Bill walked along the grass, listening to the crunch of fallen twigs and leaves, and although he missed the metallic echo of walking through a Battlestar, he enjoyed the fresh air with its strange combination of salt and flowers. For so long he'd only known the stale recycled air of a spaceship. It was a beautiful world for such a sad man. He wondered if the grief would ever stop slicing through him.

...

Stiff muscles protested as Laura stood, and a small sigh escaped her lips as she stretched. Her body relaxed more easily than she was used to, the return of some youth having its perks. She was starting to accept her return to the Colonies, unable to deny the surroundings in which her senses soaked. She drank in the summertime air and clusters of brightly blooming flowers while longing for Bill and utilitarian bulkheads.

I miss my home, she thought, acknowledging the simple fact and allowing it to envelop her. Enjoying the world when she was alone was bittersweet when she could once again breathe deeply as the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face. She had to push the strands away while looking around for a place out of the sun to relocate.

…

Bill searched for an unoccupied bench, and his heart skipped a beat when he caught a flash of red hair in the sunlight. Knowing the odds that it was likely not the redhead he most wanted to see, he shook himself. It wouldn't do to go chasing after every redhead he met, he'd end up spending his life chasing ghosts. It was time to pull himself together, he berated himself mentally. He'd given the Laura of this time a way to find him, and if that didn't work he could think of a new plan. Yet his curiosity pulled him toward the fiery sight anyway.

…

She watched a chipmunk run across the grass; little animals were not something she'd seen in over four years. It skittered about until it crossed paths with a man. The proximity of a stranger caught Laura's attention, having lived on high-alert for years. She hoped he'd leave her alone because interacting with people sounded exhausting. She accidentally caught the stranger's gaze as she began to move away. Her heart seized. The breath left her lungs.

For a moment, her mind remained stubbornly frozen, trying to accept what she was seeing. The world around her faded away as she stared into cobalt eyes that matched the blue of his Colonial uniform.

The man stopped abruptly. He looked younger than the last time she'd seen him, but there were dark circles under his eyes and a heaviness in his bearing. Even he couldn't stop the expression overtaking his face, filled with fear but tinged with hope. After a moment, he carefully edged closer.

Her mind screamed, trying to remind her aching heart that there was an entire forgotten life separating her from this William Adama. Her heart didn't listen, too busy pleading to the gods, begging them to truly be giving Bill back to her. She searched his face, hoping to find recognition and acceptance. He looked like someone who'd been handed all the stars in the heavens and was afraid someone was about to snatch it all back. Even she had rarely seen him so vulnerable. He entered her personal space with the caution and finesse of a military soldier examining the unpredictable.

A myriad of emotions hit Bill hard enough to knock the wind out of his body. The first was fear; she looked like Laura, and the urge to take her in his arms was overpowering. Since he'd awoken in this time he'd been impatient, wanting to see her again. He tensed so hard his body throbbed with the effort it took to restrain himself. Her death was still raw and aching in his chest, a wound more painful than any gunshot had ever been. Yet every instinct urged him to close the distance between them and take her up in his arms.

Laura, he thought, but couldn't quite speak her name.

All their memories and experiences played out in his mind. He'd watched her die, he'd buried her. It had hurt. Yet here she was, and she appeared alive, vibrant, and beautiful. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his. Burgeoning hope warmer than the sun's rays prickled through him. He crept toward her. Her eyes glistened the closer he came. His disbelief warred with his relief. He tried to remember to breathe.

Laura finally found her voice, a hoarse and breathy whisper. "Bill?"

It was his Laura's voice, saying his name. He stared at her as if he couldn't quite believe she wasn't some part of an almost-forgotten dream. Needing to feel her, he reached out and touched her solidness with his own hand. His trembling hand pressed against Laura's warm cheek and the fear drained from him. Here was the woman he loved most in the universe, and she was alive.

"Laura," he breathed. A second later his arms were full as she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his body with a choked sob. His heart pounded in his chest as she held him as if he were her only lifeline in a raging storm. He gripped her equally tight, his arms having ached to hold her like this once more. Tears wet his cheeks and his heart burned with the enormous joy of their reunion. Part of him wanted to demand answers, to be reassured she wouldn't disappear.

"It's really you?" she asked, her voice muffled from her face being pressed against him.

