This was the restricted section of the Picon Fleet Headquarters. One didn't roam these halls without being invited to do so. There were no civilians, and only a few fleeters in these corridors. These concrete walls held meetings for special operations, darker missions. The atmosphere was appropriate for such meetings; the few windows didn't let in much light.

Bill Adama had to pass two different security checkpoints to be allowed access to this invite-only section of headquarters. This, of course, was easy for him. His military credentials were in the system, and a quick thumb scan proved who he was. He strode through hallways decorated with framed photos of different viper models, old admirals, and squadron insignias. Some of the paraphernalia was even interesting enough to catch the Old Man's attention.

It was easy for Adama to find the office to which he'd been summoned. He knocked on the hardwood door and entered when bid. When he saw the faces of the admirals, and who was present, his spirits sank. Admiral Peter Corman stood behind an oak desk in a dimly lit office, flanked by fellow admirals on either side. All three were grave faced and stern looking. These were the old men of the Colonial Fleet who the people of the Colonies considered alarmists. Even colonial servicemen called them warmongers; they were always talking about the coming war. The government, including President Adar, once demeaned them as fearful old men. But things were changing.

Adama saluted, crisp and formal, as he was expected and dropped it when it was time. Military rituals must be observed.

"Sirs," he greeted sharply. As he scrutinized the admirals, he noticed the faint smell of cigars and paper which hung in the air. This was the office of a man who shut himself in there for long periods of time, pouring over reports and occasionally allowing himself a stogie. Corman waved Adama over to a waiting chair, and the men all took their seats. Bill clasped his hands tightly in his lap and kept his body still, giving nothing away. The sense of foreboding weighed heavily on Bill's shoulders at what was coming. He rose above those feelings.

"Commander Adama," Corman greeted. They regarded each other for a moment; the traditional rituals of men sizing each other up must also be observed. Admiral Corman noted the sober and somber military commander before him and was pleased it seemed to match the descriptions in the reports and files he'd been given. They'd searched for a commander who was loyal, patriotic, and hard enough to take this mission.

"Commander, understand that this meeting never took place. There will be no record of this conversation, and no official orders will be made in writing," Corman spoke, keeping his voice level but intense. Adama kept his own expression schooled, giving nothing away. His discipline allowed none of the admirals to read what the Commander might be thinking. "Is that a problem?" Corman pushed.

"No sir," Adama immediately replied. After all, he knew what was coming and was only surprised at how early in the timeline it was happening. At one point he thought he'd refuse this mission if it was offered to him again. The burning shame he had once felt as a result of the botched operation had been enough for him to try and resign his commission. This time though the Cylons had stuck first. Cavil and centurions had kidnapped his wife and, in that act, had broken the peace.

"It appears the government has come to share our concerns over the possibility of another Cylon War. There will be some changes in the fleet, and we have a new Secretary of Defense who will be helping us prepare," the meeting began.

All this has happened before, and all this will happen again. Last time he met with these men they were giving him the mission because the government did not seem at all concerned with the Cylons. This was the same result even with opposite circumstances. Somehow, that thought made him uncomfortable. What end results might be inevitable despite their attempts at subversion?

"Do you believe the Cylons are still a threat? That a war is coming?" the admiral to the side asked. His narrowed brown eyes bored into Adama's. Bill knew he was being judged.

"Yes," he admitted with ease. He had always believed the Cylons were a threat, only temporarily vanished after the first Cylon War had ended.

"Do you want to do something about it?" Corman asked. It was one of those split seconds which were stretched into an eternity in Adama's mind. Preventing the apocalypse was what he and Laura had been doing for years. But, had this mission once helped cause those attacks?

"Of course," he said. The Cylons had already struck first, he repeated to himself.

The old men had looks of grim satisfaction at his reply. Corman nodded and continued speaking, outlining the parameters for the meeting.

Over the next hour the details of his mission were laid out. Corman kept eyeing Adama, but the Commander seemed neither shocked nor opposed to the mission. It impressed him. So did Adama's suggestion to use carbon composite material to coat the outside. The ships would be truly invisible on DRADIS, and the admirals made a note to pass that tip along to the building teams. Adama wondered if that little tidbit he'd picked up from the future would make the mission a success.

There was every reason to believe the stealth mission could work this time. The carbon composite had allowed the Blackbird to park right next to a resurrection ship, and the Cylons hadn't seen it.

