"Launch all fighters," Adama ordered in a clipped tone. He glared up at the DRADIS screen and watched the powerful sensor array tag enemy bogeys as they came into range—except the DRADIS now outlined their own sister ships from Pegasus in red.

"We're finally doing this?" Tigh muttered. He grinned like a madman who'd challenged Dionysus to a drinking contest.

"She's crossed the line," Adama said, looking at his best friend over their command station. I hate to lay this on you, Bill, but she's dangerous, Bill remembered Laura's words.

Commander Tigh, after enough drunken, pleading phone calls, stood proudly in CIC now reassigned to Galactica to serve as its XO under Adama. The Admiral finally admitted there were too many ships under his command for him to act as both Fleet Admiral and Battlestar Commander. Although he retained ultimate Command on Galactica, he trusted Tigh to run the Battlestar when his attention was needed elsewhere. The two old men happily shuffled Kelly over to Prometheus while promoting Saul's old XO who became Commander Otrera.

Under "Tight-ass" Tigh's scrutinizing glare, the crew rushed to their battle stations, pushing CIC into controlled pandemonium. They exchanged tightly controlled nervous glances at the thought of taking on the behemoth that was the Pegasus in battle. The dimmed lights caused strange shadows to encircle CIC as the tactical screens glowed an eerie shade of green, casting a parlor on the crew's faces creased in concentration at their stations. The two old men shared a pre-battle moment over the illuminated table.

"Just making sure you know what you're doing."

"I always know what I'm doing," Adama said, a hint of his brasher Viper jock personality slipping through. Hit her before she hits you.

"Oh, sure. Well, in that case, I have every confidence in this plan. Gun crews report ready, and Vipers are on their way to intercept, Admiral," Tigh announced. "At least, none of the other ships will dare question us after if we win."

"If?"

"When."

"You seem eager."

"I've had more than one fantasy that involved blowing godsdamned Cain out of the skies." Saul Tigh grinned. He checked and rechecked the displays; admittedly, part of him itched for battle like an excited rookie pilot. Having come home, he snatched up the chance to defend his girl Galactica.

Bill Adama raised an eyebrow before casually putting on his glasses, exuding the exhilarated calm of a self-assured man. He'd launched in Vipers, hurdling at breakneck speeds out of a battlestar; survived two apocalypses and their many battles; and he'd outlived Cain once before. His crew took their cues from him, anticipation tightening in their stomachs while determination governed their actions.

On DRADIS, two enemy squadrons barreled toward the Galactica. The enemy Vipers clearly expected a no-holding-back bloodbath, assured by the knowledge that they flew advanced fighters beside elite comrades.

"Pegasus Vipers in range in one minute," Dee reported.

"Order Galactica Vipers to hold formation," Adama ordered and Saul jumped to carry out the command. "Tell Apollo and Starbuck to take their attack wings and hit the incoming enemy wave. Have them hit hard and fast, then get out of there. Hot Dog and Kat cover their retreat."

Calculating the odds was a dangerous thing in the middle of battle, and Adama realized that Galactica faced a hard, almost impossible, fight against Pegasus. On DARDIS the more advanced Mercury-class Battlestar lumbered toward them behind her faster fighters. Adama considered the options as he watched his pilots hitting and running from the enemy like a bunch of plucky guerilla fighters.

Part of his attention always stayed on three little blips on the screen.

"Galactica, Starbuck, we can't hold them off much longer."

On DRADIS, Galactica's Viper wings slowed down the enemy fighters, but the enemy pressed forward.

"Pegasus in range in one minute," Gaeta announced.

"Order gun batteries focus on Pegasus."

"I'm sure Pegasus would prevail in any battle."

"I wouldn't count on that."

"Incoming ordinance!" Gaeta absorbed the first weapon barrage from Pegasus. The second volley sent damage-control alarms screaming.

"Flak barrier?"

"Inoperative."

