A frakking raptor accident, he thought, and all because some irritated knuckledraggers had refused to follow Chief Tyrol's orders and were too pissed off to do maintenance on Agathon's raptor. The pilots ejected, but their raptor slammed into Galactica and caused hull breaches on multiple decks. The compromised hangar bay where Bill had been trapped with his laboring wife was one of the last areas rescue and damage control teams reached. Accidents like that carried a heavy price tag, and Bill shipped the guilty to Tigh to face his friend's tender mercy.

Bill stood from his desk and looked around the silent room. He struggled with not having somebody else there, sharing the space and making it a home. The emptiness closed in around him and he paced toward the bunk, wondering if he'd find any sleep. He braced himself against being forced to sleep alone, but the day drained his body of all physical and mental energy. He needed sleep.

There had been so much blood, he remembered. When his eyes closed, he saw Laura's face drenched in sweat and tears as she cried in pain. He let out a long breath and unclenched his balled fist, stretching his fingers over the blanket. He stared at Laura's side of the bed and noticed the book she'd left on the ledge above where they slept. Every night since Kobol, he'd read to her because she claimed it soothed the baby. Maybe it did, but it also brought a smile to his wife's face.

With a burst of speed, Bill strode across his quarters and out the door.

Only little noises disturbed sickbay, as if the patients knew to be as quiet as possible. The on-duty nurses knew to move out of the Admiral's way and allow him to approach his destination.

"Thought I ordered you to get some damn rest. You've still got a Fleet to keep together," Doc Cottle barked.

His shoulders slumped, but Bill stared straight ahead. "I needed to see her again."

Cottle heard the soft plea in his CO's voice. He pressed his lips together, but didn't stop the determined Admiral as he continued his advance on a screened-off area. Cottle sighed and slipped in behind the stoic man, watching as he approached the medical bed.

Bill looked down at Laura and reached for her hand to caress it. She looked pale, but her skin had at least been washed clean. Her red curls fanned out around her on the pillow, and Bill thought she looked peaceful.

"You did everything you could, Bill. It could have been a lot worse."

Bill shook his head. "It was bad enough."

Cottle nodded. "Luckily I'm a damn fine medic and had the foresight to put your headache-of-a-wife on the medications I did. It's like I'm a doctor and know what's best. Now if only you people would listen once every great blue moon. I remember warning you about her damn stress," Cottle said, irritated and bone tired. He leveled a glare at his CO, which was meant to remind the Admiral whose word was law within these walls. "Five minutes only, Admiral," the medic warned before stalking off to mutter and grumble someplace else.

Tearing himself from his wife's side, Bill moved to the incubator in the corner, its clear plastic protecting the little treasure sleeping inside. He longed to hold his daughter, but he settled for reaching a hand into the machine and tracing a finger over his daughter's tiny bunched fist. Small but healthy, Evelyn stayed safely nestled in the blankets and warmth. Bill hated seeing the wires connected to her, but Evelyn's steady heartbeat transmitted onto a nearby monitor reassured his rattled heart. He marveled at how small she looked and smiled at her wisps of red hair. He savored the knowledge that he now had a baby daughter, and his chest swelled with a warming pride that spread through his whole body.

"How is she?"

Tears welled in Bill's eyes. "She's perfect, just like her mother."

"You should be resting, Bill." At her gentle chiding, Bill turned and looked at his awakened wife. Her voice sounded rough and gravely, but her eyes danced with life and happiness as she gazed over at their daughter.

"I needed to see my girls again, just to make sure," he explained.

"You took good care of us, Bill," Laura assured him. "But let's not do that again, though. Okay?" Her joke was gentle, and she smiled at him tiredly. The labor exhausted and terrified them both and they were relieved it was over. He knew he needed to let them both catch some sleep. With a pang in his heart, Bill eased his hand away from sleeping Evelyn. His delight at having a baby daughter with his beloved wife and his reluctance to leave must have been plastered all over his face because Laura chuckled.

"She'll still be here in the morning, and she'd love a visit from her father," Laura teased as he moved to her side.

"They'll both be here in the morning," Cottle's grouchy voice reached them from the other side of the privacy screen. Bill bit back a growl of irritation, but Laura caught his reaction anyway. She giggled and urged Bill to listen to their medic before Cottle threw a tantrum.

"Fine. I'm going!" he surrendered, and Laura allowed him to kiss her goodnight. "See you tomorrow," he promised.

…

In CIC, contacts swarmed the DRADIS screen, too many points to count. Despite the obvious odds, the crew hardened themselves for combat. They knew there was no choice. At least the battle promised to be short—the tactical advantage was not on their side, even a rook could figure that out. The bandits outnumbered them.

Vipers launched, and as long as their birds were in the air they weren't defeated. The crew tensed in preparation, but they weren't overwhelmed by the enemy. Realization dawned on them, and relief radiated through their ranks like they'd all had their first sip of coffee on a cold winter day. Not bandits. They'd discovered friendlies.

