One overhead light in Colonial One flickered and buzzed, the bulb in its death throes but still unreplaced. Laura tried to ignore it, clutching a mug of tea that was going cold in her hands. She had to wonder whether or not the repair crews had gone on strike to protest the rebel Cylons joining the Fleet. Maybe they were just behind schedule. She hoped they were just behind schedule.

Under the buzzing of the dying light, Ellen Tigh regaled Laura with the difficulty of being Press Secretary during this amnesty process. An irritated Ellen paced, blonde curls remaining perfect with each jerky motion she made, and spoke about the unrest growing in the Fleet.

Frakkin' Cylon, Laura thought and took a sip of cold tea that tasted awful but promised a small hit of caffeine. Coffee was rationed since the Botanical Cruiser was unable to grow large amounts of beans, and Laura wouldn't inflict a coffee-deprived Admiral on the Fleet. No, Bill got their coffee ration and the Fleet survived. And protested. And made her life a living hell sometimes. Setting aside the cold tea, Laura rubbed her head to try to relieve her pulsing headache so she could listen to Ellen. It wasn't easy; she'd skipped dinner, felt bone-deep exhausted, and desperately wanted to be home with her family.

"...been telling the Fleet what they need to hear to keep the peace. Gods know being married to my Saulie taught me how to spin things to my advantage. But people are worried. They see history repeating itself..."

"Tell me about it," Laura muttered.

"...President Adar already tried making peace, and that certainly didn't go well," Ellen said as she carelessly tossed the reports in her hands onto Laura's desk, scattering the papers already there and nearly tipping over the cold tea. Laura bit back an irritated comment; Ellen Tigh was Ellen Tigh and the Cylon did what she wanted. At least the papers would contain a good overview on the pulse of the Fleet. Even if it was attained by rather unconventional means, Ellen knew all the gossip, all the rumors, and all the opinions. Laura, after the last timeline, realized she needed to keep a better eye on such things, and thus Ellen Tigh joined her staff. It delighted Ellen to put her unique set of nosy, gossipy skills to work, and she loved giving regular briefings to the press and their cameras.

Whatever it takes to keep the Fleet going, Laura thought as she processed what was being said. I have to keep us together.

Ellen looked over the next press release but continued to talk. "You know what they say, Laura. Fool me once and shame on you. Fool me twice—"

"I'm no fool," Laura said with too much of a defensive edge to her tone. Closing her eyes, she took a long deep breath and reined in her frustration by reminding herself that her peoples' response to the Cylons was rational and even justified. Opening her eyes to look at the papers on her desk, Laura saw exactly the information she expected: protests, unrest, and fear. Her mind worked overtime, thinking up possible solutions that would further unify the Fleet behind her decision to grant amnesty to these rebel Cylons. Nothing came to her.

She'd already made a compelling case over the wireless, her voice strained with emotion as she recalled their collective grief before urging the people to accept this hard change. She professed her trust in their new allies, and her belief in the strategic value in the coming joint mission. It helped, but telling the Fleet that they now counted Cylons among their number was never going to go over well.

We should be preparing for the upcoming mission, Laura thought with no small amount of frustration.

The light flickered again and finally died. Laura decided the repair crews must be on strike to protest the Cylons. Her shoulders slumped. In a tired voice she raised the key problem. "It's easier to assume I'm making a mistake rather than believe any Cylon has changed."

"I've scheduled a meeting with the press for you in fifteen minutes..."

"Ellen!"

"...more damage control before this spirals out of control. I mean, you've heard what that McManus has been saying!" Ellen said with disgust. She handed Laura the press release she'd finished tweaking; a little flowery language here, a well-placed warning there, and a whole lot of hammering on the benefits of this development. Ellen seemed quite ready to pat herself on the back for her work.

"Will another really help?" Laura asked. She glanced out one of Colonial One's portholes facing Galactica, pierced by a sense of longing to be home. It felt like she hadn't properly seen Bill or her children, especially little Evie, in days. It appeared that she wouldn't be wrapping up her day anytime soon; this was the price of the presidency.