More damage-control alarms protested the hits. Bill read the displays, already knowing the truth. His ship's hull could not withstand a constant barrage from Pegasus. Galactica's strength would give out long before the other Battlesetar. It's time to play now.

"Mr. Gaeta, do a controlled set of decompressions along the starboard section of Galactica's fuel lines," Adama ordered, deliberately creating the ruse of a more injured Battlestar than the truth. Although Gaeta looked like a frightened deer for a moment, his training compelled him to comply.

"Helm, let us drift to the starboard side," Tigh added.

"Vipers return to base."

"Galactica to all Vipers, break off attack and return home. Repeat, Galactica to all—"

"Helm lay in a course for the edge of the nebula, full speed."

To any overseer, Galactica appeared very much like an injured bird struggling to fly away. The crew looked to their commanding officers.

"'If your enemy is strong at all points, be prepared for them. If they attacks with greater strength, evade—'"

"'—if your foe is temperamental, seek to provoke them.'" Saul recited, remembering the quotes from the earliest command handbook in Colonial history.

"'Pretend to be weak, that the enemy might grow arrogant.'"

"Yeah… I don't remember any more," Saul admitted.

"'Attack when the enemy is unprepared.'"

"Back to basics. So now what?"

"Now, the chase is on. Now we lure Cain into a trap."

…

I've picked up a bogey on my tail!" Apollo yelled over the comms, banking hard to the right and then the left as he tried to shake his pursuer. Out of the dark of space, Louanne "Kat" Katraine streaked in with guns blazing to take care of the friend he'd picked up.

Kat practically cackled over the comm. "Look at me, hitting right on the money!"

"Yeah, yeah. Good job, Kat," Lee said.

"Red squad, form up on me," Starbuck ordered, ignoring Lee and Kat as her squad turned tail and kicked in the burn. They wove in and out of enemy and friendly Vipers, collisions being the most dangerous aspect of this maneuvering.

"Bandit is coming into range of you, Hotdog," someone advised and got a muffled "copy" in return.

"I've got one of them in sight, breaking off now!"

"Stay with your wingman!" Starbuck ordered, not in the mood to endure rookie mistakes.

"I've got him!" a rook pilot called, ignoring his squad leader's orders. It was hardly shocking when their blip on DRADIS blinked out of existence a few seconds later, and Bill shook his head.

"Hope we all learned a lesson there from the eager beaver there," Starbuck sighed over the comms. Despite the loss, Galactica vipers harsh fight and run tactics, gave them a momentary edge.

"Godsdammit, my engines are bent!" Lee snapped. "This little frakker must have gotten a lucky shot on me!"

"See how easy it is for one of us not to come back from a mission!"

"Are we doing this now, Kara?"

"You won't drop the subject any other day."

"You won't even talk about the subject any other day."

"Because the subject is closed. I'm not having a child."

"I got another one!" Liam's voice broke over his brother and sister-in-law's bickering. By now, their family and crew of Galactica tried to simply ignore Kara and Lee's argument.

"How did you even see that one? We got a little flipping bird of prey here!" Kat said approvingly, glancing to her side to see the newest member of her viper wing. She'd puffed with pride when Adama assigned his youngest son to her, knowing that the act signified no small amount of trust in her. She grinned when an idea came to her. "Alright my little bird of prey, how about we call you 'Falcon'? It's also the symbol of Horus, son of Isis and Osiris. Seems fitting."

"Alright, Falcon!"

Despite the lighthearted moment, the Pegasus Vipers regrouped around them, compensating for their tactics.

"Galactica, Starbuck, we can't hold them off for much longer." To her relief, Dee's voice came over the comm's ordering them to come home.

…

Adama felt the ship running at its full speed and he felt the hum of the engines under his feet. On DRADIS, Pegasus sailed after them through the inky black void of space.

"Get me Chief,"Adama ordered without breaking eye contact with the radar screen.

"Tyrol."

"Is it ready?"