"It's me," he said, his voice deepening from the weight of the emotion it carried. "It's me." It's you, he thought, closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair. It was all her; the warmth of her body, the fragrance of her hair now red and soft again. His hands pressed her closer before rubbing her back gently to console her while also reassuring himself. Hearing her thanking the gods, he tried to voice his own relief, but there were no words to express how it felt to have her back.

"I'm sorry, Bill."

He found his voice. "No, Laura. We're not going there. Besides, it wasn't your fault."

Through their mingled tears, their lips found one another's. Tentative and very sweet at first, they moved beyond their timidness and celebrated their reunion. For a moment, nothing else existed except hope. It was a precious stolen moment of pure happiness.

Finally, Laura pulled away, but only enough to look up at him with open warmth and affection. She was grateful for his arms holding her; she would not trust her legs to hold her. Her hands wandered down from where they'd been entwined around his neck to move over his shoulders to his chest in wonder.

Bill watched her hands, noticing that they no longer shook uncontrollably. She wasn't skin and bones and pale as a ghost in his arms, but flushed and healthy. His stomach flipped as he looked in her eyes again, sharp and clear without a haze of drugs dulling her senses and numbing the pain she'd lived in.

"How is this possible?" Laura asked, her voice quivering with euphoria.

He frowned slightly before resting his forehead against hers. "I don't know," he admitted. "What do you remember?"

"Everything, I think. The last thing was sitting in a Raptor with you, and we were looking for a spot to build our cabin," she said. "I should be dead."

Bill's grip tightened. "You're here now."

"Right here," she assured him, pained at the knowledge that he'd seen her die. She took a shaky breath and tried to smile reassuringly, but she saw the lingering grief in his eyes, deeper than the oceans of Picon. It would take time to heal. "What happened, Bill?"

"Everything. I had to bury you," he blurted, cringing. He hadn't meant to talk about that. Ever. "I found myself on Picon a few days ago. Been working on coming up with a plan."

"I'm so sorry," Laura said again, her voice rough with guilt.

Bill shook his head. "We're not going there, remember? Besides, every second we had together was a gift. I wouldn't trade the time we had together for anything." Bill's hand moved to her chin, and he gently forced her to look back up into his eyes, which overflowed with sincerity.

"I wanted more time with you. We had such a short time together. It seems almost too good to be together on Picon."

"What if this isn't real?" It would destroy him if he gave into this life, into being with her again, and for it to turn out to be nothing more than fantasy or farce. Laura physically winced at the thought, and she looked out over the world.

"I kept waiting for this to be just a dream, but it isn't. It keeps going, and we're both here," she said, looking around again at the trees, the grass, the sky, the people. Life continued around them. She heard Bill grumble. He was her skeptic. "We have seen so many unexplained things. The Tomb of Athena. The Temple of Five. Everything about Kara Thrace."

He'd gotten better at taking the things thrown at them in stride, but this was a whole new level of impossible. Bill's habit was to believe what his senses were telling him, and his senses were filled with the woman he was holding. There was no way he was letting her go.

"So now what?" he asked pragmatically.

"We face this life together. Maybe change what we can."

"That's a hard task for just two people."

"We've faced impossible odds before."

He saw the determined look in her eyes and grinned.

"I love you," he said, finally letting the words out. Laura's eyes widened in surprise. Of course, she'd known how he felt; he'd told her in his way and that had been good enough for her. But hearing him actually speak the words so clearly and sincerely sent shivers through her as more tears sprang to her eyes.

"About time," she teased. Provoked by her teasing and feeling the smile on her lips, he claimed her lips again in another burning kiss. It promised them that this was real and that the love and passion igniting in them both couldn't be imagined or dreamed. Bill deepened the kiss and felt a familiar soft moan in the back of her throat. He pulled back, observing the healthy flush to her cheeks, and he ran his fingers along the reddened skin. She was alive.

"Come with me," Laura grinned, taking his hand and pulling him along. A mischievous sparkle lit up her green eyes. "We should go somewhere more private."

My Laura, Bill thought. Unwilling to let her go, he kept ahold of her hand as she guided them back to her hotel room. The whole way back, Bill couldn't stop staring at her. There was no trace of sickness, cancer, or weakness. She was the happiest and most energetic he'd ever seen as they reveled in the joy of being reunited. He couldn't resist pulling her to him for quick pecks, and the sparks flying between them were undeniable.