"Yes. And a friend of mine is going to leak a picture of Hera and Evelyn playing together on Galactica..."

"No."

"...approval ratings soar every time people see her. Plus, it'd be an image of Cylon and human side by side..."

"Ellen…" Laura warned. Most people would have been shaking in their shoes at the ice in the president's tone. Ellen continued.

"...Everyone loves seeing 'the sign of the gods' promise.'"

"It's not a bad idea," Billy offered, startling the two women with his sudden reappearance in the doorway.

"Thank you, Billy!" Ellen exclaimed as she gestured madly toward Billy to emphasize that even the most trusted presidential aide agreed with her.

Laura's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Her steely gaze followed Billy as he crossed the office. He glanced at the broken light with a frown and approached the president's desk. He'd gone to the Tylium ships to check on working conditions and listen to complaints on behalf of his boss. As a result he smelled like machine oil and a vaguely rotten egg smell distinctive to unrefined tylium.

Looking between the two, Laura raised an unimpressed eyebrow. They both knew that she preferred her personal life kept private and that her family was to be kept away from the carnivorous press. Billy withered a bit under her icy stare but didn't go running with his tail between his legs.

"Well, it's that... Evelyn is a symbol of hope, of life. People could use that right now," he explained before quickly turning his attention to the papers on Laura's desk. His face fell at the problems facing them.

"And it never hurts to remind people of your status as the foretold leader from the gods," Ellen added. "Helps keep people from whispering about whether or not Wally might have been a better choice."

A look of disgust passed over Laura's face before she dropped her gaze to her desk. With the president's resigned sigh, Ellen knew she'd won.

"Press conference soon. See you there!" Ellen said before she flounced out of the office, blonde curls still perfectly styled around her.

Frakkin' Cylon, Laura thought as she watched the pink-garbed figure leave her office. Laura turned to face Billy, and picked up her tea to take a sip of the stone-cold liquid. Upon closer inspection, she noticed her almost-son looked exhausted and had dark circles under his eyes and an unusual paleness to his cheeks. They needed to call it a night after the press conference. They needed to go home to Galactica and recharge with their loved ones. Laura thought of her poor daughter who probably missed her parents; the break at Fallback Omega had spoiled her with the free time her parents had. Now she and Bill had a Fleet to keep together, and a Cylon Resurrection hub to prepare to destroy. It kept one busy.

She glowered at the thought of Evie and Hera in the papers.

"Not a typical position I hear from you," Laura said unhappily to Billy. Logically, she knew Billy was as protective of Evie as any brother, so his position came as a bit of a shock.

"I just don't wanna see this spiral out of control," Billy mumbled and gestured at the papers on the desk. "People are upset."

"You're upset," Laura realized, tilting her head and regarding him curiously.

"Not exactly."

"What's going on?"

Billy's posture stiffened, then he forced himself to relax and shrug. "It's nothing important."

"Billy?" Laura asked in concern.

He stuttered a bit, trying to form a coherent thought as his eyes darted around the papers before them both. With a visible shudder that racked his entire body, he dropped into the chair behind his desk.

"I died."

Words escaped Laura. She stared at the downcast form of Billy, a knot forming in her gut at those awful moments from the last timeline. What does one even say in a situation like this?

"That didn't happen this time," she offered quietly.

"It's just… well… the last time I remember the Fleet getting this worked up over Cylons being present, I ended up…"

"It's not going to happen again," Laura swore, and Billy gave her a sad smile.

"Things are really good with Dee, you know? Early days of marriage, sure. But... I managed to keep her this time. And we've been happy." Billy shrugged. "So, maybe some things can change, but for how long?"

Laura let him speak. The pressure of the other timeline got to all of them, building inside until it needed to be released. They all had doubts and fears; a tangled line of questions and regrets that often had nowhere to go. Why them? How much could they change this time around?

