He smelled it again, a wisp of floral scent. Lee held himself at attention, more rigid than a hard wood plank. The scent drifted through the CO's quarters and tried to lure him into relaxing into its embrace. Capricorn roses, Lee realized. The delicate smell mixed with leather, wool, and musk, but Lee refused to relax in the space. He was on the other side of the desk facing the stern face of his commanding officer and father.

"How did a potential assassin get past some of my best officers to take a shot at the president?" the elder Adama asked in a low voice. His hands were folded over the spread of papers on his desk, and he looked up at Starbuck and Apollo, his gaze demanding answers–immediately.

Lee swallowed hard and in a flat voice described how Valance circumvented the x-ray machines and kept a low profile. There had been nothing to flag him in the system as a threat other than previously being a prisoner on Astral Queen.

"How did you know he was a threat? Why did you fire first?" Adama demanded, his eyes narrowing at Lee.

Lee refused to shift from foot to foot under his father's gaze. Instead he picked a spot on the wall and stared at it. He poured all the pent-up frustration into his gaze while his muscles clenched, holding him to the spot. His jaw tensed, refusing to let his mouth open and respond. Starbuck beat him to it anyway.

"Oh, he frakkin' recognized Valance," Starbuck snapped. Waves of irritation rolled off Kara, as there had been since the realization he remembered had hit her. Kara had practically ripped his ear off with her verbal assault at his withholding of the information.

"Recognized?"

"Starbuck…" Lee warned.

"From the other timeline!"

"You remember," Adama marveled, standing and bracing his hands on his desk as he regarded his children before him. There was the briefest flash of happiness in his blue eyes. The relationship with his son had been fraught with difficulties in the other timeline, but they'd mended their relationship. He'd watched his son flounder and then grow into a man he truly was proud of. He wanted his son to remember that he'd still loved him after everything they'd endured, and knowing he'd gained those memories was a relief. But he hadn't shared that he knew. He'd left his family in danger. "You'd rather stay silent instead of warning us about Valance?!"

"I thought you'd have it taken care of," Lee ground out, still staring at his point on the wall. He wasn't going to flinch before his father.

"None of us can remember every detail from the other damn timeline!" Starbuck interrupted. "There are two lifetimes shoved in our frakkin' brains and it helps when you can rely on…"

"Starbuck," Adama warned, unwilling to let a lieutenant, even a favorite, rant out of turn. He'd called them to his office. He'd called them to attention to debrief them. "You're dismissed." He needed to have words with his son.

Kara scoffed, gave a crisp salute, and stalked out of his quarters without sparing Lee a second glance. Holding a neon sign proclaiming her irritation with Lee wouldn't have made it any clearer how truly peeved she was with her fiancé and wingman.

Lee finally tore his eyes away from the wall, and the two Adama men stared each other down. Lee felt the urge to shift from foot to foot overtake him again, but he stayed stiff and still. Heat coursed through him at their obvious judgement. It burned his blood and slammed into his chest. Still, he stood steady.

"Not telling me you remembered is bad enough. Not telling your fiancée... What were you thinking?" Adama growled at his son, the full weight of his admiralty rank behind his words. He was mad, and Lee dared not refuse.

"You all liked this Lee better. How was I supposed to tell anyone? How was I supposed to tell Kara that I remember ordering her into her bird when she wanted to be benched and that decision leading to her death. Was I supposed to come into your quarters where you're playing happy families with Laura and tell you both I remember being so angry with you that I ripped her apart on the witness stand? Things were fine like they were," Lee said, letting the angry words pour out.

He took a deep breath, the smell teasing smell of Caprican roses filling his nose. Laura's perfume, he finally realized. It mixed with his father's books, wool, and aftershave. They were all intertwined now, for better or worse.

The elder Adama stared at his son. For a rare moment, Adama was genuinely surprised at the words his son spoke and the well of emotion behind them."We moved past all that…"

"So far past it that everyone easily left me alone once we got to Earth," Lee gave a bitter laugh. "See, I remember you all leaving. I was alone on earth. And I died alone on Earth. I remember being lost and frozen cold. But, now you know, and if there isn't anything else, I request permission to be dismissed," Lee said, his eyes snapping back to his point on the wall.

It pierced his heart to know that Lee had died alone. His eldest son had always been a people person. He revelled in attention. Tortured images flashed in Bill's mind. He imagined the long period of harsh loneliness and numb frostbite his son went through. He could see Lee sitting in a fraying tent, exploring the new world having lost its appeal as the wilderness stretched before him. The state of raw abandonment would have swallowed Lee's sanity whole. His son had never liked being left alone. Adama could picture Lee, lost and alone willing to do anything to feel the radiating heat of another. He might have welcomed death knowing that he might be joining others soon.