"Admiral, I don't know what to say. This is a miracle," Admiral Cain replied into the phone she held to her face. Tension still coiled in her belly as the anticipation of battle slowly cooled in her veins. She studied the DRADIS above her, and assured herself that her warship would have obliterated them if they'd been Cylon contacts. Her face remained devoid of emotions as her crew broke into smiles. She hated premature celebration. She didn't stand down without the full details of a situation.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Admiral Adama said and she heard him order his Fleet to stand down from Condition One. "On behalf of the Galactica and the Colonial Military, it's a pleasure to welcome you back to the Colonial Fleet," Adama said.

Cain bristled. She received the reminder as well as she might take a sucker punch to the gut—Adama surpassed her in seniority. She no longer claimed the dubious honor of being the highest-ranking member of the Colonial military left in existence, and that meant she'd have to take orders again. She ground her teeth as Adama ordered her to report to the Galactica, the antiquated 'rust bucket' of the Fleet, but managed a curt acknowledgement. Hanging up the comm, she commanded Hoshi to access Adama's military record ASAP before she headed to her raptor. She wanted to know what she was dealing with. Cain knew she needed to play nice, but she hated diplomacy.

Helena Cain cracked her neck as the raptor came to a stop on Galactica's hangar deck. The senior officers accompanying her picked up on their Admiral's 'let's get this over with' attitude and it dampened their own excitement. The renowned hardass approved of restraint. She wanted observations and hard facts first; afterall, the file on Admiral Adama presented only a polished official story of the man who now commanded her, a fact that pissed her off. She'd clawed her way through the ranks so she wouldn't have to take orders from old men.

Cain and her officers stood as the raptor's hatch opened and one by one they disembarked. When Cain herself stepped through the hatch, the assembled crowd gawked at her with open curiosity. Cain shrugged it off. People tended to question how she became an Admiral at her unusually young age. Let their little eyes bore into her, that was Admiral Cain's philosophy. In response she held herself tall and proud because she'd earned her rank. She jumped down from the raptor, wrapped in an invisible shroud of self-assured confidence.

Cain measured the stocky, craggy-faced Admiral waiting for her and she greeted her new superior with the required salute. Protocol served its purpose and reminded subordinates of their proper place. Cain had just believed her days of rendering the salute first were behind her, and her insides clenched as she snapped off the gesture. Adama returned and dropped the salute. His solid military bearing revealed little to Cain, even though she was observing every detail like a starving hawk, hunting for hints and weaknesses should she have cause to use them someday.

Moving on, Cain took in the woman at Adama's side, clothed in a fine tailored suit of soft grey, waves of cascading red hair, and proud regal posture. Pretty enough, she thought, but definitely Caprican. Cain hated Caprican women.

She guessed the woman to be Adama's politician wife; a potent connection that had secured his stars before Cain connived her way into hers. Adama presented the woman as the President of the Colonies, and Cain could have rolled her eyes at the convenience of it all. Of course good ol' fashioned nepotism survived the Cylon Holocaust, and of course she wasn't the one benefiting from it. Play nice, Cain told herself. President Roslin bestowed a soft, warm smile on Cain as the women shook hands. Cain hated bureaucrats.

She expected little from politicians, especially Caprican politicians. They were weak, but Cain bit back her distaste. "It's an honor," she said, meeting the little President's gaze evenly. She refused to play the role of submissive dog. Adama's guarded blue eyes watched the interaction, waiting for her to put a pinky toe outta line. Cain shrugged him off, used to dealing with harder, meaner men then Adama. As a child, she'd survived against gangs in the darkest back alleys of Tauron and pulled herself through starvation and exposure. Now she was renowned for being tough and uncompromising.

Adama gave a sweet little welcome speech to the newcomers and Cain surveyed him and his people. She found herself already writing him off as a tired man with a soft middle and an old raspy voice. It matched the motley crew around him and Cain's opinion plummeted. The whole undisciplined lot of them broke into cheers when Adama finished speaking. Celebrating crowds moved to embrace their fellow soldiers. Cain tolerated it. Morale meant something.

Adama and Roslin welcomed Cain into the Galactica CO's quarters, performing the expected act of polite hosts. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped through the hatch. Invited to the table for a drink, Cain examined the inviting space as she walked. The harsh metal of a battlestar disappeared under soft carpets, wood and leather furniture, and lights glowing a soft amber. Her own quarters weren't inviting and they weren't comfortable. People visiting her space never forgot they were on a heavily armed warship. Here Cain felt displaced, like ice trying to survive in the desert. She did admire Adama's eye for art, and was surprised to see a Monclair painting of the First Cylon War and his own antique weapons. She expected tamer pieces.

For the time being she was stuck with the two, so Cain watched their interactions and wondered what the deal was between them. Marriage of convenience, she suspected, a strategic move that ensured his stars and gave her a stable gold band on her finger. Cain noted how Roslin gingerly lowered herself into a chair and Cain pursed her lips when Adama hesitated and watched over his wife before going to grab drinks. Women who needed to be fussed over irritated Cain and deserved her dismissal almost as much as whipped men did.