"All wrapped up in some of the ugliest packaging the gods have ever seen." Chief seemed to enjoy his officer-level status, joking easier with the rest of the blue-clad personnel.

Pegasus continued to push toward them as they entered the fringe of the nebula, the DRADIS turning into a barely recognizable murky soup of radiation and gas readings.

"Launch."

"There it goes," Saul said, as almost every member of the crew looked at the screen. Knowing Galactica rarely had the tactical advantage, Adama and Chief put their tactical and mechanical heads together to come up with a mine-like delivery system for a nuke. It was too small to be detected and coated in black carbon composite that would help hide it from DRADIS and eyesight, and by the time any nuclear signature was detected, Pegasus would be on top of the package. Pegasus wouldn't have time to respond.

…

Helena Cain chuckled at Galatica's pitiful attempt to evade Pegasus. She ordered her Battlestar to accelerate to full power, streaking after Adama's crippled ship.

"This is going to be better than I thought."

DRADIS became murkier as Galactica and Pegasus burst through walls of gas and dust. Cain watched the distance between ships closing as Pegauss plunged toward Galactica.

"Radiological alarm!" Lieutenant Hoshi screamed.

"Order gun batteries and Vipers to focus on the incoming nuke."

"It's not coming from Galactica, Admiral. No reported sightings, the signals are already right on top of us!"

The ship shuddered, and all displays turned red momentarily.

Helena pounded a fist against the CIC console with a barely suppressed grunt of surprise. She'd lost the simulated wargames against relics.

…

The lights around CIC flashed a quick green. They'd won. They might have needed a few lucky breaks, but his ol' girl had some tricks in her yet.

"Have Raptors recover all simulation drones. After-action reports from departments and battle-analysis from observers should be submitted by 0900 tomorrow," Adama ordered. The other commanders had watched the simulation and they now prepared reports on the wargame; they would remember that odds don't make a battle. This was how the military spent their time over Fallback Omega: training, drilling, repairing, and patrolling. While it was nice to take a break, it remained imperative to keep their skills sharp.

"How did you know she'd fall for your plan?" Laura asked, slipping up from where she'd been observing behind him.

"Cain's a single-minded predator. If she smells blood, and she'll pounce without looking, assuming it's just that easy. Use your enemy's strength against them." Bill shrugged nonchalantly and flashed her a wry grin.

"You're going to be smug about this for weeks aren't you?"

"And you were sure Pegasus would prevail in a fight."

...

"We need a plan."

"We have a plan: Help the resistance rescue as many humans from the farms as possible," Six argued. Six and Two whispered together in a dark corner of a destroyed military base on Caprica. Debris from the bombs still littered the ground and an acrid, burning smell hung in the air. Wary at every sound and shadow that disturbed the area around them, they kept alert. Both might be machines, but they knew fear. The two Cylons held that shaking sensation deep in their guts and tried to keep it from spreading through their bodies. Fear could be insidious like that, especially when Caprica and Leoben thought about the danger they'd be in if the Ones, Threes, Fours, or the Fives discovered they'd turned against their race. The pain Cavil alone could inflict upon his traitorous brethren would be unpleasant.

"We need a long-term plan," Leoben said. "A few steps beyond either 'destroy all the humans' or 'save all the humans.'"

"What do you suggest?" Six hissed, rubbing her forehead as she felt a headache coming on. Any human who claimed Cylons were just machines should experience the pain of a Cylon headache; then they'd wax far less poetic about the so-called 'artificialness' of silica pathways in the brain.

"We find the human Fleet," Eight said, coming around the corner with two bags slung over her shoulder. The raided supplies would keep the human resistance alive and protected for at least another month.

Find the humans? They'd done it before. This time, they'd come as true allies.

"We agree," Leoben said, casting his vote.

"We find the Fleet," Six nodded.