"We may never have this opportunity again. I'm assuming you appreciate the consequences if you're discovered. And you understand commander, that his conversation didn't happen. Are you prepared for this?" Corman asked, needing to be sure.

A mission cloaked in gray morality and secrecy, but there was a war coming. The fact was that they needed intelligence. The pragmatic reality always seemed to fight against one's ability to make a morally right choice.

"Yes sir."

...

The couple walked together along a stretch of beach, Laura carrying her heels in her free hand. The taste of salt hung in the air, and the seagulls cawed noisily overhead while Zak and Liam searched for shells ahead of them. Lee was gone; he'd run off to celebrate with the other graduates. The boys were completely engrossed in their quest and didn't notice the subdued mood of their parents.

"Do you want to take off your shoes and play in the sand too?" Laura teased, trying to get him to smile. He didn't respond. "Bill?" she prompted, tilting her head to the side and regarding her brooding husband. It was a delicate balance, knowing when to give him space and knowing when to push. "It's that mission isn't it? The black ops one. They want you to go across the armistice line."

"Yea," he quietly admitted.

"All this has happened before, and all this will happen again," she whispered, shuddering so hard it seemed to shake her entire body. "What have we done Bill? It seems like we've sent the Colonies down the path that can only lead to war. Even if the attacks don't happen, are the Cylons going to ignore Richard building up the military?" she asked, shaking her head. She pressed closer to her husband as thoughts jangled around in her head.

"I don't know, Laura," he admitted. "We try and remember the things which are different. You and I. Zak. Remember when he told us that he didn't want to be a pilot?" He asked, and Laura smiled thinking of that conversation at the dinner table. Zak had been eyeing his father nervously all afternoon in preparation. He really wasn't sure what his father's reaction would be, but Bill was relieved.

"I'll admit I was shocked when he said he wanted to be a medic like Jack. The damn doctor was so pleased with himself when he heard," Laura laughed, smiling at the memory.

"Price we pay for letting the man come around for dinner so often," Bill muttered, unsure about how Zak wanting to follow in the footsteps of a grouchy, chain smoking, irritable, and grumpy medic made him feel.

"Bill, are you considering taking the mission?" Laura asked flat out. He sighed, although he did appreciate her straightforwardness. She wasn't one to beat about the bush, and he appreciated that. However, the boys chose that moment to approach them to show them their treasures.

"Talk later?" Bill whispered, and Laura nodded.

...

Later, the Adamas relaxed in their hotel suite. Laura had told Bill, in no uncertain terms, she was not flying late at night back to Caprica. Between the graduation ceremony and his meeting, they'd had a long day. Liam was still young enough that he didn't do well on long flights after long days; none of them wanted to face grumpy Liam. Laura also made it clear that she wouldn't be happy with waiting several more hours to be alone with her husband.

The boys had their own room in the suite, and they were settling down to watch a movie. Laura returned to her room after checking on them, closing the door behind her. Even though the lights were off, she immediately saw Bill sitting in a chair by the window. He had a faraway look in his eyes and seemed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He'd abandoned his uniform jacket, just resting in his tanks. The streetlights shining through the window reflected off the silver dog tags that he never took off, even when home. Leaving the lights off, Laura slipped over and gently began to try and massage some of the stress away from his tense muscles. She stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak when he was ready.

"What have we become, Laura? Have we grown too soft?" he asked. His voice was even deeper than usual, and there was a grave tone to it. Her hands continued working over the knots she felt, and her mind reflected on what he asked.

"We've been happy, not soft. That's all."

"The man I was when we first met wouldn't hesitate to take this mission," he countered.

Laura frowned at his words. She remembered the people they were when they'd first met. She'd been naive and idealistic while he'd been abrupt, difficult, and hardheaded. They had been proud and stubborn (although maybe that hadn't changed). Laura remembered them as they were when they first met; the days when they could barely tolerate each other, when they didn't like each other.

"Do you really want to be that man again? Is that the father you want to be to Liam? The husband you want to be to me? You've changed. We've both changed for the better. So fine, maybe we are softer. I know I am, but I know that's a good, good thing. It wasn't good how harsh and hard I became," she whispered.

"You're right," he grumbled, and Laura smiled at his admission. "I don't want to be that man again, but I also have to be a good soldier. I can't be weak." Laura started to understand where her husband was coming from. The need to be a warrior drove him, and if there was something that caused him to doubt that ability, it rattled him.

