tigh over the wireless, bringing an end to it all. I wondered, why I couldn't see it before, head down on the table, staring at the gun…and why I had been stopped, and could only see it afterwards. I had never considered myself very religious…But here, and now, standing in the midst of such strange circumstances, and such strange realizations…Whether real or just an illusion….I felt I could nearly feel, reassuring on my shoulder, the hand of the man who had saved me, as I walked out that door with purpose, heading for the man who could help me make it all come true.

I couldn't remember how I arrived in the engine room, the first time I was here, months ago. Captain Stengler had led me down a maze of corridors, to a cafeteria, and then Jay guided me to the steel grate they called the catwalk. Luckily, this time, I noticed there were arrows, showing me the way to the cafeteria, and then, the engine room.

I stood on the catwalk, overlooking the giant engine and all the pipes and tubes that fed into it from ducts above and below me. I wondered how these men could comprehend this maze of gauges, circuitry, and steel. On the floor, two of the mechanics stood, talking quietly to one another, oblivious to me. The heavier set, shorter man—Nick?--looked up at me, as though I were seeing something that was not for my eyes. The other man, a taller, leaner mechanic, who I recalled was named Ed, saw me above them.

"Hey, uh, you need something, Miss Thalyka?"

I felt nervous, with their eyes on me, as if they felt I was treading on sacred ground, not meant for me.

"I…I need to see Jay Krenzik, your foreman."

Ed gestured up, toward a hatch on the opposite side of the engine room, on the catwalk.

"He's up on the observation deck, in the hold."

"Thank you."

As I made my way there, I tried not to look like was making too much haste, but I could feel their eyes on me every step of the way….Even after I had passed out of their line of sight.

Finally reaching the entrance to the cargo hold, I gripped the wheel on the hatch, struggled to turn it, and leaned back, using all of what little weight I had to pull the hatch open. Then, I slipped through the opening, into a fairly brightly lit, HUGE room.

Rows upon rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves were stacked with crates of all sizes, and in spite of everything, a slight, brief smile played across my lips: This could work, this could actually work.

Directly in front of me, there was a wide, empty path where no shelves were, leading down to a large, open area with an enormous window in from of it. He was sitting there, on a what looked like nothing so much as a black metal park bench, staring out the window. He didn't turn as I entered, nor as I walked towards him, my shoes clicking on the hard floor. In fact, I was able to get right behind him, less than a foot away, and he still didn't turn…Still didn't seem to even know I was there.

"Jay?"

He turned his head, a sad little smile on his face.

"Change your mind, did you?"

Honestly. How dense could he get? Hadn't he figured out I'd changed my mind the moment I took my frakking hand off the gun? Or was this another attempt at a bad joke, as poor in taste as the day he had joked about memorial services only a few days after I had attended the initial service on Galactica?

But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I took a deep breath and attempted to calm myself. Because I could see the fleet, or some of it, though the huge window in front of us. And regardless of whether he was thinking straight, or whether he was saying the right things, the wrong things, or something in between…I had to be thinking straight, I had to say the right things, make the right plans…for all the people, on those ships through the window.

"I need your help."

"With what?"

He didn't even wait for me to answer, before turning his head back to the view…Almost as if he didn't want to meet my eyes. Very odd…for someone who had so recently demanded that I meet his...

I walked around him, to take a seat on the bench next to him, facing the ships, and decided to try a different approach, pointing out the window as I spoke.

"Let me rephrase that…I need your help…to help them."

Even now, he didn't turn, and I began to wonder just why he couldn't look at me, when he had so recently been desperate to lock eyes with me.

"I...couldn't sleep. Came up here to think. Other times, like now, I'd bump into Caff up here."

And now, he never would again. Little wonder he would come here, now….

"Did he come here often?"

"He was up here quite a bit."

I realized, at that moment….I knew almost nothing of him, his history, his personality, his soul. I'd only met the man twice. I knew barely enough to even comprehend why he would have sacrificed himself for me….And I wanted to know more.

"What…What was he like?"