Still, he didn't regret leaving Lee that final time. Lee didn't need to see his father succumb to the grief his love's death had brought him. Bill had broken beyond repair. He wouldn't share how when the dirt hit Laura's face, it buried his soul too. There was no coming back after that. His world became shadows and every breath felt hollow in the chest. No one would witness the depth of his pain.

Adama, shell shocked by the bomb Lee had just dropped on him and unable to find the words to comfort his son in the moment, dismissed him in a hoarse voice.

…

Boomer felt a shiver, like the sensation of someone walking over her grave. Ironic, since Cylons didn't bury their dead. Although, if someone had been inclined to bury a previous copy of her, someone could very well have walked over her grave. Creepy. These weren't the type of thoughts to have in the middle of the night. The time was o dark thirty - Galactica's graveyard shift. It was a darkened time that tried to simulate the night when very few people should be out of their bunks.

Was it her imagination or had the air stirred around her? The hairs on the back of her neck were standing as though a faint breeze had passed over her skin. Boomer looked around, uneasy.

Jittery hands smoothed imagined wrinkles out of her uniform, trying to erase any trace of her illicit encounter that someone might find. She'd done a far better job keeping her rendezvous with Chief Tyrol discreet. Away from prying eyes, they were safer. If there was no sign of fraternization, she wouldn't be forced to end their relationship. Boomer wasn't inclined to give up the man she loved.

A few deckhands prowled around the deck, gruff and irritated at landing the unfortunate shift. There was always a standby crew ready to put vipers in the sky should the death dealing Cylons decide to ruin someone's sleep, tryst, or midnight snack. A few knuckledraggers gave Boomer a passing glance as she strode by. Boomer refused to look at them, not wanting to see the knowing smirks on their faces as she put more distance between herself and the tool room.

A shiver went up her spine, and Boomer bit her lip to keep from gasping. "What's wrong with me tonight?" she asked herself. She felt her adrenaline spiking, and knew she was too restless to go back to her rack. She meandered along the hangar deck, the large area perfect for pacing and brooding.

Boomer ran her hands over the equipment and ships in her path. She felt the rough metal of a patchwork job, a sharp tool, and the dampness of spilled oil. It was a habit she'd picked up, running her hands along what she walked past. The sensations reminded her of how very alive she felt. The spilled oil made her cringe and recoil. The sharp tool made her slow down and glide carefully along the edge. The patchwork job made her smile as she imagined Galen's frown as he chided the deckhands for their poor job. He'd have done much better.

Galen was too busy with his latest toys. They'd brought the rest of the ships over from what was going to be the museum. His latest toy was the 'Wild Weasel' raptors. He was upgrading the jump capacity on the vessels. Once he was done, Sharon couldn't wait to take one for a spin.

Helo would have loved to ride shotgun with her in one.

Helo. Her silica pathways sparked his image, unbidden, into her mind. Boomer had abandoned him on Caprica again. Sharon 'Boomer' Valerii wondered if her Cylon duplicate had thoroughly tricked the poor man into falling in love and having their own assignation. Nothing like some solid emotional manipulation to build a lasting relationship, Boomer thought to herself as she circled the 'Wild Weasel' deep in thought. She wondered again what had made her sins so much greater than Athena's. Her sister was conscious of her mission and manipulation. Boomer had been programmed, forced. Her Cylon sister had married and had Hera.

Stop. Stop, Boomer ordered her mind, trying to pull the plug on the invading thoughts. They'd made their choices then and now. Boomer was able to choose her shipmates, her family. For the time being at least, Helo was gone. There was no way to know if she'd ever see her ECO again, or if Athena would get to play house again.

Boomer's own conflicted heart needed to figure out if and when she should tell Chief the truth about her Cylon nature. She wanted to build something real. That meant honesty and...

Boomer heard a faint shudder. A slight creak. She turned, looking around the hull of the raptor for who made the sound. She moved around the ship, a familiar silhouette taking shape as she moved. Boomer's heart pounded in her chest, and the rush of blood roared in her ears. Somehow, the silica pathways in her brain kept her calm enough that her fingers closed around a wrench she passed by.

"Stop!" Boomer commanded, raising the wrench.

"Hello, Sharon," a familiar voice crooned.