Laura stood and walked over to Billy, folding her pseudo-son in her arms. He leaned against her, shaking as he shifted through the many thoughts swirling in his mind.

"Every extra day I feel like I'm waiting for the bullet I'm supposed to get. Maybe we're all living on borrowed time. Maybe those of us from before have already gotten more than we deserve. Now with this situation, it feels like a matter of time before it really boils over."

"Nothing is guaranteed. It's… scary. It is and that's okay. We just do our best in the meantime."

"I know we need this alliance. We destroy the Resurrection Hub and the Cylons lose their biggest advantage over us. Mortal enemies. But people can't help but be scared and angry. Panicked people lash out and—"

"Trust me, I know." Laura gestured to the next press release. "You once said to trust the people. Let them see the truth and judge for themselves."

"Sounds naive," Billy huffed.

She ruffled the boyish curls on his head in a teasing gesture. "Well, one of us still needs to be an idealist, Billy." And that will never be me, she thought.

"I'll work on that. Until then, let the Fleet see something good with Evie and Hera. A Cylon and a human playing side by side," Billy said. With a resigned eye roll he added, "and it doesn't hurt to remind the people of prophecy and to trust our 'foretold leaders.' Might keep the bullets from flying."

Laura looked shocked at the level of snark and dark humor in her aide's tone. An image of the first time she met Billy flashed in her mind, when he was all innocence and eagerness. This Billy gave a humourless little laugh at the reminiscent look on Laura's face.

"I've lost some of that squeaky clean Billy Keikeya shine, haven't I?"

"Never."

"I'll look this over before the press conference," Billy said, gathering up Ellen's notes and glancing at the clock. Laura smiled and thanked him, moving over to her own desk and opening the top drawer. Extracting the small bottle there, she popped out one of the pills and swallowed it with a gulp of cold tea.

Seeing Billy's curious eyes on her, she blushed.

"Cottle-ordered medication, Billy. Not Chamalla. Don't worry, I won't be seeing things while speaking to the press," she offered.

"Yes, ma'am," Bill said, going back to work. Laura returned the bottle. Privately, she still believed those visions had helped her see what she was meant to see. These pills for anxiety helped her manage the PTSD and came with no supposed message from the Gods.

…

Long term travel in space meant a dismal, depressing stretch of time. Phenomena like nebulas, gas giants, and comets only rarely broke up the mostly empty void of space. To be fair, the four metal bulkheads that most people called home blinded them to what the inky black had to offer. Windows were a structural liability, so most ships, except the luxury liners and ritzy transport ships, lacked a good view.

Feeling it was wise to keep the general population from going completely stir-crazy (or insane), passes to the more luxurious spaceships were issued to everyone once a month. Having a night out on the town—Fleet—gave people something to look forward to. A little jaunt in a shuttle, a quick view of the stars and two hundred other ships, and a night off was something to live for. And it helped with mental health, a rather precious resource in the apocalypse.

Laura had the idea for this too late in the last timeline, when she was lying in sickbay with too much time to think. The fleeting I-should-have-done-that idea made its way into her journal of things to remember when she awoke in this timeline. It worked well. Those in high-stress jobs got extra slots; that perk alone drove up recruitment for maintenance workers and military personnel.

Tylium workers used their pass to get aboard the Chiron, swearing to anyone who'd listen that it had the best hooch. After refining Tylium, they needed a stiff drink. They also found the Chiron's wildflower hydroponic bay to be like walking through the Elysium fields. There among the daisies a few Tylium workers there were discussing what might happen if they refused to fuel Cylon ships.

Maintenance crews preferred the Carillon where they spent their wages on gambling and the infamous Carillon social actors. What else was there? It created a pleasant distraction. Alongside the cubits exchanging hands there were also pamphlets that warned of the government being swayed by Cylon influence. Some workers rolled their eyes and tossed the drivel in the garbage but others pointed at the salacious words and congratulated each other for refusing to work until their concerns were taken seriously.