…

The offending and confusing beeping of an alarm clock pulled Bill to the waking world. He slapped around on the shelf behind him for the clock, hitting the off button. His military routine usually roused him one minute before the alarm, although nowadays one of the disturbed dreams of his redheaded girl woke them all up. Feeling a weight on his chest, Bill looked down at his wife half draped over his chest with her fingers curled around his dog tags. Unconscious Laura didn't seem inclined to let him go even though the day dragged him—dragged them both—towards their responsibilities. Bill lingered for a moment, enjoying the calm moments between sleep and reality.

He moved Laura's hair, spread like a red cloud around them, so that he could see a sliver of her face. Her eyes stayed closed to the world, having slept through the night without interruption from nightmares. She needed the sleep; months of carrying and raising a baby, working through PTSD, and the presidency took a lot out of a person. But his Laura was made of stern stuff. Cottle warned them she'd never technically be cured, but she'd made progress. Knowing nightmares would be back, Bill savored holding a peaceful Laura in his arms.

They'd been apart for a few days when her duties demanded she stay aboard Cloud Nine for several marathon sessions of Quorum and Ship Captains meetings. His quarters had sounded too quiet without her, but she'd called him every night to hear his voice and share tales of merry-go-round discussions of supply requests, building a legal system, and reclaiming Colonial culture. She chatted excitedly about how their Fleet contained artists who'd started producing work again: poetry and paintings that captured the sorrow of the Fall. The Quorum had decided there would even be an exhibit on Cloud Nine with their work. To his amusement, she told him that his wargames were now a prominent source of entertainment to the civilians despite the military simply using them to bolster its strength through training; the simulation against Cain won particular approval amongst the masses who craved entertainment.

Despite the immense satisfaction Bill felt just having Laura next to him, duty called. He sighed and carefully eased out from underneath her, extracting his limbs from where they were intertwined with hers.

"Demeter and Haphaestus are hiding in the dark," Laura slurred as she slept. Bill froze, wondering what exactly she'd said. Studying her calm face, he decided it must have been just a dream and proceeded to gently uncurl her fingers from around his dog tags. Once released, he stood and let the cool air of the spaceship hit his skin to fully wake him up. In the rack, Laura hummed unhappily and squirmed around, working herself into the warm space he just vacated. He tucked the blanket around her, neither of them having dressed after he'd enthusiastically welcomed her home last night. The bittersweet perk of having no teenager home anymore was that Bill could make love to his wife far more often and brazenly. What a strange and wonderful revelation, he thought, realizing that he and Laura had lived with at least one teenager under their roof for the past seventeen years. Chuckling at the sentimental thoughts of an old man, he headed to the shower. He missed the rest of Laura's drowsy mutterings.

"Poseidon has returned to Zeus. Apollo is lost in the woods. Demeter will find Aphrodite again and they will be happy for a moment," Laura murmured, tension entering her body as she dreamed. In her mind, she saw half-formed snippets of things happening now and what had yet to come. Something bad was on the horizon, she realized. Her body went rigid. "He's coming back. He's coming for us."

Laura's eyes snapped open, and she pressed a hand against her face, taking shallow breaths as her heart hammered in her chest. She tried to remember her dream, but the images slipped through her fingers like mist over a field. Letting her breathing even out, she released the dream. To Laura, it was just another nightmare and she refused to give it power.

Alone in the bed, Laura listened and found the predictable sounds of her husband getting ready for the day. She felt comforted at the intimacy of being back in their quarters surrounded by the everyday habits with which they built their life. It happened like the predictable tick of a clock: every morning he showered immediately after waking up, dressed, needed coffee next in order to function, reports, tended to pluck a book from a shelf to read a page to himself, and always carved out a quiet moment for her. The sense of being home again pushed away whatever dark thing her mind had conjured.

From their rack, she could watch him getting ready and her eyes crinkled in mirth; Bill, she'd discovered, spent a ridiculous amount of time combing his hair. The man had his idiosyncrasies and happened to spend longer on his hair than she did some mornings.

When he left the head, she frowned. Their quarters had already been dimmed when she'd come home last night, letting her try to believe that what she'd discovered wasn't as bad as she remembered. It was bad. Why had he decided to try and bring it back and while she was gone too?

