The military had rushed back to protect the Civilian Fleet, pushing back the Cylon ambush until the remaining civilians jumped to safety. Having paid survival's price, they'd declared the battle over. Before the clock's hand struck past another second after ordering a stand-down, Bill was heading for Galactica. Please have stayed aboard Galactica, love. Please.

Once aboard, his feet pounded the deck as he hastened toward CIC. The crew gave him battle-weary looks as they parted to let the determined man pass. A few Eights and Sixes trudged past, keeping their eyes downcast both in shame and to call as little attention to themselves as possible.

A marine stationed outside CIC looked him over with concern, his eyes lingering on the Admiral's arm in a sling and the mottled purple bruise forming on his forehead. Nevertheless, he obligingly opened the door for Adama; suggesting that sickbay might be a better place to be to admirals on the warpath went above his pay grade. Besides, even injured, Adama presented a better leadership option than the absolute clusterfrak happening in CIC.

Nope, the marine kept his mouth clamped shut, and simply hoped Adama could help Tigh.

If the central Command and Information Control space of a Battlestar served like a body's beating heart, then Galactica's fluttered with anxiety-fueled palpitations. Inside CIC, Bill witnessed Saul prowling like a rabid dog let loose. He pounced and snarled, eyes blazing at anyone who crossed his path. It was the look of a man who couldn't stop fighting because then reality would come crashing down around him. Bill knew it meant that Ellen had been on Colonial One.

"I said get me an accurate ship count Petty Officer Dualla! Keikeya! Whoever the frak you are, I told you to get me an accurate count and stop yammering on with excuses," Saul bellowed.

"Sir," Dualla's voice wobbled, like she held back tears, "I've verified the ships twice. Voice and authentication codes confirmed. There are only one hundred ninety-nine civilian ships—"

"We didn't leave people behind!" Saul interrupted with a roar. His face reddened and spittle flew from his mouth as he snarled. "We don't leave people behind. Two civie ships. Have you lost two whole ships, girl?"

"Sir, they were destroyed," Dee said, a tear trickling down her face.

"They disappeared from DRADIS; there's no proof—"

"Commander, the destructions were confirmed," Gaeta said, unwilling to let Tigh verbally eviscerate his friend.

"The only words I wanna hear from you are an explanation as to why damage control is taking so long," Saul said, whirling to face Gaeta.

How about it? Do you know where my eye is? Like back then, Bill had seen enough. His heart broke for his friend's loss: Saul might not have been the most stand-up citizen, but, for all his faults, the man was loyal and honest. But the crew looked ready to cry or explode, and neither was acceptable for the military.

"Saul!" Bill's voice rang across CIC, bringing a halt to all activity. His eyes locked with Saul's. A long, tense silence filled the CIC, punctuated only by the many sounds that the various instruments in the command center routinely made.

"She's gone."

Saul's face crumbled. Bill watched the man before him stumble over to their central station, hands bracing themselves against the glowing tabletop. His head fell as reality crashed on him. His posture screamed defeat.

Bill walked over to Saul, nodding at the crew to continue working. They looked relieved, and Bill hoped that was also a touch of sympathy in their eyes for the bereaved man. While Saul's behavior was unacceptable, family understands when a man stretched too far snaps.

"She's gone. She's gone," Saul sniffled. He looked at Bill with the saddest expression, as if Ellen's death sucked all the joy and warmth out of his universe.

Laura's alive. She has to be. I can still breathe; I can still feel warm.

Bill placed a comforting hand on Saul's shoulder; it trembled under his touch.

"I'm sorry," Bill said.

Saul glared at him, his face awash with tears of grief. Losing Ellen always wrenched something loose in him. As if unwilling to face his suffering, Saul switched to anger.

"The Great Bill Adama, already trying to fix this latest disaster we were led to. But, go on and ask the question you wanna ask."

"Go to your quarters, Saul."

"Yeah. You gotta try and fix this. Just like that wife of yours. You're fixers. Fixed me up, but now I'm a broken machine again," Saul scoffed at his own words, but kept talking like a runaway train. "She fixed you right up, and you get to stay good and happy. You wanna ask about Laura. Go on, Bill."