Once back in her hotel room neither could keep their hands off the other, needing to be close. Miraculously reunited, they happily and eagerly reconnected. Without reservation, they gave in to each other body and soul, as they claimed each other. Every time Bill felt the pulse of life within her, it fueled his conviction that no one would take her away from him.

...

Laura was dreaming again, but it had that familiar hazy quality that plagued her visions. A visceral and instinctive irritation clawed through her at experiencing this phenomenon again. Ready to lash out, Laura calmed when she turned and saw an old friend.

"Elosha," Laura said, smiling and embracing the wise-looking priestess. The woman chuckled, her wise brown eyes twinkling with knowledge, but she eagerly embraced her friend back.

Elosha led Laura over to a spot on a grassy hill. Music swirled around them; a strange melody echoed over the plane in a language from ages now long forgotten.

"You look happy," Elosha noted, nodding her approval.

Laura grinned and blushed. "I found Bill. I still can't believe it."

"Believe it, Laura. You and the Admiral have earned some happiness, don't you think? I'm proud of you for choosing to love."

Laura smiled and pulled her knees to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she let the melody wash over her. "He's worth it."

"Don't lose each other in the coming storms," Elosha warned, looking out at the distant horizon.

Laura's gaze snapped to her. Alarm prickled her skin, but the priestess held up a hand to stop the onslaught of questions. Laura had to bite her tongue to keep quiet and listen, but the thought of losing Bill again had her wanting to vehemently demand answers.

"I can't tell you everything, my friend. I can try to help," Elosha's voice was soothing like warm honey, and it took the edge off Laura's nerves. "Time was reset, as you've seen. This was done by the one the Sacred Scrolls called the jealous god," Elosha turned to look at Laura.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will."

"Can we change the future?"

Elisha cocked her head to the side as if deep in thought before responding. "Well, it's not written in stone."

"Will there be others who remember?"

"Oh, I think so," Elosha nodded. On the brink of asking more questions, the world around Laura blurred and faded. As usual with her visions, she awoke feeling as if she'd only been given half a message. Instead of answers, she had more questions.

...

Laura opened her eyes, but instead of feeling panicked, she was immediately soothed by the warm arm draped around her side. Bill, she smiled. Despite her dream, she felt safe and warm and happy. Waking up a little more, she felt Bill's fingers tracing soft patterns on her back. She wondered if he'd managed to get any rest. She glanced at the clock—early morning.

"You should try and sleep" she admonished gently in a tired rasp.

"Lot on my mind."

They'd been alternating between talking, sleeping, and lovemaking. In fact, she'd been practically half-conscious for most of the night and only recently fell asleep.

"Anything you wanna share?" she asked. Bill gently rolled her over onto her back and kissed her. Frakking instead of talking—they'd tried that once or twice before. She'd allow it right now. They had time. Besides, she understood his desire to be physically connected.

"I don't want to wake and learn this all was a dream," he admitted, looking down at the vision of her underneath him. His fingers intertwined with hers, resting on each side of her head while that autumn hair of hers cascaded everywhere.

"It's not," she promised, thinking of her dream. Dream Elsoha hadn't led her astray yet.

"I love you, Laura," he said. She trembled under the weight of such honesty but also flew free. Bill Adama baring his soul wasn't a light thing. "I can't lose you."

Love was the ultimate vulnerability. Cancer and the apocalypse had stripped them of all pretense, and Bill could finally admit that it was he himself who needed Laura.

"I know, Bill," she whispered against his lips while wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him to her. They stayed still for a moment as Laura continued speaking. "We haven't come back to the promise of a charmed life protected from all pain. But we've been allowed to come back. And we have each other. Perhaps we can do some good. What more can we ask?" They might never know how or why they'd been reunited in the past, but both of them were clearly overjoyed at the chance to be together. And if another apocalypse was coming, they had the chance to try to stop it.

...

Cavil's mind spun with plots and plans. The greatest weapon the Cylons now had was his knowledge of the future. Future success would rely on him turning that knowledge into a weapon; a sharp and brutal weapon he'd bring great joy in using.

As he reviewed the previous timeline, he realized the greatest failure he'd been guilty of was consistently underestimating humanity.

His greatest desire was to destroy humanity's will to survive. Now that thought brought a sadistic smirk to his face—the spark of being "alive" and not just existing. His Cylon mother's greatest goal had been to give her creations that same spark. He'd destroy that spark in humanity.