There was an ache in Bill's throat, growing all day until he felt like he'd been wandering in the desert without water for days. It began when Laura emerged from the shower, her skin scrubbed to a bright and angry red as if she'd tried to remove an offending layer. Removing memories proved harder than a boiling shower and fingernails could handle, and a week after returning from Kobol, Laura remained troubled. At noticing his concerned gaze, she'd averted her eyes from him and looked down at the deck while getting dressed.

"I can still feel his hands on me," she admitted. "It makes me feel disgusting."

It broke Bill's heart to see his strong and indomitable wife affected by that scum Zarek's actions. His wife shouldn't be trying to cover her body as quickly as possible so that the still fading marks were masked. His hands shook in anger, and Bill wished he could make the person who did this to her suffer or at least know that he burned in a tortured afterlife. Bill would have tracked the bastard down himself and killed him if he'd survived, but Zarek was dead and Bill tried to support Laura.

"Don't think that way, Laura. Don't give him that power."

"I can't help but still feel dirty. I can't wash him off my skin," she said, buttoning up her blouse almost to her throat. Bill forced his stony reserve to remain in place, giving Laura the gift of his strength. These quarters remained the one place she could let down her defenses; beyond the hatch she'd become strong and controlled President Roslin, another side of the woman he loved.

Remaining calm, Bill gathered her in his arms. "I'm here for you, Laura. Whatever you need, whatever I can do," he said.

"Never change, Bill Adama," she said, leaning into the comfort he provided. After a deep breath, she pulled back, some tension having melted from her. Explaining how she needed to rush to a meeting of ship captains, Laura smiled, feeling better, before slipping on her shoes and leaving.

Bill wanted to help Laura forget, to condemn Zarek's memory into oblivion where it belonged. An ambitious goal when his own mind tormented him with images of another man's hands on his wife, harassing her. His imagination let him hear the whimpering sounds she would have made while trying to suppress her fear when she realized what Zarek intended, and Bill cursed himself for not protecting her enough. There were circumstances beyond either of their control, but he was a stubborn man who'd rather try to outdrink Tigh than admit something could happen to Laura under his watch. What he needed was for the damn universe to stop trying to take his wife from him, leaving him feeling powerless. 'Never change,' he sighed, baffled at her love for such an opinionated, reserved, and bull-headed Old Man. He craved a drink to calm the tornado of thoughts giving him a throbbing headache. His duty shift started soon, and disappointing his crew by showing up to CIC smelling like bad hooch was something he refused to do.

…

Becoming a religious figure to the Fleet ranked low on her list of experiences she wanted to repeat. She had wielded the Sacred Scrolls like a well-honed sword, using them to undercut the machinations of Dagon and Zarek. The consequences of her counterplay to their plotting meant that people once again looked to her with devotion, although some instead eyed her with suspicion. She found the cynics comforting, remembering the suffering a prophecy could bring. Playing her role as the Dying Leader, accepting a fate bestowed by the gods—it had led to a catastrophe and her burning the Pythian Prophecy that failed her people.

After meeting with the ship captains, she strode toward the Cloud Nine ballroom for a meeting with the bickering Quorum. As she passed, the more pious people bowed their heads and touched their foreheads, conveying their reverence as if she herself were a blessed relic preserved from Olympus. After a particularly excited devotee reached out and touched Laura's stomach, giving thanks for the sign from the gods, only Billy calmly pushing between the two of them kept Laura from instinctively reacting and making Saul Tigh look like a purring kitten. Knowing she was protective and jumpy after Kobol, Billy ordered her guards to do a better job keeping people out of arm's reach. They continued walking toward their next meeting, but Billy noticed Laura studying him.

"My sisters used to rant about strangers touching them when pregnant. Kate decked someone in the grocery store," Billy explained, noticing her questioning gaze. "I have a feeling you have a mean right hook, but it's better to keep your constituents guessing."

Laura chuckled. "You've grown up, Billy. Started to come into your own."

"Not sure I'd go that far," Billy said, his blush reaching the tips of his ears. He gave his boss a boyish grin as they reached the entrance of the ballroom.

"You got my messages, helped keep them—" she nodded toward the ballroom where the dull murmur of assembled delegates could be heard, "the Quorum—together and working. One day, if you want it, you could be President, Billy."