"How can you be here? What are you doing?" Sharon demanded, hearing the quiver of fear in her voice.

"I was sent. Maybe you can help me," Boomer's duplicate replied, staying very still. Boomer noted the bag she was holding, and grew worried at what dangerous devices might be hidden within. She pulled herself up ramrod straight and looked at her mirror image. I made my choice, she remembered. I made my choice.

"I'm a Colonial Officer now, and you are under arrest as a prisoner of war," Boomer said.

The other Sharon laughed at the words, but when Boomer didn't join her mirth, the enemy Cylon realized this wasn't a joke. The upturned corners of her mouth dropped, her brown eyes narrowed, and she gripped her bag tighter. Without warning, the enemy Cylon turned and sprang away.

Fueled by the need to protect her shipmates, Boomer launched herself forward with an extra burst of speed. They darted around ships, keeping out of the sight of the deck crews, both of them knowing two copies of one person would attract far too much attention. There was a burning in Boomer's lungs and an ache in her arm from the heavy wrench. Closing the distance between them, her hand closed around the other Sharon's hair, and she yanked the girl back. Without waiting for the Cylon duplicate to put up a fight, she brought the wrench down, slamming the metal into her head. Nothing was going to threaten her family.

The other Cylon stilled, lying unconscious on the floor. The cold reality of the situation set into Boomer's being as she realized the implications of the situation. Frak, she thought, breathing heavily as she looked down at the figure of her copy. Oh, frak.

Thinking quickly, she took off her jacket and dropped it over the face of the other Cylon, obscuring her from view. There was only one person she trusted to help her in a situation like this. One person she could rely on to help her.

…

It had been days since Laura had last seen Bill smile. The lines on his face were drawn tight. His brows were always furrowed. Even in private, there was a tension surrounding her husband, surrounding both of them really. All of the Adama family felt the strain. The rift with Lee was like a monster that had reared its ugly head and made them all wary and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Laura and Bill were handling yet another crisis facing the Fleet.

A new sickness creeped through what remained of humanity. Ship by ship, the captains reported new cases aboard their vessels. People were panicking. At first, it seemed like a minor cold or flu. Then an elderly lady aboard the Scylla died, and the death toll began. Each number Laura erased from her whiteboard hit her hard, leaving a sad ache in her chest.

The military wasn't spared. The Valkyrie had already been hit hard, and the first case had been discovered aboard Galactica, but the hardy men and women were holding on. Bill worried for his crew. He needed an enemy he could shoot down, but their lives were filled with far too many dangers his troops and planes couldn't face head on.

Laura had been horribly sick all day but proudly and stubbornly fulfilled each of the day's presidential duties and obligations before trudging home. When she still felt nauseous as the evening hours drew on, Bill, anxious and overprotective, practically dragged her to sickbay. He'd held his breath until Doc Cottle assured them in a gruff voice that she was not sick. The doctor, despite assuring them that Laura was in fact going to live, insisted on doing another thorough check-up on her and the baby. Laura's patience snapped, and both men's ears rang with her sharp, sharp rebukes about their overreacting. "Calm the neurosis, gentlemen," she ordered.

Ears still ringing, Bill looked at her with those concerned blue eyes of his. He tilted his head and held her gaze. Laura saw the stress weighing him down, the circles under his eyes. He'd been living on coffee and she could smell a trace of it in the air.

"Please, Laura," he said in a low voice, squeezing her hands in his. "I'll get you home as soon as Cottle's done."

She loved him too much to add to his worries, so she nodded her acquiescence.

After enduring the exam, Cottle, with what passed for a Cheshire grin on his face, informed them he'd almost finished the genetic profile he'd done for the miracle baby. He had wanted a full work-up done since she was an impossible child. Laura flinched when he called the baby impossible. Her foreboding flooded back into her mind. The Pythian Prophecy. Her dreams. The sense that something ugly was coming. She barely heard Cottle ask them to take a pass on airlocking him on the off chance that he was wrong, before telling them what they were having. She already knew. It was already written. Her heart still leapt when Cottle confirmed it.

The Pythian Prophecy rang in her ears at every step Bill and Laura took back to their quarters. Her body thrummed with excitement and joy, while her mind whispered dark warnings.

'And the Lords anointed two leaders to guide the Caravan of the Heavens to their new homeland…'

Laura was reminded of the time there were dark clouds over their house on Caprica. The rain poured down on them, but she'd taken toddler Liam to the window and pointed out the distant sunshine and rainbow.