Cloud Nine remained reserved for politicians and the military and that was fine for everyone. Sometimes pilots would go to the Botanical Cruiser for a change, and they could be found jogging on level fifteen through the growing fields of wheat, or swinging in a hammock strung up between two trees genetically modified to produce more oxygen. A few tried to sneak down to level thirteen, where plants like chamalla were grown, but only a few—like Starbuck—ever made it past the guards.

Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, Sharon "Boomer" Valerii, Liam "Falcon" Adama, and Dr. Zak Adama crowded around a table at a top-deck outdoor pub for their R-and-R time slot. Together they enjoyed the fake sunlight and terrible hooch. Simulation or not, it warmed the skin. With Boomer in their group, Cloud Nine was their best option for R-and-R with the current complicated climate in regards to Cylon sentiment.

The large biodome of Cloud Nine, which gave the ship its distinctive facade, contained the most expansive botanical gardens in the Fleet. Big enough to allow kilometers of stone paths through green grass and small buildings, the biodome tried hard to imitate a town green. It let passengers pretend like they'd stepped back onto one of the Twelve Colonies.

Almost.

You can see the projection grid for frak's sake, Kara thought when she looked up from her work to stretch and down her iffy beer in a single glug. Reports in a jumbled mess on the table earned them a sympathetic look from the waiter who Kara asked for another round.

Usually the hot headed pilot preferred the dive bars below decks where iffy beer gave way to sketchy ambrosia, but sometimes change was good. Besides, Boomer was barely talked off Galactica until the others agreed to go to one of the safest, friendliest hangouts. She probably wouldn't have even been allowed to land on the Chiron or the Carillon.

"Tigh's got it in for me," Liam bemoaned.

"Wonder why?!" Zak said, nudging his brother playfully. He threw his head back and laughed at the pleading look in Liam's eyes that begged for commiseration and sage advice.

"Did you really make chicken wings at him?" Boomer asked. She leaned back in her chair after pushing away one of the battle simulation reports. They'd been running drills to prepare for the attack on the Resurrection Hub. According to the results, the introduction of Cylon friendlies into the mix would require basic teamwork drills before anyone was ready to take on an enemy target. Then there were the pilots who didn't even bother to show up for training.

"You'd think Tigh would finally let Lee's stag night go," Liam grumbled. Instead, he'd bided his time until and waited for the right moment. Now, Liam was an ensign and Tigh, who'd never forgotten the shenanigans of that night, pulled rank so hard it made Liam's head spin sometimes. Retaliation could be an art.

"Mom and Dad might be able to help," Zak offered while still grinning at his brother's misfortune.

"They won't," Kara said.

"Really? I mean… Do you know how long he's been on latrine duty?"

"Right of passage for all nuggets," Boomer said, unable to stop the grin spreading on her own face as she remembered her own days as a rook. Everyone had initiation ritual stories.

"Maybe Mom or Dad could say something to that… jerk," Liam said, a slight smile on his face at the ray of hope he saw. "Or Lee—"

"They won't," Kara repeated. "They know Tigh is doing you a favor."

"Not following that logic," Liam grumbled.

"She's right," Boomer said with a laugh. The confounded look on the young man's face was priceless. Boomer exchanged a look with Kara, nodding for the flight instructor to explain.

"You're still the Admiral and President's kid more than 'one of the pilots'. But, if you survive Tigh's wrath and keep working hard it'll earn you respect and let you prove yourself. You'll be the kid who survived Tigh's wrath," Kara said and tried not to glower at the idea of defending Tigh. He was still a bastard. With a grimace, she downed half her drink and hoped it wouldn't become a trend. She turned back to the reports while Liam thought about what she said.

"Guess you're toughing it out, little brother," Zak shrugged. "Better you than me. But let your big brother order you another drink."