"No one would call you soft," she assured him. Laura continued her ministrations, feeling the muscles along his neck and down his arms slowly relax. He had certainly never stopped being a man of intense control and could only be this unguarded with her. "You certainly haven't gotten weaker just because you question orders. And please don't insult me by saying that a life with me has caused you to become weak." Bill caught the note of warning in her tone, but knew it was fair. "You've always been strong. A strong and good man," she said, and her voice was warm and filled with sincerity.

"I've never second-guessed accepting orders like this." he said; he'd been second guessing saying yes to Corman all afternoon. Crossing the armistice line was, no matter how noble, a breach of the treaty. An act of war.

"I don't know what the right choice is here for you. Just be sure of what you're doing. Because I remember when you came to my office with that resignation of yours and so much regret in your eyes. Is it wrong of me to not want you to have that burden?" she asked, dropping her hands from his shoulders to come around and stand in front of him. Her head tilted to the side as she watched him.

"It's a lot to think about."

"Yes, it is," she said softly and moved to sit on his lap. She traced feather light touches up his bare arms, following the lines of muscle there. She looked into his eyes. "I'm here to talk if you need. We share our burdens."

He rested his hands on her hips holding her steady on his lap, captivated by the tender, sincere smile she was giving him. His heart and body felt soothed by her attention. They took care of each other. She knew what he needed and gave it to him willingly; he felt a rush of warmth and affection for her.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked with a small smile. Grinning, she leaned in and kissed him, winding her arms around his neck. It was tender and loving. When she pulled back her green eyes found his.

"You loved me." He rested his head against her forehead, amazed that it was really that simple.

….

Space called her husband back to its darkness, and Lee was now posted to the Battlestar Chimera. The Valkyrie remained close to Caprica while they ran combat drills. The military, following Adar and Hector's orders, were building several stealth ships, and Bill's chosen pilots for the ships were training. They weren't supposed to be caught, but these drills aboard her husband's warship helped everyone to be prepared for the worst-case scenario. His proximity meant he was home a lot, but not that evening.

Laura was home curled up on the couch while looking over the initial Cylon War Museum proposal she'd been sent. This was it. This was the start of the museum which in her timeline had become the museum aboard Galactica. It was a project that had spanned years of her life. The document was light as a feather but heavy as a brick all at once in her hands, and it felt like she'd read it dozens of times.

All this has happened before, and all this will happen again. The words echoed in her mind. Suddenly someone knocked on the door causing her to jump, and her thoughts stilled for a moment. Laura knew her security detail wouldn't even allow anyone to touch the door unless they were a trusted person, so she pulled herself to her feet and answered.

"Kara...you have a key. Why are you knocking?" she asked, seeing who it was after opening the door. Frowning, she ushered the young blonde in. Kara was out of uniform, wearing a red T-shirt and jeans. It would have made her look surprisingly young, if there wasn't such a sad look in her eyes.

"Didn't know if I'd be welcome," she said honestly with a shrug. She alternated between looking Laura in the eyes and then down at her toes. The two sides of Kara Thrace were on display; the cocky confident viper pilot and the emotionally vulnerable woman. "I know the Old Man and Lee aren't here. But I didn't know where else to go," she admitted quietly. She usually only visited when at least one of the two Adamas she was close to were also present.

"You're always welcome here no matter what," Laura calmly assured Kara as she closed the door and flipped the lock. "What's going on?"

"My...my mom threw me out. We had an argument. I wasn't really thinking and just...headed here," Kara replied sheepishly. She now seemed determined to look anywhere but at Laura. However, Laura slipped an arm around the girl and guided her into the living room

"Your mother threw you out?" she asked in disbelief as they sat down on the couch.

"She's...it's complicated," Kara sighed. She hated the summer months, when there was a break in training. She usually had to go home, but that meant spending time with Socrata Thrace. But until Kara graduated and started getting a Fleet paycheck she was trapped at home. The younger woman was not forthcoming on any of this though, and simply stared silently at the papers strewn on the coffee table.

"Alright…" It was turning into an awkward and stilted conversation. The two women had not spent much time alone together, and what time they had passed with just the two of them usually involved a gun, a practice range, and avoiding a lot of memories.

"I don't want to talk about it," Kara snapped, feeling Laura's enquiring gaze on her. She knew the older woman was trying to read her, and, for some reason, that irked her.

"Alright. Why don't we talk about why you're uncomfortable coming here because it was just me home," Laura offered, calmly folding her hands in her lap. Instinct told Laura that it was time to rip the useless Band-Aid off whatever wounds were between them and try to treat the damage. Clearly, there were still plenty of figurative cuts and bruises between them.