As they returned to their quarters, Laura couldn't stop sneaking glances at her husband. He hadn't smiled in days, and even for a man of little expression, it was noticeable how the stern look seemed permanently carved onto his face. Even his eyes had dimmed. He often smiled only with his eyes. A little spark to let on when he was amused or happy. As the years passed, the blue depths were unable to hide any emotion from his wife of sixteen, almost seventeen years. After the appointment, Bill's eyes were alight with relief and happiness. He grinned openly with happiness.

He guided his wife gently through the hatch of their quarters, a solid hand on the small of her back. Joy surrounded him, as if his soul were soaring high.

Liam waited on the couch with his nose buried in his father's military books about the first Cylon War. The scene was a perfect blend of his parents—the love of reading, his mother's love of history, and his father's love of the military. Their son, despite his charm, sensitivity, and caring nature was determined to be a viper pilot like his Old Man. To Bill's simultaneous relief and horror, Liam was a natural in the flight simulators. He'd clearly inherited his father's flying ability and was under the direct tutelage of Starbuck, who ran him through flight training simulations when she had time. He snapped the book shut and looked up at his parents as they sat on the couch with him.

"What did Uncle Jack say?" he asked, his eyes wide.

Now in their quarters, Bill's face broke into one of his rare full-faced smiles. He couldn't help it. Laura could see how it came from deep inside, lighting his eyes and spreading to every part of him. The breath caught in Laura's throat. He was beautiful. Maybe not handsome in the classic sense, but when his grim face gave way to a full-faced smile, it was breathtaking to her. His bearing contained power and strength with more than a hint of unyielding single-mindedness (like when dragging his reluctant wife to the doctor). Here, his guard came down and she saw Bill. Laura felt privileged to see a Bill who couldn't stop smiling. Warmth and love rushed through her.

'And unto the leaders they gave a gift of new life...' the prophecy said.

"Mom, Dad?" Liam asked. A slight smile lit his face as well as if his father's grin was infectious. Perhaps it was.

"Everything is fine. Good, actually," Laura assured her son. "We have some news…"

"You're going to have a sister. Well, a younger sister. Doc says it's a girl," Bill said, his heart clearly ready to burst. A full grin spread out on Liam's face.

'A daughter as a sign of things to come…' Those words from Pythia fulfilled a decades-long dream of Bill's. He would hold his own infant daughter in his arms, and Laura knew it would be one of the happiest moments of his life.

But Pythia spoke of other moments too. It was written that there would be trials and tribulations that the people and their leaders would face. The words spoke of a time when a leader would look to the heavens and cry out for the partner taken from them. Laura knew she couldn't fight the coming fate any more than she could change the endless stars in the sky. Their life had always seemingly been building toward fulfilling the prophecy, and as Laura looked at her son and husband, she knew she would never wish this life away, come what may.

Whatever was coming, Laura let this moment of happiness warm her, as if their family's joy was a blanket she could wrap herself in. Her dreams, their dreams, the good ones, were coming true too. They were going to have a little girl with the chestnut hair of her mother's family and blue eyes from her father's. Their daughter would be a wild little thing with her mother's fire and her father's determination. Her brothers would teach her all kinds of things. Laura knew a matching smile was on her own face.

A moment of pure happiness.

'The impossible child would be born during their journey…'

Their journey. It was one crisis after another. The pandemic threatening to overtake the Fleet was just the latest event in a long line of things trying to kill them. After spending some time with her boys on the couch, Laura gathered up some reports and collapsed into the rack. Her body ached, but she couldn't help the small smile still playing at her lips. She listened to Liam and Bill on the couch talking about the book he'd been looking at before pulling open a report and reading.

She'd dozed off when a weight on the edge of the rack caught her attention. Opening her eyes, she saw her husband still grinning like it was Saturnalia morning. He reached out, nearly covering the bulge of Laura's stomach with his large hand. They'd discussed telling the Fleet within the week, knowing they couldn't hide their secret any longer. Laura was already pushing it as it was.

'She would be the symbol of the Lords' promise that life would continue.'

"I'm going to have a girl," Bill said reverently. Laura placed her hand over his.

"A daughter like you always wanted. Well, another one." Kara would always be their daughter, blood or not.

"You've given me so much, Laura." There was so much emotion in his voice as he marveled at the gift he was being given. He didn't find himself particularly worthy and knew he'd made more than his share of mistakes. He didn't always understand how Laura had come to love him like she did, but there could be no doubt of her affection as the tips of her fingers traced the hand covering her stomach. A daughter, he thought. A daughter. He knew he was smiling again.