His throat went dry, and words failed him. Bill knew the crew around them were doing their best to ignore the two men.

"But she can't bring Ellen back," Saul bemoaned. He lashed out in grief, like a man swinging a sword wildly while gravely injured. "Her damn visions can't protect us." He looked up as if aware of someone watching him. Saul glared at someone in the Core while letting the vitriol grief stirred in him pour forth. "Your little Pythia is useless. Her gods are useless!"

Bill's eyes widened, and he looked up to see Laura standing in the Core, watching them from the upper area. Bill forced himself to focus on the needy man in front of him.

"Saul, go," Bill said in a bold, commanding voice. His heart ached for Saul, but he couldn't let even his best friend cause a scene and disrespect the president in public. "Go grieve. Scream to the bulkheads all you need. But do it in private."

Saul looked around at the stares of the CIC, seeing his comrades through the fog of grief. With understanding, he nodded unsteadily and managed a salute. "Yes, sir."

From up above, Laura trembled as she watched Saul's downward spiral. She remembered how grief came in waves, and sometimes one came along so strong it swept a person away. Watching Saul stumble from CIC, she knew there would be a lot of that in the days to come.

Laura couldn't lie: losing Pegasus hit hard, not only for the strategic loss but for the resounding echo from the other timeline its loss provoked. On top of that, Fleet News Service would soon begin circling their tidbits: the President pressing bandages to wounds in sickbay, snippets of Colonial One's last harrowing transmission, interviews with pilots asking if they believed the risk had been worth it. Laura knew that after would be the accusations, questions, and reevaluations.

Fatigue chilled Laura to the bone, and she looked worse for wear with her usual blazer missing and red hair tangled. But her expression remained flinty and fierce while she waited with dignified poise in the Core of CIC. Bill looked up at her from his place in the center of CIC, as if double-checking her presence before going to work.

As he brought order to CIC, Laura scanned the faces in the room. Each and every one of them looked tired and shocked from the past few hours, moving under the power of fading adrenaline. She doubted that Bill and she felt any better. More than a handful of them cast her a look, sorrow tinged with anger. Oh yes, there would be blowback with which they'd had to live.

"Mr. Gaeta, assemble damage control reports, from both Galactica and the Fleet. We'll need to draw up a repair schedule. Get Mobile Spacedock Icarus on the horn and confirm they can begin work immediately. Dee, sort through incoming messages, get me the priority ones first," he ordered before moving toward the ladder that would take him up to Laura. "And return flagship status to Galactica," Bill added.

His command brought back a happy memory, and Laura let it fill her as she waited for Bill.

"C'mon, Roslin, we're transferring our flag to the rack," Bill said, standing up from the couch.

"Our flag?" she asked in confusion. He pulled her up from the couch, and she laughed at the display of playfulness. "We don't have a flag."

Bill gave her an unimpressed look and huffed. "So literal."

Laura looked at him over the rim of her glasses, giving him her own imperious look.

"I can leave and find my old military advisor," she threatened. "He'd be nice enough to explain." Bill chuckled at her mock threat. With how lovely an evening they were having, she wasn't going anywhere. Not when her eyes kept flicking to the rack.

"Admirals are known as flag officers. We are senior enough to fly a command flag to mark our positions. Historically, this was far more useful before DRADIS. If I go to another ship, it becomes my flagship from where I can command the fleet."

"Makes sense," Laura said. For the next few minutes, Bill showed her the different flags on his model ships. He'd replicated them in meticulous detail and enjoyed showing them off and explaining their various roles. Laura loved seeing the boyish side of him, who delighted in sharing his interests and hobbies.

"I have a question," Laura said.

"Fire," Bill said, putting the last flag he'd shown her on the mast of a ship. The detailed ship was Homeric Galley from Caprica's Age of Explorers, the period of the planet's history after the Colonials abandoned the technology they brought from Kobol. The boat had gotten terribly lost, but, after many trials, made it home years later. Bill displayed it prominently in their quarters as a reminder that an odyssey eventually ends.

"So," she began, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "if you can move your flag, shouldn't Colonial One's callsign follow me?"

Bill eyed her warily. "Technically."

