"President on deck," the marine guard at the door announced to the room when Laura appeared in the doorway to the briefing room on Colonial One.

The Battlestar commanders, their movements sluggish and hesitant, rose and came to attention while they studied this new President and passed judgment. Meanwhile, the civilian captains present did not know whether or not they should copy their military counterparts. One by one, they also pulled themselves to their feet as Laura Roslin moved across the room to the head of the table. What were the rules in this new dystopian society? What line kept them living like people instead of devolving into packs of ravenous animals who only let the fittest and strongest survive?

"Admiral, Commanders, and Captains," Laura greeted. "Have a seat," she said, motioning to the chairs around the table, which they filled. Gone were the days of conducting the business of the Colonies at marble tables beneath vaulted ceilings. They made do with what was left. The briefing room was barren: just a simple table and chairs with little portholes giving them a view of the rag-tag fleet and the seemingly endless void the ships were trapped in.

Time to set the rules of this game. Looking at the civilians, Laura was reminded of a story she read to Liam about goblins guarding treasure hoards in their dens beneath the earth. Captains shifted in their seats, nervous and calculating.

The Battlestar commanders were also eyeing her warily in the same way they might eye a thermonuclear bomb. Laura wasn't foolish; she knew they saw her as a liability, a novice commander-in-chief who could easily get them all killed. It suddenly hit her like a physical tidal wave how much Bill's sense of honor and protocol had once kept her alive. His presence at her right was probably keeping her alive again. It only took one bullet and the last legitimate successor to the presidency of the Twelve Colonies would be gone. Martial law would be easy to declare. Welcome, even. For a time. Laura took a deep breath.

"Is everyone introduced, or do you need…"

"We don't need to go around and say our names like we're in kindergarten," Commander Dagon growled. Here come the kindergarten teacher jokes, Laura noted with a raised eyebrow. Right on time. Laura decided to suppress her taunts at how predictably droll the military was. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted her husband remained impassive beside her. Then again, he'd been stoic and aloof since she'd told him about the baby. Fine, she could fight her own battles.

"Although, if you're behind, Ms. Roslin…"

"Thank you, Commander Dagon," she cut him off and smiled at the older soldier. He was tall with ice-blond hair speckled with grey, and his eyes were an intense grey like ashes and smoke. Laura met his fierce gaze with her own, showing no weakness. Satisfied he got the message, she moved on. "Welcome, Commanders Pertinax and Skold," she greeted, nodding to each of the other commanders in turn. She sat tall at the head of the table, a figure of polish and calm. She was a soldier fighting on her home turf and armed with all the confidence familiarity provided. This was a battle; Laura knew that: the beginning of a war of the wills. She refused to lose. The survival of humanity was at stake. She needed to rally the troops and become their leader again, turn them into a cohesive unit, and keep the fleet from tearing each other apart.

"And, of course, you know Admiral Adama," Dagon added, a sneer playing at the corner of his lips.

"I do know my husband, thank you," Laura replied, and a few civilians chuckled. Refusing to let Dagon get a rise out of her, she took a moment to introduce those civilian ships captains present—ten captains randomly chosen from the surviving fleet. They would form an interim Captain's Council until she could establish the Quorum of Twelve once more. Although in this future, she'd keep the Council of Ship's Captains as a second governing body alongside the Quorum—an idea inspired by her old Captain Apollo. She jumped straight to business.

"There are some issues critical to the immediate survival of the fleet," Laura began, putting a hefty dose of authority in her tone.

"Supplies and repairs."

"And who determines needs and priorities?"

"As President, I do. My office will work with the Admiral to ensure both civilian and military needs are met," Laura asserted. Then she met Dagon's narrowing gaze. "But seeing as we are on the run for our lives, and I've been President for less than a week, forgive me if there isn't a perfect system right away," she said. It never hurt to remind people of a little concept called 'realistic expectations.'

"Repairs are a problem. The military can spare some technicians, but it's not enough to repair every ship in the fleet. We can't keep jumping with so many reported problems with hull integrity and FTL computers," Adama reported, shifting the conversation.