Bill noticed her gaze fixed on him as he shrugged into his duty blue jacket. Leaning on the edge of the rack, he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, but she jumped, nearly colliding with him in the process.

"Laura, honey, what's wrong?" Immediately concerned, Bill knew that it could easily be either the accumulation of everything they'd survived in the past with her PTSD, nightmares, or her inexplicable dreams.

"It's nothing."

"Nightmare?"

"Just a strange dream that I can't even remember."

"You recoiled pretty strongly..." he said, gently probing for information. Although concerned, he tried to temper it before it became smothering. He'd patiently learned most of her triggers, but nothing stood out to him this morning. To his surprise, Laura blushed a dark shade of red.

"Oh… you, um… tickled me. That's all."

"What?"

To his surprise, Laura gave him a pointed look before reaching up and fiddling with the tip of his mustache. After a moment, he realized exactly what she was referring to. He relaxed at the simple answer. Getting a wicked idea, he planted several kisses along her skin, each one falling on a different spot while he intentionally scratched the bristly hair against her. She giggled and shied away from him.

"Keep that thing away from me!"

The corner of his mouth twitched as he pulled back and found her glaring at it. In fact, he'd seen hostile centurions with more loving affection in their gazes than what he saw in the expression his wife directed at his upper lip at the moment.

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that," she weakly protested. She dragged her eyes away from the offending sight, but the tell-tale crease in her brow didn't leave. He gave her his best 'I can see right through you' look until she relented. "Alright, I don't like the mustache."

"Any other bombshells you wanna drop on me this morning?"

She'd spent almost a year trying to get used to it in the other timeline, and they'd already proven not everything needed to happen again. She decided to be direct.

"I've never liked it."

"Never?!"

"No, sir," she said, looking over his worn but beloved face marred by 'the thing.' "It tickles and hides your face. You know I'm rather fond of your face."

"Thank you," he said, deciding to choke back his comment on her strange aesthetic tastes. He eyed the expanse of skin uncovered when she'd jumped. He regarded her with a buoyant smile.

"Don't even think about it." She raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

It was tempting to pin her down and tickle her without mercy until they were laughing together again, troubles long forgotten. The sounds of Evelyn waking up saved his wife. Bill moved to Evelyn, buttoning up the remaining fastenings of his jacket.

"Did you hear that, Evelyn?" Bill asked his small ten-month-old, peering down into her crib. His daughter looked up at her father, blue eyes alert. Before she had a chance to scrunch her face up, Bill whisked her up into his arms. "Your ridiculous mother doesn't like the mustache!"

Evelyn gurgled in response, raising her tiny arms and grabbing the hair Bill had meticulously combed.

"I bet you like it, don't you, princess."

Laura rolled her eyes at the pair as Bill pressed several little pecks all across Evelyn's forehead, cheeks and nose. Their child cooed with delight at the tickling sensation and attention from her father. Laura rose from the bed, tossing a comment over her shoulder that the two of them could have fun while she got ready. So the morning continued, with Laura now stepping into the head and Bill taking care of Evelyn before sitting at the table with reports. He'd review them while waiting for Jaffee to arrive with coffee.

After finishing her bottle, Evelyn babbled away until she became unhappy with sharing her father with the reports. She squirmed in his arms with her hands grabbing everything in reach. Bill calmly took the items back and tried to give her toys instead while reading the watchlog from the night, but Evelyn got the upper hand when she nabbed his glasses.

"Evelyn!" he scolded.

"Daaa da…" Evelyn said, waving the glasses around. "Dada"

Bill froze.

"That's right, princess. I'm your dad." His voice came out just over a whisper. "And I really need my glasses back."

"Dada," she said again as he pried the glasses out of her fingers.

There was a sharp burning sensation prickling at his eyes and he was vaguely aware of a tickling feeling as tears had started to carve a path down his cheekbones. Evelyn still stared at him with the same blue Adama eyes and tugged at his hair. Bill took a deep but shaky breath before holding Evelyn close to his chest.