"So when I'm aboard Galactica, shouldn't it be—"

"Don't tempt me into another coup, woman," he groused before she could even finish her thought

Laura's rich laughter filled the air. "Hands off your flagship. Got it."

Now Colonial One, formerly Colonial Heavy 798, was gone, blasted by the Cylons into a billion bits of cosmic dust. It reminded Laura of when Zarek had executed the Quorum in the last timeline; that kind of event radiates out to the people like a demoralizing shockwave. Colonial One and the Quorum represented the symbolic heart of Colonial civilization and losing Colonial One was a blow. At least most of the Quorum survived.

Back straight and body taut with tension, she remained the pillar of poise and strength her people needed until Bill's familiar figure finally struggled up the ladder. A weight lifted off her chest.

I'm so tired of these close calls.

"Clear the deck," he ordered as they walked toward each other, and the screw scattered. Laura's lip trembled as tears swam in her eyes. Deep creases marked his bronze skin, and tension set heavy in his bearing, but the worst sight was his bruised forehead and his arm in a sling. His blue eyes, burning bright with concern, latched onto her, and Laura noticed the resulting sheer relief. A final few steps, and Laura had her husband wrapped in her arms. He gripped her tightly; I can't believe I didn't lose you again communicated without words.

"Evie?" he asked, keeping his voice low to give them privacy in CIC.

"Fine. She's fine. I had Maya take her," Laura said. "The boys? Kara?"

"They survived. Kara's already flying CAP."

Complete and utter relief suffused through her entire being. If they were regular civilians or alone in their quarters, nothing could have pried them apart as they basked in the tactile reassurance of the other's survival. But Bill relaxed his hold, and Laura stepped out of the embrace. At least we allowed ourselves that moment; there was a time we wouldn't have, Laura thought. She'd needed their moment, more shaken than anyone could imagine after the day.

Was Pegasus destined to be destroyed? But Colonial One had made it to Earth.

She ran a gentle hand over his injured arm but refrained from fussing.

"I'll be fine," he said anyway. She saw in the tightness of his jaw that indicated he hated what he was about to tell her. "Laura, you should know that Liam was hurt. He ejected from his Viper, but Lee rescued him. Zak's with him on Valkyrie, says he'll be ok, but he wants to keep him on oxygen for tonight."

Laura covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a gasp because if anything could shake her impressive self-control, it was her children hurting. Hera and Zeus held each other, and nearby Poseidon cried a river of tears. Apollo held a baby bird. Her vision had warned her. A sudden bolt of anger shot through her when she thought of how useless her visions could be. Your little Pythia is useless. Her gods are useless!

Maybe if she could see farther ahead or control them...

"Laura," Bill said, grasping a shaking shoulder. "Laura, he is going to be okay. Say it."

"He's going to be okay." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "When does it end, Bill?"

Bill looked at her with sympathy. "How many aboard Colonial One?"

"One hundred ninety-eight residents, and we're trying to figure out who from the government was aboard. There were at least two Quorum members..." her voice trailed off from anger or sadness.

"Billy?"

"Alive, thank the gods," Laura breathed. "He was on Galactica like me. We probably should have been on Colonial One..."

"No!" Bill barked. Laura saw the shadow of her death cross before him. "No," he repeated. "I don't care how selfish it sounds, but I'm glad you were here. I can't..." His uninjured arm subconsciously reached for her, his fingers finding the pulse in her wrist. Laura tried to focus on the feeling of her own heartbeat against his fingers, knowing she needed to stay grounded as she told him the harrowing tale of what happened in the Fleet.

"They wanted me, Bill. The Cylons attacked Colonial One because they hoped I was there. They were able to call Galactica as the Cylons boarded her, and I could hear them demanding to know where I was. The crew… they were so brave. We could hear them beating down the door to the cockpit. Before he died, Captain Russo told me to stay safe and that it had been an honor. His voice was so calm. He told the Cylons to go frak themselves when they got through. Then we could hear shots. Saul heard Ellen scream…" Bitterness welled in her, settling in her stomach as a rolling, angry feeling.

"Cavil." Bill's anger knew no bounds at that moment. He experienced the boiling lava-like feeling of sheer wrath at the audacity of the Cylons and the Cavil model in particular.