Immediately, all the civilian captains argued and protested, making cases about why their ships had priority over other ships. In a second, they'd whipped each other up into a frenzied tornado, hurdling words at each other over the table. Two civilians were pointing and jabbing at each other. Dagon was snarling at a civilian who was shriveling up in their seat. Another civilian captain accused the military of hoarding personnel as well as supplies. Laura watched Bill pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration while she shivered. Space was cold, and she was still trying to get used to not feeling truly warm anymore. No more Caprican sunshine. No more summer breeze. Just this. Laura braced her hands on the table and stood.

"That's enough!" Her tone packed a powerful punch, and the assembly fell quiet.

"I have a solution," Captain Wilkens spoke up. This caught the attention of everyone present. He grinned. "The prisoners aboard my ship, the Astral Queen," Laura fell back into her chair, as if physically shoved back. "Most of them were used to help with the heavy labor the fleet required the past few years. All those retrofits. A lot of good that did."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" Pertinax growled.

"But look at what's left. The military was supposed to protect us," a civilian captain shot back.

"That's enough," Laura snapped. "Remember the Cylons are our real enemy."

"That's funny. It was the government who tried to make peace with that enemy," Dagon said, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest.

"That's not helpful right now," Adama growled, shooting a warning look toward his subordinate.

"Anyway, the prisoners know their way around heavy machinery and equipment. They can team up with your personnel to help with repairs," Captain Wilkens offered. Laura felt her stomach knot and she swallowed hard. In her lap, her hands shook. Zarek. Zarek free. A free man who did not mind blood on his hands. A man who was capable of ripping the fleet apart. Memories of her old adversary came rushing back, but before Laura could force them into a coherent objection against the prisoners' release, Pertinax was speaking.

"People who want to stay in the fleet should make themselves useful."

"I know the men. Offer them freedom in exchange for their services. They'll agree to those terms."

"These are dangerous men," Laura cautioned in a low voice. She still had nightmares of the mutiny, of Zarek's voice breaking her heart. He could become a one man horror show if she wasn't careful, leaving a trail of corpses along his path to creating a 'better world.'

"Men who were on their way to parole hearings. Most are ready to be released," Wilkens countered.

"Can't you handle some malcontents in your fleet, Madame President?" Dagon asked, using her title as a taunt. The group turned and looked at her, waiting to see a crack in her resolve or a slip in her authority. Weakness would lead to her getting removed along with Adama when he tried to protect her. It hit her how much they were a package deal. That was dangerous.

"We have survivors from all walks of life. Realistically, it's going to take time before things settle down and releasing these men could cause that process to take longer."

"We could vote. If this is still a democracy?" Wilkens said, and Laura felt as though her hands were tied behind her back. Democracy would mean the people made mistakes, but she knew accusations of dictatorship and monarchy would always be on the horizon. She and Bill had almost complete control of the fleet between the two of them—lawfully attained, but what was the law in a refugee fleet?

"Military doesn't get to run on a democracy," Adama said, attempting to counter the proposal.

"But we're civilians," the captain of the Rising Star fired back.

"Fine. Vote. But be aware of the dangers this solution presents to the fleet," Laura said, letting democracy win. At least this solution would also deal with their repair problem. One problem at a time, Laura thought. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband giving her a hard look.

They voted to release the prisoners in exchange for their help. Laura felt her heart hammering in her chest at the thought of Zarek being free once again. Every muscle felt tight like her body wanted to spring into action despite being trapped at the table. Her instinct screamed at her to eliminate Zarek before he hurt the people she loved.

"Riots are still a problem. Some captains are hoarding supplies," the captain of a smaller freighter said with an angry glare toward the captain of the Rising Star.

"For now, marines can be sent in to break up the riots and set up supply chains," Adama offered.

"That will work until we establish a civilian fleet security," Laura said, and Adama's eyes snapped to her. They hadn't spoken about this.

"Civilian fleet security?" he asked. "That won't be necessary." The other commanders and captains looked between the two of them warily. With their precarious situation, Bill bristled against trusting anyone not under his command. Was it because of Laura's old stories about New Caprica's police? Perhaps it was that Tom Zarek often advocated for such a force—and who could trust any idea from Zarek. Maybe he was just feeling argumentative. Either way, he could be trusted with security, especially with the safety of the newest addition to their family constantly on his mind.