He turned to face me finally, then, and it was like a mask…The same type of mask I had worn, those first few days, those first few weeks, mixed with the kind I had worn more recently…numbness, and shame.

"He's a better man than I'll ever be."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He looked as if he were about to protest, and I reached out to grab his hand in between mine, and pull him a bit further towards me.

"We are all of us unique…strengths, weaknesses, triumphs, failures. With so few of left…the loss of any diminishes us….so…"

I could barely finish my sentence, remembering every time about Colonial One that the eraser was swiped across the Board….

"….so much. There will never be another man like him…"

Or like any of those we had lost.

"…but that doesn't mean you can't be a good man, too! "…And thus it falls upon us, to repent our sins…and make ourselves worthy of that gift". That's what the Priest said. And it does, fall upon us. I couldn't see that before…but I can see it now. In both of us. He chose you, to be foreman, in the event of his death. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't think you had the capacity in you to be just as skilled, just as responsible, just as good a man, in your own way."

His head dropped, whether in confusion of in shame, or probably in doubt, and he put a hand over mine, and shook his head. I could see the corners of his lips turn up slightly in a bitter smile, the same kind we had both worn the night Baltar had won the election.

"I got into a fistfight with Nick, last week. Now I'm his boss. I've... I've never had to take care of anyone else before. Or at least didn't want to when I did."

As much as I wanted to be kind, gentle, in that moment….I couldn't. Because doing that wouldn't get any results. This world isn't kind anymore, and it isn't gentle…And you learn. Or you fail, and people die. She called me into her office, appointed me to her Cabinet, had me sworn in before I could even think of protesting…She never talked gently to me, no words of kind encouragement, no words of sympathy….Just a stack of files in my arms, and a look on her face that told me she believed in me. And until now, until Tigh had stormed Colonial One….I had proved her faith in me correct, at every turn. I remembered my thoughts, as I had stood, alone for a few brief moments, in the bathroom aboard Colonial One, shortly after I was sworn in…

"Forget last week! Forget before! It doesn't exist, anymore. Because when Caffrey died, everything you were died with him. And if it didn't kill it now….because it has to."

I put my hands on his shoulders, trying to lessen, as much as I could, the blow of what I was saying, of what had to be said.

"You are not who you were before. So you cannot be who you were before. Ever again. You're the foreman now. So be the foreman. And never look back. Because if you look back…."

My voice trailed off, and I realized, now, amazingly…Even now, when I had nothing left, I hadn't looked back to before the bombs fell. I had only back to those days on Colonial One. Because the woman I was before the bombs fell was gone…I had destroyed her, of my free will, to be what I needed to become. I could never bring her back. I looked into his eyes, and resisted the urge to flinch away…It wasn't an easy process, what I had done, what he had to do now. And you lost something of you, in it…Part of what made you human, and something you could never regain.

"….if you ever look back…you will fail. And you're not going to fail. Because too many people are counting on you to succeed. And too many people believe in you….too many people here…and in the great beyond, with the Gods."

He looked at me for a moment, and it was the same type of stunned silence, unable to pretest, unable to speak, that I had worn as I was called back. Then, he turned his head back to the window, to look out at the future of humanity—if we were lucky—laid out before us.

"How do you think I can help you...and everybody else?"

I pointed at various of the crates surrounding us, waving my arm from one to another randomly.

"See those?"

He shook his head, slowly, and I continued.

"This ship probably has more supplies than at least 2/3's of the ships in the fleet. And certainly a great ability to store and distribute. Tigh's marines shot people…for coffee! He's thinking about resupply for Galactica. But he won't be thinking about the rest of those ships! We were responsible for trying to coordinate that supply distribution, as best as we could…For handling complaints over unfair trades, and trying to facilitate fair ones, or help ships with not much too trade. Now…there's no one handling that. And without that…things are going to get ugly. Not today, and not tomorrow…But down the line…"

I shook my head as my voice trailed off again, and then continued.