She left Billy with his mouth hanging open, eyes sparkling like a boy who had just gotten a puppy for Saturnalia. Laura chuckled again, loving the earnest and honest way her beloved aide traveled through life. She stepped up to the dias, and Wally shook her hand as she stepped up behind the podium. The President looked over the delegates, noticing Jacob Cantrell now representing Sagittaron. She realized that no one had mentioned the late Quorum delegate, their loyalty having remained with Laura once again. They seemed content to forget. Calling the meeting to order, they worked through the list of points on the agenda.

…

Admiral Adama's shift passed without incident. The Fleet soared through the stars, finding its equilibrium and resuming their dystopian normal in the wake of the attacks. People breathed, their lingering tension released after Dagon and Kobol. Commander Dagon remained locked in the brig and was allowed no visitors. Bill needed to start prepping the court martial, but allowing a traitor to rot in the brig longer than necessary didn't weigh heavily on his conscience. Dagon smothered any compassion he might have curried the second he ordered Galactica sabotaged, willingly offering up the crew as a sacrifice to the Cylons as casualties of war. Further, he'd allowed a prisoner to be assaulted, although Bill ignored the little voice that reminded him of Sharon, Thorne, and Galactica's brig. He blamed Cain for that incident.

Calm space allowed him too much time to think, and Bill proved to be his own worst enemy. By the end of the watch, Bill had worked himself into a troubled state. Dwelling on everything that happened on Kobol, he felt adrift at sea in a hurricane unable to find any quiet, and as a result, the ache in his throat grew. He'd come so close to losing Laura again, and that knowledge lodged in his heart, cutting through it like a sharpened dagger. His head throbbed.

"We still have that meeting you were acting cagey about earlier," Saul said as their watch ended.

"I never act cagey, and yeah, we're still going to talk," Bill said, gesturing for Saul to follow him out of CIC. Even on his iffier days, Saul Tigh remained an obedient XO, and so he followed Bill into the corridor.

"Sounds important," Saul prompted as they walked through the corridor, crewmen nodding as they passed.

"You're not gonna like it, Saul, but I've got no choice."

"Sounds ominous."

"It is," Bill replied, turning down another corridor as they continued in the direction of Saul's quarters. Not looking forward to this conversation, Bill hesitated as he tried to find the best wording.

"You know, if you let the suspense kill me I'll just resurrect and come right back. That'd be a real bitch to explain," Saul said.

"I'm promoting you," Bill said bluntly. He watched as Saul Tigh's lips pressed into a thin line. The Colonel couldn't have looked more peeved even if Gaius Baltar had popped out of his lab and kissed Saul's bald head. Tigh looked ready to spit fire as he trudged the rest of the way to his quarters, biting back the names he wanted to call his commanding officer.

Reaching the hatch to his quarters, Saul turned to look at Bill. "No."

"Come on, Saul…"

"Abso-frakkin'-lutely not!" Saul groused, pacing into his quarters followed closely by Bill.

"Prometheus needs a good commander. Someone who can whip them into shape, but also someone the President and I can trust," Bill explained, refusing to back down. Hands on his hips, he planted his feet on the deck and remained unmoved as Saul shifted around irritably. He remained unaffected by the scathing look Saul sent him.

"Does your darling wife know about this bullshit stunt you're trying to pull?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. She…"

"You should both be dragged down to Cottle and have your heads examined."

"You've come a long way since the Gideon. Been tried by fire and come out stronger and smarter. I have complete confidence in you. It's time, Saul."

Stunned by the sincerity with which Bill spoke, Saul stopped and sank into a chair. He released the breath he'd been holding and let his shoulders slump. He felt deflated, like the hot air rushing out of a balloon. Bill gave him a small smile and raised an eyebrow.

"Frak," Saul muttered, shaking his head. "Fine! And uhh… thanks, I guess. I mean, I won't let you down, sir, and… all that crap."

"You'll do fine. Promotion ceremony is in two days."

"I need a drink. Looks like you could use one too. Let's celebrate, I guess."

…

At the first drink, he felt some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. His thirst for mental clarity kept the ambrosia running down his throat. The release that resulted was indescribable. Bill was sick of feeling; done with dwelling on his fears and regrets until they made him nauseated. With enough ambrosia in his gut, Bill's inner calm returned. His hands stopped shaking and his mind focused. The booze released him from the worry and pain that had plagued him since Galactica's sabotage, since Laura became pregnant, since the Cylons came back, since Cavil kidnapped his wife, since Laura died and came back—hell, since he'd been told her cancer had returned or when he'd given the order to leave New Caprica. Released from that crushing weight, he felt steady and in control. With this new clarity, he reflected on what he always seemed in danger of losing and knew what he needed to do.