Laura ignored him and turned to other matters of importance to the fleet. They continued the discussion until several issues were resolved. The commanders made their way back to their Battlestars and the captains to their ships. Laura turned to her aide.

"Billy, you know what's at stake with Astral Queen and Zarek. You know the danger. Set up a process to transfer the Astral Queen to the prisoners' control and put their crew to work in the fleet. This time I'd rather not have any hostages taken. And leave Captain Adama out of this," Laura said to her aide. She turned to her husband. "I'd like a word, Admiral." At her tone, Billy scurried away.

Adama noted how easy it was to read when Laura was angry. Her face flushed and the air around her crackled with energy. Her eyes blazed. Laura herself, despite the tightly contained fire, became polite. She now smiled at her opponent but it didn't reach her eyes. Chin tilted up, she dared him to defy her.

"Don't you dare undermine me in the middle of a governing session."

"You cannot seriously think I will trust the safety of the fleet to a civilian police force!"

"Crimes, riots, and disorder. It's only going to get worse unless something is done to maintain the peace. There are enough people out there to form one of the larger cities on Caprica. Cities have a police force."

"The marines can keep the peace," Adama said as if that alone settled the matter.

"Like they did on the Gideon?" Laura asked, referring to the Gideon massacre when Galactica's marines shot into a crowd killing unarmed civilians. Bringing the incident up was still a sore spot, but Laura was not going to pull her punches when the safety of the fleet was at stake.

"They'll be under my command," Adama growled, his voice low and dangerous, this time daring her to defy him. Laura's smile tightened.

"We need a civilian force answerable to the Quorum of Twelve and dedicated to nothing but internal security. We can't start looking like a military dictatorship."

"'Scuse me?"

"'There's a reason you separate the military and the police. One fights the enemies of the state. The other serves and protects the people. When the military becomes both, then the enemies of the state tend to become the people.' You were right you know."

"Don't throw my own words back at me."

"Admiral, this is a political decision," Laura said. While she could admit to being reassured at the knowledge the deployed marines would be under Adama's steady and fair command, they alone were not enough. She looked at her husband and took a deep breath. "And I've made it." Her words were soft but firm. She turned and gathered up her papers.

"You're making a lot of decisions without taking my opinion into account," Bill said, and Laura knew he was commenting on the baby as well. She'd made the decision to keep it despite knowing the risk it put her in. She'd made her decision knowing it might leave Bill without her.

"I have to do what I think is best," she said, refusing to look at him.

"Then you must be happy to be back in power again."

Laura's fists clenched. "Have you ever accepted that I might be the right person for this job because I can actually do the job and not just because I'm the lesser of many evils or was in the right place at the right time?" she snapped, realizing she was practically yelling at him by the end. She shook her head and folded her arms. "You've seen me at my weakest, but I'm not that person anymore. You are going to have to get used to sharing power again."

Silence stretched like cold space between them. What was there left to be said, he wondered. Turning on his heels to leave, Adama did not want to admit that she was right.

A heavy feeling settled over Laura as she watched him go before turning and walking to one of the portholes. The fleet was spread out before her, many more ships than last time, but it was still only a small fraction of the once-mighty Colonies. Protecting what remained of humanity was her mission, what she knew her purpose to be. Those who refuse to remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Knowledge and the humility to recognize when we are wrong and need to grow will set us free. At least, Laura hoped so. Implement better policies. Faster. Quicker. Make better choices. She knew she could be a better leader; she felt she owed it to the people she once had failed.

Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against the wall. Danger was everywhere. She was under no illusion that Dagon wouldn't mind putting a bullet between her eyes. Would he hesitate if he knew about the miracle she had growing inside her? Possibly. But if people learned about her child too soon, she'd lose control of the fleet; they, especially the military commanders, would see it as weakness. She and Bill couldn't be seen as weak right now. The fleet had a better chance of survival with them leading it. Didn't it? Her thoughts rattled around in her head. Was it her arrogance talking or her pragmatism?