"I need you—this ship—to set up a new distribution and trading network. I need you take those supplies you have, start getting them out to the fleet. I know you know about trading…what with your booze trading operation. If a ship has something to trade you back for what they need, make the trade, then trade what they gave you with another ship that needs those. I want to see the supplies moving in an out of this ship, 24/7. And if a ship has nothing to trade you, and the goods are essential…I want you to give it to them. Or make an unorthodox trade—whatever they can give."

I paused for a moment, and took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself to seal the deal.

"I told you, back there, that I couldn't help my people anymore. But maybe I still can. But I can't do it alone."

He stood, took a step away from me, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the crates, and…chewing on his thumb. I ignored the latter: Everyone has their own bizarre habits, under stress. You learn that quickly enough, living on—or rather HAVING lived on—Colonial One. Indeed, a few seconds later, he turned back to me, arms still crossed, but thumb nail no longer between his teeth.

"We have enough rations to keep us going for nearly two years. We could maybe keep some of the smaller ships going for a couple more weeks...but after that, I don't know."

He still didn't understand. Not that I had expected him to, immediately. He was, naturally, used to doing things on a small scale, a "trade for something and keep what you traded for" scale, and for his ship only.

"That's why, whenever possible—and it should be, in most cases—you're not just going to give it all away. You're going to trade, like I know you all can, very well. And you're going to make sure you trade for things other ships need. Then, you're going to trade those things you received to the ships that need them…in return for the things other ships need. If you do it that way…You won't run out. Your supplies will jump start the process…but they won't be the only ones flowing through here."

He turned away once more, staring again at the crates, and after a few moments, turned back to me…A small but genuine smile on his face. He sat back down on the bench again, and this time, he met my eyes without hesitation.

"I see what you're saying. We can jumpstart everything again, at least for a while. Something this big will have to be cleared with Stengler, but I think he'll go for it. Who else is gonna do it?"

Who else, indeed? Even he, with his experience now in trade, had taken awhile to see the system, to see the plan, even once I explained it. I knew that, if not for my position—FORMER position—I never could have seen it, either.

"No one else. Because…No one else would even realize the need."

Now it was my turn to bow my head, and shake it.

"He didn't know what he was doing, when he took us down….all of us. Maybe Adama would have thought about supplies, to the rest of the fleet…Though I doubt even that, based on their agreement: Military decisions to him, all else to her. But Tigh? No, never. And the other ships…Understandably, they are all like yours…They trade for themselves, they think of themselves, and they try to stay alive another day. It's all you can do, in a situation like this. But I need to do more than that."

I rose, and stared at the crates, then turned back to him.

"Your captain is asleep by now, isn't he?"

He suddenly rose as well, to stand side-by-side with me, staring at the crates, a new energy in his face, as in mine.

"Yeah, we'll have to run it by him in the morning. My morning meeting with the flight crew is at 0630, before breakfast."

I reached forward, shook his hand, as I was conditioned by now to do when sealing a deal, and then stepped back slightly.

"I'll see you then. Stop by on your way up, and I'll join you."

I lingered a moment of two longer, then, leaned in, brushed my lips gently against his in a brief kiss, and turned to leave.

"Goodnight."

I walked away then, and out of the cargo hold, back the way I had come, leaving him there alone. I knew what faced him now, tonight, and it wasn't easy. All I could do was leave him to it in peace, and be grateful he had more than five minutes of solitude in a transport liner bathroom to accomplish it.

As for what faced me… She was gone, locked up in Galactica's brig and held by a madman who would shoot people for his morning cup of coffee. Billy was gone, on that same ship, probably in that very same brig by now. The rest were locked away on Colonial One, no one in, no one out, and no signals, either. I could only hope that someday we would be reunited, but I had to also face the cold, hard truth: I would probably never see any of them again, in this life, nor see the day when I could show my face again in the fleet as a whole without fear of being shot, or being hauled off to join them. I was all alone, now, politically, professionally. But the damning irony was...thinking about the moment when he had kissed me, a few hours ago, or when I had kissed him back, just now…that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't all alone personally, for the first time since the bombs fell.