He strode out of Saul Tigh's quarters, putting one sure foot in front of another. Crewmen jumped out of his warpath, but he didn't miss a step. He never faltered or tripped and marched right into the brig and up to the iron bars. Calmed and collected, the Admiral stared at the prisoner while guards exchanged nervous looks. Dagon, laying on the bunk, spared only a glance for Adama. The fallen commander's armor was feigned disinterest.

"Gotta say, Adama, your marines aren't any meaner than mine," Dagon said, resting on hands folded under his head while he contemplated the ceiling. It shouldn't have been possible, but Bill's anger doubled. In his mind, the bastard behind bars should be begging for forgiveness for Galactica and Laura, not sneering at men and women better than him.

"How much did you know? Did you keep an eye on Zarek at all? He was a terrorist for frak's sake!" Bill snarled, keeping his face impassive but turning his voice into a vicious barb.

"Of course I did. I noticed he seemed fixated on the President. Didn't see the harm. Zarek wanted a plaything and it kept him amused. I could almost understand the appeal," Dagon said, and he grinned, determined to get under his captor's skin. He lashed out as only a man covering his own fears could, provoking instead of retreating. The resulting change in Adama could have sent even the Lords of Kobol, the One True God, or whatever freakish thing he'd seen on Kobol, running to the peak of Olympus in fear. As he told that thing on Kobol, Bill was done with any threats to his family and anything threatening to take her from him.

"Guards, secure the prisoner in his chair," he ordered, calmy clasping his hands in front of him.

Already pissed off at their charge, the guards wasted no time jumping into action. They switched off the part of their brain that recites the military code of ethics that may have dared to suggest that this might be a bad idea. Instead, they slammed the cell door open, the metallic clang echoing against the bulkheads, and advanced on the prisoner. Under the watchful eye of Admiral Adama, they hauled Dagon off his bunk, dodging the obligatory punches he threw in protest. The strikes only further pissed off the marines, who slammed him into the waiting chair, the metal legs scraping against the floor from the force of the blow.

"Guess someone's scared," Dagon growled, his chest heaving. He glared at Adama as they forced his hands behind his back and clamped them in cuffs. Snarled insults spewed from the bound prisoner. "You're nothing more than a soft, Cylon-loving, old man."

Bill Adama advanced on Dagon, composed and controlled as the guards lurked nearby. He continued walking, circling the chair like a lion circling its prey. He looked Dagon up and down, and his lips curled in disgust.

"You're a disgrace to the uniform," Bill spat.

Dagon barked out a dry, mad laugh. "I'm not the one pissing whiskey right now, Admiral."

His eyes narrowed, and Bill circled back around to look Dagon in the eye. He saw a man who nearly snatched away everything and everyone he cared about. Fear had driven Dagon to his chosen actions, having let the fear of the Cylon Sharon rile him. Bill's drunk mind contemplated fear—such a powerful emotion. It propelled people in directions they never would have rationally considered.

"Clear the room. Turn off the videos," the Admiral ordered, and his officers were smart and scared enough to bark out a 'yes sir' before scurrying away.

Bill reached behind Dagon and grasped a fistful of hair, yanking the captive's head back. Dagon hissed in surprise and pain as the Admiral wrenched his neck into a punishing angle. It forced him to look up into the red-faced and furious old man, and Dagon smelled the whiskey in the air.

"I'm going to hurt you, Mr. Dagon. I'm going to hurt you like you hurt her," the Admiral swore.

"Really bothers you that you couldn't protect her."

Adama's drink-addled mind couldn't find words angry enough, bitter enough, to wield. He reached out and his fingers closed around the rank pins fixed on Dagon's collar. Dagon flinched when Adama ripped the pins free from the fabric, the force straining his neck further until his face twisted. Adama held up the pins for Dagon to see, before throwing them away, casting them aside. They skittered across the floor making a soft, almost musical sound.

"Maybe she'll find a real man with red blood in his veins who can take care of her and the child," Dagon taunted. He stared into the Admiral's enraged eyes and refused to let himself be cowed. He'd smelled blood, sensed the Admiral's weakness, and he became determined to claw at that weak point until the man snapped and proved, at least between them, that he was the weaker man.