"Because," Kara replied. Apparently, this conversation was going to be more difficult than herding cats. Laura folded her arms and snorted.

"Eloquent. You want to try and do a little better?"

"Why are you always so pushy?" Kara hissed, lashing out.

"Because sometimes you need a good push," Laura replied calmly. "Now, why did you second guess coming here when you know that you are welcome." The atmosphere practically crackled between the two women. Kara's desperation had driven her here, but she was wondering if that had been a mistake. The two of them were like a tinderbox, and Laura was throwing a match on it.

"You don't actually like me. You tolerate me because the Old Man calls me his daughter, and because I'm someone who remembers," Kara replied, and her voice wasn't angry or even accusatory, just resigned. Her words were spoken softly as if revealing a long-kept secret. She felt waves of heat pulse through her body, and she raked her fingers through the wild blond locks falling around her face.

"He loves you, that's true. But you're also making a lot of assumptions," Laura said, and she kept her gaze steady on Kara. She noticed the fidgetiness of the usually brash viper jock, and the way she kept swallowing. It was clear she'd been upset when she arrived, and her moodiness was only deepening.

"Why wouldn't you? I told you once that I wished I hated you."

"Do you hate me, Kara?"

"I…no…" Kara sighed. "I don't." She slumped on the couch, dropping her head on the back of the cushions. It was how a popped balloon might feel.

"I don't always like the choices you make and the crap you pull. But I do care about you," Laura said in her unique mix of warmth and cold honesty. "I think we both had a lot happen to both of us and between us. We never dealt with it."

"No. No, we didn't." Starbuck snorted; there was lingering bad blood between them. Neither could deny that. But there was also something pulling them together. "Why don't you hate me?" Kara suddenly asked, looking up at the ceiling. She'd grown very still after melting into the couch.

"We could ask questions like that for an eternity. Why? Why don't I hate you? Or Lee? Caprica? Gaeta? Sometimes, I even wonder how Bill didn't grow to hate me," Laura said. It was a train of thought she rarely pursued; how different things could have been. He could have grown to hate her; after all, they hadn't liked each other at first. He saw her as an uppity schoolteacher who became President (and technically outranked him). She had used his children, despite her good intentions, to betray him. She'd abandoned him and settled on New Caprica. There was the whole Hera debacle. She'd allowed him to get close, knowing her time was short. They'd had to deal with those issues in the first year of their marriage. The guilt. The tension. "Everyone had reasons to hate each other, but you make a choice" Laura said, and noticed Kara looking at her thoughtfully.

"There were a lot of hard times," Kara huffed, folding her arms.

"Yes. Especially between us. So, come on," Laura ordered, standing and motioning for Kara to follow. In the time Kara had awoken there had been a never-ending stream of comments, remarks, and snark between the two women that touched on the history between them. However, for far too long neither woman had bitten the bullet and dragged the dragon that was their past out of its hiding place. With the past catching up to them, Laura knew it was finally time. This talk was happening.

Kara frowned and watched as Laura moved off. With a huff, she pulled herself to her feet and trailed along behind. They moved to the kitchen where Laura began retrieving the necessary items.

"Let's clear the air," Laura said.

"Clear the air? What we gonna sit down and duke it all out?" she asked. Her sarcasm, the classic Starbuck response to a dangerous situation, rang through the air. Laura rolled her eyes at the girl's predictability. She turned to Kara with a bottle of wine in one hand and two of her and Bill's special cigars in the other. At the sight Kara made a strange sound between a snort, huff, and a laugh.

"Come on. I don't do this often, but this could be a messy conversation. We might as well try and relax," Laura offered. If a night of booze and weed could change the relationship between her and Bill (a man she considered more stubborn than Kara), maybe it could do the trick again. Kara was just lucky she'd shown up late enough at night that Liam was already in bed; Laura would never do this if her boy was awake.

"The prim and proper Madame Secretary has the goods? Alright, color me intrigued," Kara grinned despite her moodiness. She found herself genuinely intrigued by this proposed experience, and she very rarely turned down either a cigar, booze, or a night to remember.

"I'm full of surprises, Kara Thrace. Remember that," Laura warned. The women slipped out onto the back patio. Under the stars the wine was uncorked and the stogies lit. They didn't speak right away; neither felt the need to rush their talk. When they first began a few comments about the wine and cigars were exchanged. When they both felt pleasantly enveloped in the embrace of wine and stogie, it was time to go. Laura, whose only weapon had often been words, fired first, offering to let Kara fire at will.