Opening her eyes she looked out at the array of ships again. Either way, there was work to be done. Straightening, she turned and moved toward her office on Colonial One where she had a mountain of work waiting for her.

…

Doral moved through the Cylon Basestar fighting the lingering fog resurrection had plunged his mind into. A pair of Colonial marines had finally found him and dragged him out of his hiding spot on Galactica. They'd hauled him through the corridors, kicking and struggling. In the end, he found himself thrown into one of Galactica's airlocks.

Fear traveled through his veins, but before it reddened his facial skin, Doral turned the emotion off. As a result, his eyes remained steady, as if looking at the clouds. He turned to face the control booth. There they were. He knew they're not who humanity would have chosen for their champions. The two figures were older than fickle humans usually prefer, and they looked tired. Doral could still see the hard resolution in their gazes; it was a mistake to cross them. He knew it was on their orders he was in that airlock. The woman had stepped forward, her voice transmitted through the mic.

"This conflict between our peoples doesn't have to continue," Roslin's voice was warm and soft, and Doral thought of a coiled snake. "It can stop. Tell your people to leave us in peace. If they don't, we will defend ourselves." Doral smiled at her, knowing he wasn't hiding any of the contempt he felt for humanity. Roslin seemed to understand his response. He remembered watching her signal the marine next to her who pressed a button. For a moment Doral's body rushed down a metal tube, then his lungs were on fire before he felt ice gripping and invading his body.

Then he woke up in a bath of goo. Resurrection was an awful and disgusting process. None of the Cylons enjoyed it.

He entered the command center of the Basestar, greeting his fellow Cylon models. His eyes were drawn to Leoben, dressed in sloppy shirts and pants. He looked as if he'd spent another long night at the Hybrid's side. His eyes were downcast, and his shoulders slumped. Doral rolled his eyes; Leoben was a hero of the Cylon people, and his own line had heaped mountains of praise upon the Two for the work he'd done to perfect the stealth technology. They'd captured the technology from the colonials who'd crossed the armistice line. Without that technology, the Cylons never would have been able to sneak their ships and nukes so close to the Colonial Fleet.

However, with every heap of praise, Leoben only looked more distraught. Whatever, Doral thought, joining the other models at the table.

"Where did they go?" the Cavil model, always dressed in black, asked him as he took a seat at the sleek table.

"I don't know. They threw me out of an airlock before I could get their exact coordinates," Doral answered. "Septar Sector possibly. Their president said the conflict between our people doesn't have to continue."

"No. We can't let them go," his identical model, also dressed in an electric blue suit, immediately protested. Doral nodded his agreement.

"If we do, they'll return one day and seek revenge," a Six model said, her voice like silk. She reclined lazily in her chair, a small sensual smile gracing her face. Caprica Six, the other hero of the Cylons, was absent from the meeting. Adar had been putty in Caprica Six's hands: he'd completely fallen for her honey-coated promises of peace with the Cylons.

"It's in their nature," D'Anna said.

"The plan is to eradicate all of the humans," Cavil agreed. His brows were furrowed in concentration and thought. From the memories he'd managed to access from his counterpart from the future, he'd known some humans would survive. He'd ensured that the Final Five would be amongst the surviving ships. They'd have front row seats to humanity's struggle as they became a ravenous pack of dogs. Cavil grinned triumphantly; the humans would turn on each other as their resources ran out. How long until they fought each other over scraps of food and water? "In the end, none can survive."

"Don't worry. We'll find them," the youngest-looking Cylon said with a smile. An Eight.

"How is your model progressing on your little project?" D'Anna asked her.

"Sharon has made contact with Helo. They're on the move," the brunette smiled.

…

Billy Keikeya wasn't a fighter; the one time he'd tried to take a stand in a fight he'd ended up dead.

Then, in a strange plot twist, he'd found himself alive again. Alive and ready to throw a punch and start another fight. Gods. This whole situation was ridiculous, Billy thought from where he stood and stared at the scene in front of him. He'd strode into Laura's office on Colonial One, proudly coming to report how he'd dealt with Astral Queen (he'd achieved it without any hostages being taken). Zarek had even been pleasant to deal with. Billy was excited to give his report but stopped short when he saw Lee Adama standing behind Laura.