Wearing her navy suit, Laura stepped up beside him and touched his arm gently.

"Everything okay?"

Bill let out a long breath before slowly looking over at his wife.

"She said her first word," Bill managed over the lump in his throat. "'Dad.'"

Laura's face brightened. "But, that's wonderful, right?"

"None of my children have ever said 'dad' first," Bill said wistfully as he remembered the countless deployments. He'd been separated for much of his children's lives and missed precious milestones. He'd assumed he would never hear his child's first words. He'd also assumed he'd never know the unconditional love of a spouse or see Zak's smile again. He looked up to Laura in profound gratefulness, knowing he had this second chance because of her. He found her smiling at him softly.

"She picked a good word."

The comm chirping because someone was at the door paused their conversation. Laura glanced at the clock and knew it would be Jaffee with breakfast. She moved to answer the door and take the tray so the young private didn't see his CO. She set it on the table, watching Bill. Laura smiled to herself; never would she have believed this version of William Adama existed when she first met him on Galactica years ago. He was the rigid commander then, barely on speaking terms with his son. Now he was a loving husband and father. She loved every side of him, and counted her blessings daily for getting to see all the different facets of the gem that was her husband.

…

After the two Cylons still hiding in the Fleet were executed by the humans, the machines had gone on an almost maniacal search through space for the rag-tag Fleet. They tracked stray radiation emissions, went to systems rich in supplies, and sent Raiders on ever-widening search patterns. It appeared the humans had vanished.

The Cylons sat around their meeting table with all models represented. Two and Six attempted to look as uninteresting as possible, feigning a bored disinterest. D'Anna ranted about the humans, warning them all that if the humans were allowed to escape and promulgate in some distant star system, one day they would return for revenge in greater numbers than the Cylons could handle.

"But the question remains, how do we find the human fleet?" Doral asked.

The endless rounds of discussion began again. They suggested new search patterns. D'Anna wanted to leave sentinels all throughout the galaxy at every planet with resources they found. Cavil, at the head of the table, clasped the tips of his fingers together and studied his fellow Cylons over the table.

"There's one option we haven't considered."

D'Anna huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "And what sudden wisdom, dear brother, do you happen to have?"

"We unbox the Cavil who claimed to have knowledge of the future," Cavil said calmly. The other Cylons shared looks; they'd sealed away that One after he'd proven to be too dangerous. That Cavil had kidnapped a member of the government in the middle of the night, tortured her, and allowed Centurions to walk along Colonial streets. The rest of the Cylons had been appalled at his brazen ability to do what he wanted, and his willingness to risk detection so early.

"He was out of control!" Six protested, sharing a look of particular concern with Two. That insidious feeling of fear was back, surging along their nerves. Eight stared at the table trying to manage her breathing.

"He was right!" Cavil countered. "Who's their president now?"

"The same woman he captured," Doral said, remembering his earliest assignments when he'd followed the unassuming woman. "Laura Roslin, the former Secretary of Education."

"He was also right about the humans surviving and being led by the Battlestar Galactica."

"Coincidence," Leoben said.

"Improbable. I calculate it more likely, however unlikely, that the boxed One was telling the truth. We should see what else he knows," Simon, the Four model, argued and cast his vote.

"He might know where the Fleet is," D'Anna said, slowly nodding. "We vote to unbox him."

Leoben shook his head: two 'yes' to one 'no' votes.

"I agree, we should hear what he has to say. The potential tactical value outweighs the danger," Doral said.

"Leave him boxed," Eight spat.

"We can't trust him," Six agreed. The votes stood at three to three.

"We vote to unbox our brother," Cavil grinned.

…

Author's note: I felt like I was writing this chapter by using a toothpick to chisel it in stone, but now it's done. Thank you so much to you awesome people who took a moment to drop a review. I love hearing from you all.