Dagon sighed in relief when Adama released his grip. The air had grown thick, and it was difficult even to breathe. Flexing and clenching his fingers, Adama rebelled in the mental clarity bestowed upon him by the whiskey. Giving Dagon no time to prepare, Adama slammed his fist into Dagon's head, a blunt crack the reward for hours spent boxing. There was no pause between blows and the next fist slammed Dagon's stomach.

Adama tore into him as if Dagon was less than human—just a thing, a punching bag, meant to bear the brunt of his rage. This man had threatened Laura, his sons, and his crew and he couldn't heal his family with this reminder around. Mercy was good until it hurt the innocent, and the unborn child Laura carried was as innocent as they come. Dagon quivered in his chair, his face covered in blood, and his insides on fire, and Adama told himself that this wasn't cruelty. This was justice. So he rained blows onto Dagon as if he meant to smash him into the deck.

Dagon's head lolled back against the chair, his mind dazed and fuzzy, but he grinned, knowing he'd gotten under Adama's skin. He felt Adama's hand whip out and close around his windpipe, and he was forced to look back at Adama whose eyes burned with hellfire itself. Adama kept his chokehold around Dagon, allowing him just enough oxygen to breathe.

"Do it," he whispered, as Adama's fingers twitched and tightened just a fraction around his throat. So wrapped in their standoff, neither noticed that the brig door had opened.

"Stop!" Kara yelled.

She rested a hand on his arm and felt the strained muscles begging to choke the life out of Dagon. When Bill turned to her, the embodiment of righteous fury, Kara forced herself to remain unmoved. The temptation to release him and allow vengeance to run its course became almost overpowering, but she loved her family more, and loved her father too much to let go.

"What happens tomorrow when the Fleet realizes what you've done?" she asked, her voice rough with understanding. "Murdering him won't help Laura, and there's no passing this off as self-defense. It comes with a price." She begged him to understand and reconsider, but certainly not for Dagon's sake.

In his mind the fear came back, reminding him of what he risked. He let go.

"Go home. I've got this," Kara said.

…

Bill didn't want Laura to see him like this. She'd be worried about him and then disgusted by him. Getting buzzed together on New Caprica was one thing, but she had always hated him drinking away his problems. He had turned to the bottle again, and if she caught sight of him sloshed, the triggered memories would plague her too.

The head in his quarters provided a hideout, and after he shut the door, he sank to the ground. There he buried his head in his arms and sobbed. He stayed there, not knowing how much time passed.

"Bill, come out and talk, please,"he heard Laura's voice ask as she knocked on the door.

"Laura?"

"Open the door!"

She sounded so worried, but he refused to remind her; to show her a beaten man who'd turned to drink when she needed his strength. He'd rather stay crumpled on the floor all night.

"Bill, you're scaring me," she said. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. "I will break this godsdamn door down if I have to!"

It was a solid door, but something in her voice convinced him she might be tempted to follow through on the threat. He wasn't going to let his pregnant wife take on solid metal, so he clenched his teeth and pulled himself to his feet. He avoided his reflection in the mirror, but his hands trembled once more. One hand pushed the door to open, and Laura gasped at the sight. The sound told him everything he needed to know about how he looked. He braced himself for the verbal tongue lashing he deserved, hoping the sting would rightly punish him.

It didn't come. Instead she studied him before her face took on a look of determination.

She guided him back into the head and closed the door behind them. Bill debated on asking her what she was doing, but her expression made it clear that there was no room for either explanation or negotiation. The silence stretched as her hands unfastened the gold buttons of his uniform, and she peeled the wool tunic back. She eyed the blood spots on it but didn't question why they were there. She pulled off his tanks and motioned for him to continue undressing. The task required more concentration in his inebriated state than it otherwise would have, but he obeyed. He heard the shower start and turned to see that Laura had removed her own clothes.

"Laura…" he began, but she hushed him with a gentle hand pressed against his lips.

"We're in this together," she said. "I know what you need. Trust me, alright?" She pulled him along after her into the shower. The shower spray rained down on them both, and the hot water elicited a hum of approval. She sighed and let her hands run across his chest in soothing circles, feeling taut muscle. He watched her hands as they comforted and caressed before looking up to finally meet her gaze. He saw only love and concern, and it humbled and shamed him.

"I didn't want you to see me like this."