The president sat at her desk studying the papers pretty-boy had brought over, and Billy could see a photo of Dagon, copies of various fleet orders, and disciplinary notices. It was information a presidential aide should have been asked to retrieve. For one irrational moment, Billy imagined his fist connecting with Lee's face. In the next irrational moment, Billy wondered if his punch would even phase the viper jock. Probably not. Still. Depressingly, Billy wondered if Lee had swept Dee, the woman Billy had believed to be his girlfriend, so thoroughly off her feet that his memory had been pushed to the side as the other timeline had continued.

Lost in thought, he watched Laura smile up at Lee, thanking him for his work. Billy was tempted to stomp his foot and scream about how Laura was his mother figure, not Lee's. He'd taken care of her as she lay dying of cancer. He'd been her first confidante. He'd been there to watch Laura blush after first being kissed by the man she'd later marry. He'd been her son first.

Blood rushed to his face, making him flush scarlet, Billy knew he was being ridiculous. This was a new timeline, and it was just playing out differently. Objectively he already liked it much better. His sisters were alive, and Laura had told him she wasn't dying. Still, the sight of Lee, and the knowledge that he was Laura's smiling stepson, was like a bullet to Billy's heart. The presidential aide could make that comparison now, he thought with a dark sense of humor. His hands balled into fists when he remembered finding Dee on a date with Lee.

Before Billy got a chance to address the president, Liam came charging into the room. He watched Lee smile in his obnoxiously perfect way at his little brother.

"So…who gave you the kick in the ass you needed? Or did she ask you to marry her?" Liam teased gleefully. Lee's smile melted into a scowl, as the brothers faced off in another one of their verbal sparring matches. Billy stood there mildly dazed. Was Lee getting married?

"Liam," Laura scolded, but her teenage son took no notice.

"Congrats bro. I'll get you a first aid kit for your wedding night. Knowing Kara, I'm sure you'll need it."

"Liam!" Laura's voice raised, and she looked up to give Liam a warning look. Billy felt an ice bucket of relief wash over him and cool his temper - Lee was marrying Kara. They deserved each other, he decided.

Thoroughly diverted from her task at hand, Laura noticed Billy standing there. Her attention snapped her aide out of his strange reverie.

"Astral Queen has been turned over to the prisoners, and they're helping organize the work details to help repair the fleet," Billy reported. "The press is starting to assemble for their first official press conference." Laura nodded, giving her aide her full attention despite Liam and Lee going at each other behind her back. Billy realized she must be pretty used to their shenanigans. Things really had changed. He hoped.

"Ready to be presidential?" Laura asked, giving him a tired smile.

"What choice do we have?"

"There's always a choice."

"And what if our choices don't lead to better results?" Billy asked. Neither Laura nor Billy noticed the way Lee froze. Neither were aware of how the viper jock's thoughts turned to the Olympic Carrier and the Yashuman. Guilt was simmering like acid under his skin at how he'd hesitated – he hadn't shot down the escort ship and as a result, it had destroyed the Yashuman.

"Experience is a great and cruel teacher," Laura said to Billy. Lee flinched at the scathing glance Billy threw in his direction. He deserved that. For the hundredth time, he wished he didn't have the memories of the other timeline. He tried focusing on Liam, but couldn't help eavesdropping on the other two in the room.

"You know, I once lost hope for a bit," Laura admitted dropping her voice so the playful boys behind her couldn't hear. "It nearly cost me everything. Don't lose hope, Billy. You're a good boy and deserve the best."

At her soft tones, some of Billy's irritation and anger melted away.

"Thanks," he smiled at his almost-mother. He noted the time. "Let's be presidential."

They never got to the press briefing; Tigh's voice broke over the wireless ordering the fleet to Condition One.

...

Author's note: Thank you all so much for the reviews. It gives me the encouragement to keep going knowing people are enjoying the story. I love hearing what people think! If there are particular plot parts of BSG people want to see woven in, let me know.