Kara took a swig from the bottle of wine. Somehow, it seemed fitting that they'd foregone glasses for this chat. It kept the conversation more down to the ground. Wine brings forth truth, and Kara let the words tumble out of her mouth.

"Kobol. Why me? Was I easier to manipulate?" Kara was impressed that she only sounded moderately bitter.

"No. It was clear right away that you were the best pilot and incredibly resourceful. It came down to who was the best person for the job," Laura replied matter-of-factly and shrugged. Truth was truth. She accepted the bottle Kara handed her and took a drink herself. If there was one thing Kara was sure of, it was her own abilities. She was the best pilot. That was true. She was resourceful. That was true. Kara accepted the point and moved on.

"What about Lee? You gave him a nickname! Gave him attention. Made him feel special, and he turned against his own father for you. Were you only manipulating him into doing what you wanted," Kara asked. Laura snorted at that. If she had such control over Lee, there were a few things that would have worked out differently, she thought. She chuckled mirthlessly, thinking of her old Captain Apollo, and took another drink.

"He was special; he was the first person on Galactica to be kind to me. He was the only one to respect me as President right away. And for the record, I didn't ask him to mutiny on Colonial One. In fact, I surrendered because I didn't want blood on his hands."

"I didn't realize that."

"Neither did he I think." They were quiet again, both looking up into the stars. Smoke swirled in the air around them.

"You didn't rig the election," Kara suddenly said. She'd heard the rumors that Madame President had plotted to seal the election from the frakweasel. Laura nodded slowly. New Caprica is where a lot of Kara's problems came from, and where a lot of her own problems came from. They sat back and slowly unpacked the mess that mud-ball of a planet. They shared their grief over the dollhouse Kara was held in and the torture Laura endured. Laura wasn't irritated with Kara's misplaced blame; there was a lot the young woman had gone through. Kara was shocked at Laura's own treatment at the Cylon's hands; the President hadn't ever shared much about her time there.

"You came out of New Caprica and you at least had your man and life together," Kara sighed.

"I had a lot of broken dreams as a result of that planet," Laura's voice was sad, and a single tear trailed down her cheek at the sudden wave of emotion. She sighed and pushed those feelings away for now. New Caprica, when everything seemed possible until it was all cruelly snatched away.

"We all had broken dreams. That planet was so messed up," Kara's voice was angry. Suddenly, she was tempted to hurl the bottle of wine as far as possible.

"What else Kara?"

Kara bit her lip and looked over at the older woman. Part of her began to realize there was a lot she didn't know about the older woman, and that thought sobered her for a moment. There were secrets of her own that made her the way she was, and yet she sometimes seemed to forget that other people had pasts - the traditional mistake of a hotheaded youth.

Laura shifted in her seat, pressing her limbs closer together. The night air was starting to feel cold, and her head was starting to spin. She knew there were plenty of things Kara wanted to say, and waited.

"You didn't order a mission back to Caprica sooner," Kara finally accused. Laura nodded. She'd expected this to come up.

"I wanted to, Kara. But I had to think about the entire fleet. Do you realize how hard it was to have the fate of humanity resting on my shoulders? One wrong move and poof! There goes an entire race. I didn't want to risk pilots or ships on what sounded like a suicide mission."

"We'd taken risks before, but you wouldn't take a risk on me. You never could," she angrily flicked the soot off the end of her cigar. Kara glared up at the sky and refused to look over at Laura. Her lips were pursed and despite what she was smoking, her body tested. Laura Roslin; one of the few people who wouldn't bet on Kara Thrace, and that pissed her right off.

"It was never, never about you, Kara. It was always about trying to preserve humanity and hoping to the Gods I wouldn't make a mistake. Remember, if you made a mistake you had people to fall back on. You had your fellow pilots. You had Lee and Bill. What if I made a mistake? There was no backup for humanity. We were it, and I felt that every day. My mistakes could end humanity," Laura tried to make the girl understand.

"You took risks," Kara snapped.

"Only when there were very few viable alternatives," Laura hissed. Feeling their frustrations rise, they each took a long swig of the bottle. Carefully, Laura explained some of her choices. She didn't need Kara to agree with her but wanted to at least offer her perspective. Kara pushed back and argued but seemed to at last understood why President Roslin had made some of the choices she had. Laura sighed; there were too many impossible choices, starting with that first jump. Impossible losses right away. Cami, Laura never forgot her name.