Laura rolled her eyes. "You were never able to hide this, Bill," she told him. "I know drinking can help dull the pain, but you know it just comes back."

"Drinking has hurt you before."

"Yes," she acknowledged honestly, pushing back a wave of bitterness. The memories threatened to make her cry, and she covered it by grabbing the soap and working the lather across his body. This was about focusing on what they had in front of them and not what they'd lost or what they might lose.

"I'm sorry."

"It takes you away from me and that scares me. It turns you into someone I don't recognize. But you always came back to me when I needed you," she said. She felt her hands gliding over him, but he stopped her, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. The water ran over them. Her bare skin pressed against him felt comforting in its basicness. She cradled his head when he dropped it to her shoulder.

"I was afraid," he admitted.

"I know. After seeing whatever that was on Kobol, having another quest shoved down our throats, knowing what Zarek did to me, it reminded you of how easily all you love can be ripped away. But..." She pulled back and took his hand in hers. He watched her guide his hand to her stomach and water droplets ran down her frame over the bump. She rested his hand over their daughter. "We're still here, Bill, and I still love you." She wiped away the tears he didn't realize he'd been crying.

He moved his hands from the curve of her belly and wrapped his arms around her. In response, she wound her arms around his broad shoulders, just breathing together, letting him feel their connection.

"Don't you dare go down this dark path, Bill Adama. You have a family that needs you," she growled, emotion thick in her voice. "I watched you go down this slippery road once. I will not share you with a bottle, and I will not let our children witness their father poisoning himself. You are mine, and so help me gods, you'd better remember that. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said and vowed to do better in the fight against his fears and nightmares. He bent forward to kiss her forehead. Laura pulled his head down and touched her lips to his. She allowed him to pull her close, letting him know he hadn't lost her, balancing understanding and warning. There were enough fears and demons between them without adding any more. …

Kara and Dagon silently sized each other up, but Dagon's jaw had swollen so much that he couldn't speak. He grunted and whimpered as he pulled at the handcuffs on his wrist.

"It's time for some quality time. A little heart-to-heart chat," Kara said, grinning as she leaned against the bars of the cell.

Dagon grunted and tried to glare at her, and Kara rolled her eyes.

"See, you're under the impression that you're gonna get a nice, tidy court martial. You know the vote will be guilty, but that stupid part of the human brain that just can't let go of hope thinks you just might pull a miracle out of this and get acquitted. You can spout off your honorable intentions and play on everyone's fear of the Cylons, and if that doesn't work you might get a clean firing squad. Wake the frak up!" Kara yelled. She pushed off the bars, laughing at him and shaking her head.

"We're not on Caprica anymore. You pissed off a bunch of desperate assholes living in the apocalypse. We don't play nice or fair. Even your old crew is turning against you because of the men and women you got killed down on Kobol." Kara clapped her hands, rubbing her palms together. She wore an expression of fevered excitement.

"Let's get real. You're gonna be dragged through the mud, but that won't be good enough for the Fleet. They'll demand you be pulled kicking and screaming through as much muck, and piss, and shit as they can pile on you. Every skeleton in your closet, every mistake you've made will be broadcast for the perverse pleasure of the people." She watched her words sink in. Dagon no longer struggled against his bonds. He watched her with wide eyes filled with something Kara wanted to call fearful knowledge. He knew she spoke the truth. He groaned. Kara scooped up the dossier she'd abandoned on the rack when she'd rushed in to stop Adama.

"The mission where you led your men into a trap? Aired." She flipped through a couple pages, snickering and laughing. "People will love learning about this disciplinary notice for spousal abuse. I think the Fleet let you off easy on that. And here's a paper claiming you were derelict in your duties because of cowardice. Now, we both know that's probably not true, but will the people really care? You separated the Old Man and the Old Lady and let her be hurt on your watch. Let me promise you, if you leave the brig, the crowd will eventually fight their way past the guard and rip you limb from limb. Painful way to go," Kara said. She tossed the dossier back on the bed and fished something from her pocket.

Carefully, she laid a belt on top of the folder.

"Think about it. I'll have the guards take the handcuffs off." She gestured to her presents. "Enjoy."

…

Author's note: This might have become a wee bit more angsty than I intended. I would love to know what people thought! Timeline will actually be added in the next chapter. Not sure how the last chapter's huge reveal went over. If there's a scene people wanna see, let me know.