"Could be worse," Boomer pointed out, knowing that as a Cylon she'd always be proving herself. Every single day was a test. Needing a moment away from that depressing thought, Boomer projected her dream cabin around her. After finding out she was a Cylon, their talk of marriage was put on hold, but recently Galen mentioned it again. Maybe we'll build this, Boomer thought before dissolving the image of pine walls with family pictures. If a bullet doesn't find us first.

"Hey, does Narcho over there look sick to you?" Kara asked as she looked between a sheet of paper in her hands and a group of pilots two tables down. Boomer looked at the paper and noticed that Narcho hadn't shown up for training due to being ill. Yet that man two tables over laughing with other Pegasus pilots was definitely Narcho.

"About as sick as Dash there," Boomer said, looking at the paper in Kara's hand and noting another so-called sick pilot.

"Hey, Narcho!" Kara yelled over to them. "What miracle one-day disease did you catch so you could skip training?"

"Cylon pox!" he called back over. It earned him the raucous laughter of the people around him.

"Funny, loudmouth," Kara hollered back. "Now, how about making sure your ass is in a simulator tomorrow or I come over and shove it in a sim myself?" she said with a self-assured grin.

"Sure. You gonna make your Cylon friend there help? I hear we're all friends right now. Why not let her come over to Pegasus and try to put us in our place?" Narcho said. The gleefully vindictive look on the faces of those at his table indicated exactly how they imagined that confrontation going down.

"Wouldn't wanna get Cylon pox," Boomer said, trying to sound more confident than she felt with far too many eyes on her.

Narcho stood, took a large swallow of beer, and strutted toward Kara's table. With his chest puffed out and a challenging look plastered on his face, the tables fell silent and watched the brewing confrontation. He grabbed the back of Boomer's chair, leaning down to talk to the Cylon pilot.

"I'm curious; how many people did you help kill? How much blood—"

"More Cylons than you," Kara interrupted. "Even in her little Raptor."

Narcho sneered. "Bullshit."

"That's enough," Zak warned, looking around at the fidgeting people. Curiosity kept everyone seated, but their eyes were fixed in their direction. All other conversation had completely ceased.

"Enough? So your Cylon-loving parents don't even want us to tease—"

Kara stood. She was a dangerous woman when infuriated, and in one practiced motion, she'd wrenched one of Narcho's arms away from Boomer and twisted it behind him, locking him in place. The hold tore a pained yelp from the man's throat.

The other pilots from his table jumped up to intervene, but they were stopped by other Galactica crew present who barred their path.

"Be at training tomorrow, do you understand me?" Kara snarled.

"Not flyin' with Cylons."

"You'll fly with whoever the Admiral tells you to fly with. If he says you fly with geese, you fly with geese. He says fly with Cylons, you get in your cockpit and you fly with Cylons." Kara pushed him away. He fell into the table, sending their beer glasses flying. She remained tense and ready to strike if Narcho unwisely provoked her further.

"That's enough all of you!" the owner yelled, running out from behind the bar. "I will call Fleet Security."

Narcho picked himself up off the table, glaring at Kara and the others.

"There's only one Admiral I'll listen to," he swore.

Shouts of "Frak you!" and "Good luck with that!" and "Shut up, asshole!" rang from the Galactica personnel as Narcho and the Pegasus pilots stalked away.

Picking up her upturned chair, Kara noticed Sam Anders and other Caprica Buccaneers heading toward the bar.

"Don't worry. We're leaving too," she told the barkeep who still looked at them warily. She bent over to gather up the papers now in complete disarray and stained with beer. Boomer, Zak, and Liam helped quickly, unsettled at what happened even with the muttered "good on you"s thrown their way from their fellow Galacticans.

"If they only knew what Mom and Dad have been through," Liam said as they walked away. He shuddered, remembering the night his mother was kidnapped by Centurions. "Cylons took Mom…"

"And the general population will never know that," Boomer said.