Cups were filled with golden liquid, and Cain's lips curled at the murmured thanks and glance of appreciation Roslin shared with Adama. She hated tame, well-mannered women. She toasted the Twelve Colonies and brought the cup to her lips and tipped half the glass down her throat. Fiery warmth spread through her throat and settled into her stomach. She didn't sputter at the neat liquid—this wasn't the time to be soft.

"Good stuff," she said, openly surprised. The ambrosia tasted like the finest liquid smoke with hints of roasted nuts. Cain tasted more vanilla than she cared for and smirked at her own private joke. They could keep their vanilla; Cain wasn't that kind of woman, but she did ask for another glass. So, Adama seemed ordinary, but had his elite tastes: fine art, antique books, a high-ranking political wife, and good booze. Well, Cain appreciated fine things herself: she'd demanded command of a cutting edge battlestar, and she hated cheap swill.

More officers joined them at the table. Cain noted their ranks and names as she was introduced to the commanders of the last Battlestars; Commander Ziegler of the Valkyrie, Commander Pertinax of the Daedalus, and Commander Tigh of the Prometheus. All commanders. She'd effectively become second-in-command of a military that seemed sizable enough to do some damage. Good. The commanders greeted her warmly, as if enfolding her into their number like a long lost sister but with enough deference to please Cain. She admitted that it felt good to be wanted, and she spun her tale of survival. Cain might have enjoyed the exchange, but grew annoyed at the gentle, warmly voiced questions the President peppered through her story. She hated interruptions. She felt the irritated heat rise in her. Why did an ex-Secretary of Education need to be involved in these affairs at all? A simple schoolteacher shouldn't have any power over an Admiral of the Colonial Fleet.

After her counterparts were thoroughly impressed at her continued attacks on the Cylons, they supplied their own tale. They'd fled like ants from a flood, though Cain sensed a great deal was being left unsaid. Whatever. She accepted there would be gaps and missing information. Her foresight had Fisk performing his own unique type of reconnaissance with Galactica's XO, Kelly.

"You can send over your logs when ready," Adama ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said. The reminder stung.

Adama rose to his feet, signaling the end of their meeting, and the others deferentially followed their commanding officer's lead. Cain played along even though she disliked feeling dismissed. Even Roslin moved to rise, but swayed and sank back down gracefully.

"Are you alright, Madame President?" Cain asked, watching Adama's attention flash back to his little wife. She looked up and gave him a small smile, communicating with just a look. Cain watched her tilt her head back to smile reassuringly at Adama, and Cain's eyes travelled down the woman's lovely neck and widened when she saw the Tauron pendant. Oh.

For a moment, Cain and her arrival with a massive battlestar seemed not to exist as the commanders turned to their President. "I'm fine. I guess I haven't had a drink since before the attacks," Roslin laughed, a soft little gasp of a sound.

Ziegler grinned. "Well, you had a hell of a reason. Congratulations Admiral, Madame President."

"Are visitors allowed?" Tigh asked, finally sounding moderately excited, and Cain felt like she was missing an even bigger piece of the puzzle than she realized.

Roslin bestowed an answer on Cain. "I found out on the day of the attacks I was pregnant with our daughter. She was born just a week ago and isn't quite ready for visitors." Cain did a double take between the two. So, Adama was man enough to frak his pretty wife. That almost impressed Cain. She watched Adama's hand come to rest on Roslin's shoulder, openly affectionate. But when Adama looked to Cain, his gaze hardened. An open warning, Cain realized. She'd miscalculated by discounting genuine affection existing between the two. He was devoted to her. The wide stance, the cool gaze—he'd protect her, and Cain now knew his weaknesses. Now the cards are on the table, Cain thought, finding herself dealt a teacher playing president, a commanding officer with a mind focused on a wife and family, and some average battlestar commanders who'd gotten lucky.

...

Author's note: Cain! I needed to post even if it is a bit shorter. Kinda hard to keep writing when feeling down at the times we live in, but I've tried to keep to posting once a week.

I'm not sure how people feel about author's replies to reviews. I try to reply because I appreciate hearing from people. Thank you to all who take time to drop a review!

Requested Timeline:

Before Cylon Holocaust

58 BCH Bill Adama is born.

52 BCH Laura Roslin is born.

40 BCH Cylon/Colonial armistice.

29 BCH Lee is born.

24 BCH Zak is born.

16 BCH Adama/Roslin marry and Liam is born.

9 BCH Adama becomes a Commander. Kara Thrace and Jack Cottle's memory returns.

7 BCH Adar becomes President. Laura kidnapped by Cavil.

4 BCH Adama is promoted to Admiral and ordered on covert mission.

3 BCH Sharon Valerii remembers the future.

2 BCH Peace Accords announced.

Cylon Holocaust

WEEKS AFTER CYLONG HOLOCAUST

1 Laura is 6 about weeks pregnant. Fleet jumps. Kara/Lee engaged.

7 W. ACH Galactica Sabotage Laura is about 13 weeks pregnant

9 W. ACH Adama and Roslin are reunited on Kobol.

10 W. ACH Dagon commits suicide.

25 W. ACH Evelyn is born when Laura is about 31 weeks pregnant.

26 W. ACH Cain arrives.