"Bill, we need to talk," Laura said softly. "I think you need to know something, and I'm not quite sure how to tell you."

"You can tell me anything."

"I know. But this… this is hard. You see, it's about the Pythian Prophecy…"

A buzz from the comm brought the conversation to an abrupt stop. Bill, heart pounding and thoughts racing, didn't tear his eyes away from Laura's wide eyes as he picked up the comm. The Pythian Prophecy...

"Adama."

"Sir, it's Boomer. Code blue."

…

They had to be out of their gods-damned minds, Dagon seethed.

His blood boiled at the sight of a Cylon in Colonial uniform. His fingers itched to tear it off her undeserving robot frame. That uniform meant everything to him. It meant blood and honor. It stood for suffering and sacrifice. His comrades-in-arms had fought the Cylons. Too many of them breathed their last while wearing Colonial blue. Now the leader of the military, the last Admiral in existence, placed his trust in a Cylon instead of in the Commanders of Battlestars. They should have been told about the threat in their midst. Instead, he and Madame Airlock had allowed a known Cylon to live in their midst ever since the attacks.

A little piece of paper now protected the machine. A little slip with fancy words presented to the Cylon during this meeting that the president had called. Dagon refused to think of her as 'Boomer.' Call-signs were reserved for humans who'd earned their monikers. Toaster—that's what she could be called. Dagon could barely even let his mind use the human name the Cylon went by. Their joke of a president had written the name over the top of the presidential pardon she'd issued, giving Sharon Valerii both a pass on the destruction of the Colonies and granting her gods-damn citizenship.

The Commanders had protested, jumping out of their seats and red with rage. They were only willing to listen when Adama ordered them to sit down and pay attention, and it was only the years of ingrained military discipline that kept them in line. Some of the others' rage cooled when they learned the Cylon had defected when she warned them about the incoming attack. "Too late," Dagon had growled.

"There are thousands of civilians alive because of Sharon Valerii's work with the rescue teams. She did not directly participate in the destruction of the Colonies, and, in fact, aided Colonial forces during that time," Roslin explained. "Thousands."

"Her intelligence has proven valuable. She has been continuously monitored," Adama added, sensing the simmering anger underneath the surface of the group. "She goes above and beyond to protect her squadron when flying combat support. She's rescued pilots from each of our ships when flying search-and-rescue."

Dagon scanned the others present as they all eyed Sharon warily. They wanted to believe Adama. He sensed that. They wanted to trust the Old Man at the top and believe he couldn't make such a profound error in judgement.

Standing before them, the Cylon delivered her report on what happened with her duplicate on the hangar deck. Present at this debriefing was President Roslin, Vice-President Gray, Admiral Adama, the barely-legal-looking aide Dagon could never remember the name of, one of the Adama runts who was a little lieutenant, Galactica's Officer of the Watch, and the other Battlestar Commanders.

They listened closely, but none of the others seemed to realize the danger the Cylon still represented and what an insult letting her wear the uniform was. Cylon-lovers, Dagaon fumed, glancing at Adama and Roslin who were seated in the middle of the table. They'd lead humanity to their end if this was how they were going to play the game. Wait until Zarek hears about this, Dagon thought. His fellow Sagittaron would have an idea how to handle this debacle.

Protected by her pardon, Boomer answered the questions the others present in a level voice. Dagon sensed the cold detachment in her. Maybe it felt no emotion at betraying her people. Maybe betrayal didn't compute, Dagon thought, raising his chin and staring daggers at the robot-girl as Adama dismissed her from the floor.

"Lieutenant Adama, what's your report?" the Admiral asked.

Dagon watched as the called upon officer stood. The boy was clearly tired. He blinked weary eyes several times before they could focus. He remembered the boy was a medic, and Dagon sat a little straighter in his seat. Combat medics were a respectable group, he believed. Keeping their fellow soldiers alive sometimes through grit and determination alone.

"Doc Cottle and his medical teams analyzed the vials found in the Cylon's bag. We've concluded that the contents were concentrated doses of the virus plaguing the Fleet. It was designed to be released in liquid," he explained. Dagon listened as the lieutenant provided further details on the analysis. He didn't understand some of the medical jargon used, but the basic gist was that the Cylons were trying to poison them now.

"It's in our water supply," Zak Adama said. "We can't filter it out. We've tried. We do know that continued ingestion of contaminated liquid will prove fatal. The medical teams are providing what relief we can to the affected patients. The best we can do now is eliminate all contaminated water supplies and hope the infected get better."