Earth was a topic neither felt ready to talk about, and an unspoken agreement not to mention the nuclear wasteland seemed to be made between them. Earth 1.0 had been a frakked up part of their journey and neither of them had the desire to rip that old wound open.

They stayed quiet, letting the booze and smoke ease the sting of certain memories.

"I am sorry I pulled a gun on you. But I was so, so angry at you for not listening to me. For not taking a risk on me," Kara suddenly said. "The Old Man would have listened to me if you weren't there. But he'd only listen to you! It felt like you were just using him too, like how it seemed you used others. It made me angry. I knew he loved you, but I didn't realize you loved him back." Kara took a long drink out of the bottle after that, barely noticing how light it had become. She felt the blood racing through her veins as the words were released from her throat.

"That's a bit harsh," Laura murmured, momentarily stunned by Kara's words. "We are private people…"

"I remember when you two started making out in that airlock and none of us knew what to do." Kara snorted, teasing her. The alcohol had firmly taken hold of her, making her moods shift more fluidly and rapidly. "How did you make it work? I can't seem to have any long-term relationship without screwing it up."

"We made a choice. And it takes work. Neither of us are the easiest people to get along with, but we make the effort to be fair to each other and our marriage," Laura's said, fighting her own instinct to tell Kara to mind her own business. But that would accomplish little. So, she answered the question, and then took a long drag.

"Wish I could do that, but I'm nearly impossible to get along with," Kara said with how own dark sense of self awareness. However, she said it like it was a badge of honor. If people couldn't see past her attitude that was their problem, and that was always how Kara had felt. "And, anyone who claimed to love me had a nasty habit of turning up dead or miserable."

"I think, at heart, you know that's not entirely true. You've gotten in the habit of thinking about yourself in a certain way, but you need to decide if that's really who you want to be. This is a second chance. You gotta decide what you really want."

Kara frowned, but slowly nodded. They were both feeling languid now in their movements. The wine and smokes had done their work, and the women had been able to talk instead of killing each other. Neither was aware of the time that was passing, but they let longs moments of silence pass. It was comfortable enough ironically. The decision to be honest had left them surprisingly at ease.

"My turn?" Laura asked when Kara hadn't been forthcoming even after plenty of time had passed. There were still things Kara felt like she needed to say, but some of the most important pieces were out in the open now. They'd reached tentative understandings. Kara shrugged and nodded.

"Are you ever going to pull a gun on me again?" Laura asked, and Kara gave another one of her strange sounds that was something like a snort or a laugh.

"Probably not. Won't hand you one either since I taught you how to shoot," she joked.

"Will you try and talk your problems out with me this time around? Or come to me if things are bothering you?" Laura asked. Kara might not always be her favorite person and might drive her crazy at times, but that was true about a lot of people. However, they needed to do better this time.

"Yes mom!" Laura rolled her eyes.

"You are high if you're calling me that."

"I wish I could have had a mom like you. That's the frakkin' worst. I get the Old Man as a father, but…" Kara finally realized what she was saying and shut her mouth. Wine was making her too honest, and the smokes were making her too open. Laura heard it though, and she was surprised. There was certainly an mountain of complicated feelings behind the comment, and they were now too far gone to really delve any further into it. Laura kept her response simple.

"Bill's children are my children too now. I've loved Lee and Zak like a mother."

"Are we gonna do each other's hair, have tea, and bake cupcakes together?"

"Sarcasm. Funny. The witty Kara Thrace," Laura proclaimed. She smiled and took a drink. "We might be slightly dysfunctional at times, but that's family. Saul Tigh is still my husband's best friend and brother. There's Jack Cottle playing the part of cranky old uncle to my son. Lee's my stepson. It is what it is." Laura offered and then took a last pass at her cigar. She offered the last bit of wine to Kara who downed it.

Both knew things weren't suddenly fixed between them. Too much had happened. There was the promise that things could be better though. The idea that they could move on lingered in the air. There was still an anthill of emotions and memories between them, but both were aware of it. However, the edges of resentment had been dulled between them even if nothing could ever be fully resolved. The past would always be there to rear its beautiful and ugly head, and that was true for all of those who remembered. All that had happened before would always be there for them.

….

Authors note: Ta da! Ok, this chapter makes me a little nervous because of the Kara-Laura interaction, but I think like how it turned out overall.