"Don't talk about any of that in public," Kara warned.

"Does that old Cylon really want her again?" Liam asked, remembering the voice of the Cylon leading the Centurions.

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Because he's a sadistic bastard," Boomer snapped, ruffled by what was supposed to be a relaxing day. Besides, as a rule, she tried not to think of Cavil at all. Still, memories popped into her mind. Foremost were the ones where Cavil brought her to a pathetic old derelict ship that the kidnapped Laura Roslin joined them on later. "She has much to tell us," Cavil had promised before asking about the memories Laura possessed. Screams.

One night, he'd injected her with pure chamalla and asked her about the orb he was obsessed with and then demanded to know what Laura saw. Where is it? He asked over and over.

He thought she could guide him to where it was, Boomer realized.

…

It was late enough to be early. Stretching her tired body, Laura tried to rub the gritty feeling from her eyes but it only seemed to get worse. She resisted the sweet pull of sleep, reading through the pages of her old journal to keep alert. She seemed to believe that if she reread the memories again and again, bleary-eyed as she was now, she might somehow save her people from any mistakes or bad decisions.

Objectively, she knew this timeline was better; how could there be any doubt. But like Billy, she couldn't help that lingering fear that the ground might give out from under them at any moment, spiraling this timeline into a nightmare.

Every extra day I feel like I'm waiting for the bullet I'm supposed to get. Maybe we're all living on borrowed time. Maybe those of us from before have already gotten more than we deserve.

Billy's words haunted her.

Every other page she looked up at the hatch and wondered when her husband would be home. Pajama-clad, bleary-eyed, and curled up in bed, Laura pushed off sleeping until Bill was home too. She'd needed to see him for a few exhausted minutes at the end of the day, to curl up together for sleep. Laura sighed. She wanted to be held, with no agenda and no expectation other than to be herself and then drift off with the heat of her husband seeping into her.

In the meantime, the carefully documented memories of the past timeline were laid before her: a story of tough decisions that forged her into a harder version of herself. And yet here I am pining for my husband, she thought while flipping ahead in her journal the Tyrols' strike. Awful fleet conditions, child labor, protests, and her with no perfect solution. The talk with Billy had her ruminating about the past and hoping, by the gods hoping and praying, that they'd avoided certain tragedies.

Unfortunately, time occasionally had other ideas and seemed hell-bent on keeping to its natural course, like a river ignoring the stones Laura threw to divert its path. She frowned; what a frustrating thought. She searched the pages as if they might reveal or prompt an idea to help their current situation as she waited for Bill.

A hoarse snort-laugh escape as she read:

If the quarters become cramped, you're always welcome in one of my beds.

"You have no idea," she muttered, looking down at the other redhead snuggled in his bed.

By the time Laura made it home, Maya had already put Evelyn to bed and wanted to beat a hasty retreat. An easy child normally, Evie had decided to become a vexing handful. Her newest trick combined "the legendary Adama silence" with "the Roslin stubbornness" to maximum effect. No screaming or crying, oh no, Evie simply stayed rooted to a spot and stared at the person denying her what she wanted.

So when the toddler snuck out of her bed and stood next to her parents' bed with determined blue eyes fixed on the mother she'd wanted all day, Laura quickly swept the girl off her feet and into the rack with her. Laura had cried a bit at her child burrowing against her, little fists gripping her green, silk nightgown even in sleep. Into the small hours of the night, she kept one arm draped around her daughter while reading the journal.

"I'm not finding any answers, little one," she told Evie, hearing the strain of her own tired voice.

"Answers to what?" Bill asked as he stepped into their quarters, his presence instantly drawing a small smile from her.

"Everything," Laura said.

"Is there a piece of that everything I can help with?" he asked as the hatch closed behind him, sequestering them away in their own world for the night. In private, the lines of his shoulders arched downwards, militaristic bearing giving way and revealing a tired man.