"How much water will we lose?" Dagon asked, not wanting to waste any time before getting to the pragmatic reality they faced.

"We're..." Lt. Adama, shook his head and looked toward his parents. His shoulders slumped. "We're estimating that we'll lose 80% of total water reserves. Fleet-wide. Boomer's twin has been busy."

Mutters rippled through the room. There were a few grunts of irritation and despair from several of those present.

"We'll put stricter water rationing into place," Roslin said, addressing her curly-haired aide. "It'll buy us some time. Alert fleet security to prepare in case rioting breaks out over rationing."

"We need a source of water," Adama said.

"Universe is a pretty dry and desolate place when it comes down to it," one of the Commanders replied.

"Well, we're in luck."

Everyone turned their attention to the Officer of the Watch. Gaeta, if Dagon remembered the name correctly. He had some navigational charts and reports spread before him. The sudden and intense gaze of so many high-ranking people in the Fleet seemed to glue his mouth shut as the tips of his ears turned red.

"Luck?" Dagon growled.

"Planet K74656," Gaeta replied quickly. "Records have it marked as containing water. I was going to suggest jumping there to tank off on our water supply. This many ships in the Fleet puts a strain on the reserves."

Dagon watched Adama's face with mild fascination. It was like a shadow had passed over him. Something had happened, but Dagon couldn't quite tell what. The others waited for the order from their commanding officer, but the Admiral hesitated. Planet K74656, Dagon thought—there was nothing he could remember about it in reports.

Dagon watched Roslin reach out and cover Adama's hand lightly with her own. It seemed to bring him back to the present. He felt the familiar sense of unease at the amount of power the two of them wielded together.

"Plot the jump," Adama ordered in a gruff voice. "Everyone is dismissed."

...

The personnel filed out of the wardroom. Laura, knowing something was wrong, stayed behind after dismissing Billy. Once the room was empty, Bill stood and paced away deep in thought.

"Bill, what's going on?" Laura asked gently. She watched her husband take off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Bill?"

She slipped over to him, resting her hands on his chest and searching his eyes for answers. She could feel the tense muscles under her palms and his strong heartbeat. When Bill finally met her concerned gaze, there was such a swirl of turbulent emotion. His face remained hard as he spoke.

"Planet K74656… it's Kobol."

Memories flashed in Laura's mind, and she didn't even draw a breath before wrapping her arms around his neck and melting into his solid frame. His own hands instantly folded around her back, drawing her close. She was shaking as she remembered how they'd discovered Kobol and the nightmare that surrounded the planet. She could never forget the time when William Adama had been her jailer, and she could never unsee when Lee was thrown into the cell beside her with her jailer's blood covering his hands. So much blood. She remembered desperately wishing Lee was lying, or that somehow it had all been a mistake. Even behind the bars and in the early days of their rocky relationship, she had prayed for her jailer and clung to the hope that he'd be alright.

Laura clung to her husband. Her grip tightened as the image of him fighting for his life pushed in her mind and the Pythian Prophecy whispered in her ear. Tears slipped down her cheek as her foreboding mixed with her memories.

"'All this has all happened before, and will all happen again,'" Laura croaked. Bill kept running a hand through her hair, cradling her head where it rested on his shoulder. "'Zeus warned the leader of the twelve tribes that any return to Kobol would exact a price in blood,'" she recited.

She felt a calloused thumb wiping tears away before Bill pulled her back to look into her eyes.

"Not everything happens again. This marriage has changed events. I'm not throwing you in the brig. Boomer won't shoot me. It's going to be alright."

Their marriage. They'd survived betrayals, treason, military coups, and a thousand other things. Nothing had ever destroyed the bond between them. Over the years they'd only ever grown more devoted to each other. They both knew that they'd fight tooth and nail to return to the other should anything happen. They were partners in joy and happiness but also in trial and hardship. It comforted Laura to feel the band on her finger know she had the unending love of the man before her, as he had hers. And, yet, something ugly was coming. She could feel it, like it was in the room there with them.

"Why do you sound as worried as I feel?"

"It's Kobol. It's… I don't know."

"I understand."

"Whatever happens, we face it together this time."

"Always."

…

Author's note: well, after auto-save wasn't turned on, I lost this chapter and had to rewrite it. Rewrites are painful. Oi.

Kind words are always appreciated for this now very weary writer. Thank you to my super awesome reviewers! I love hearing from you!