"You could come to bed," she said and he gave a nod. Her heart twisted in sympathy as she watched him trudge across the room while stripping the blue uniform from his body. It had forced him to shoulder too much over the years, but he still carefully hung it in the closet, switching to sweats with his service tanks, before coming to her.

He chuckled and shook his head at the sight of Evie while bending down to greet his wife with an affectionate kiss. Her hand reached behind his neck to hold him close and the gesture made his chest fill with warmth at having an affectionate, loving wife to whom he returned every night.

Breaking away, his face fell when he noticed the journal in her hands and the sacred scrolls abandoned nearby. Laura rolled her eyes at his visceral reaction to the sacred scrolls. She'd been able to get over his refusal to have anything to do with them in this timeline—he would always hate them.

"It's not like either is really helping anymore," she offered. "We're mostly off-script. Without the disaster of New Caprica…" she trailed off and he nodded in understanding. Events had changed drastically with causes and effects all mixed up even if vague parallels could be made. "Maybe we're living on borrowed time. We've already been so lucky to have what we do."

"Maybe we are," Bill said. In truth, from the moment he found himself in this timeline, he fully believed it was borrowed time. So when not working for a better future, he'd filled as many moments as possible with living a good life and treasuring those close to him. He looked down at her, meeting her jade-green eyes that sparkled like leaves after rain, setting off her porcelain skin. One thing he'd always known was that she hadn't come back from the dead to the promise of a charmed, easy life.

"So, we'll go off-script," he said without alarm. "We made it before. We'll make it again with you leading us."

"And you."

He chuckled dryly; he wasn't feeling like a glorious military leader or even a particularly good one. There was too much discontent in the ranks. Laura tilted her head to study him better.

"Bill, what's wrong?"

With a sigh, he pushed away from the bed. Heading to the drinks cart, he glanced over at Laura with a questioning look in his eyes as he gestured to the ambrosia. She shook her head, blushing and muttering something about not being able to drink after taking her prescribed anxiety medication. He forced himself not to comment, knowing even congratulating her on taking the medication when she needed only made her more self-conscious.

"You're stalling, Bill."

He poured two waters. Passing her one, he recounted the story that Kara, Liam, Zak, and Boomer reported to him after their experience on Cloud Nine. Laura tensed as she listened, becoming even more worried about everything.

Bill's face was a mask of grim determination as he spoke. "I won't tolerate mutiny in the ranks. I can't. So, I'm going to talk to Cain tomorrow, and if I have to make an example so people fall in line… I will."

Too stunned to speak, Laura watched him move to the head. The everyday banality of going through his nightly rituals was a sharp contrast to the threat underlying his words. It made Laura shudder as she watched him. Sometimes she forgot the harsh and brutal man he could be, especially to protect those he loved.

Coming back to bed, he took the books away from Laura and placed them on the table.

"You don't need to search for answers in those. You're an incredible leader without all… that stuff," he said. Laura couldn't help but giggle at the disdain he couldn't keep from his voice. She really had to accept that while nothing was perfect, they had done good work.

"I try. It's also bugging me that we don't know where the orb is," Laura argued. For a moment, Bill considered telling her what Boomer revealed: Cavil and his belief that Laura could be exploited to find the orb. The two were undeniably connected, but Bill kept his mouth shut and ignored the prickling guilty feeling in his gut. What good could she do with that information?

"There's a lot of stuff we don't know," he said instead and pulled back the blankets of the rack to join his two beloved redheads.

"Are you really going to let her sleep with us? Both of us will feel it in the morning. Military racks aren't designed for this."

"Yeah. I'm a soft touch after all," Bill said and flipped off the reading light as Laura's quiet laughter drifted over them. Cozying up to the other two, he draped his arm around them. He felt a deep contentment spread through him when both of them, even sleeping Evie, shifted so they were all pressed together in a warm bundle.

"I love you."

...

Author's note: The story is huge, I know. Thanks for all the positive comments and kudos! Each one makes my day.