Laura nodded. "Cavil. There's one in the brig. After destroying Colonial One, they managed to get a small boarding party on Galactica, but the marines repelled the Centurions and captured the humanoid model."

During her report, she watched the hands that so often touched her with tenderness twitch like they wanted to squeeze the life out of their prisoner. She realized again how truly brutal Bill could be, especially when it came to protecting her.

"He thinks you can lead him to the Orb," he said.

Why! Laura wanted to scream. Instead, she covered his hand, pulling herself together like untouchable marble that nothing could hurt. "We can talk more later. Our people need us now. I'm going to go back to the wardroom and put the government back together. Again," she added the last word bitterly.

Bill nodded. It amazed him that she could carry on when he knew she was frantically trying to keep her own head above water. He knew both of their hearts were breaking for Saul, and he also suspected Laura would miss her unlikely friend. He also knew the loss of Colonial One and Cavil's obsession with her disturbed her greatly. He hated to add another thing to her worries.

"You should know one more thing, Madame President," Bill began. "The Hub probably survived. We fired some missiles and nukes at it—a last-ditch effort before jumping away. The raiders probably intercepted them, but it was a desperate move to salvage what we could."

"You didn't tell Saul. Ellen could be resurrecting," her last words were so soft that Bill had to strain to hear her. It wouldn't do for their knowledge of the remaining Cylons to become public fodder.

"It would be worse to lose her twice if we succeeded by some miracle. I don't need him going off on a wild mission to rescue her either."

"Would he?"

"I would," Bill smiled sadly thinking of when he waited for her in a Raptor. "I did. Remember?"

"I could never forget," she said giving him a real smile at the memory of his stupid, heroic, romantic action. They started walking out of the Core.

"I'll see you in our quarters," Bill said.

"Make sure you stop by Cottle first," Laura said. "And you should probably check on Saul."

With that, they parted. Only minutes long, their meeting eased the gnawing anxiety in both of them, shoring up any of the cracks starting to appear in their armor.

…

Laura carefully stepped across the Flight Deck like an ethereal specter, luminous as starlight dressed in flowing white. Turning around, she tilted her head and considered the fogged-out landscape of the Battlestar. Under the dimmed lights, clouds of mist curled around the parked Vipers and extended throughout the full length of the deck.

This isn't right.

Galactica generated its own gravity and atmosphere, but the technological marvel could not create weather. It was impossible to have summer rain or winter wind.

Or fog.

On one end, the mist's white fingers encircled the displayed Colonial flags, the dais, and the podium. The set-up reflected the funeral held just that morning for those lost in the battle a few days earlier.

As Laura glided toward the dais and podium, a prickle of unease tingled across her skin and settled at the base of her neck. The impossible fog swirled around her feet with each step.

What now? Laura asked, wanting to wake up, yet part of her also hoped she'd been brought here to see something. Something useful. What's the mess—

Laura tripped on something squishy beneath the low-hanging mist, and she fell on the metal floor. It was soundless, lacking even the tiniest echo caused by a human crashing against metal. On the floor, the fog surrounded her and stank like putrid decay, and Laura covered her nose with a grimace. Narrowing her eyes, she peered through the mist to find what tripped her.

Her scream caused her throat to ache, but it too remained soundless. Beside her lay a cadaver, draped with the flag of the Twelve Colonies. Not far off, there rested another and by it another. Laura scrambled away on her hands and feet, bumping into corpses, trapped in a macabre maze until she collided into the bulkhead. Pulling herself up the metal wall, Laura's whole body shook.

More shapes appeared out of the mist. They became rows and rows of men and women at attention, facing the bodies that lay on the ground in what Laura realized was a dark reflection of the funeral performed earlier that day. She drew inward on herself, not wanting to be witness to the somber event again. Not wanting to fuel the small voice in her head that asked if she'd missed or ignored warnings in her visions that might have spared them.

Did I? I see things, I'm forced to see things, but what does it matter?

Looking away from the dead, Laura searched the opposite side of the dais on the Flight Deck, knowing she'd find herself standing beside a severe-looking Bill Adama. Although the fog impaired her vision, she found the two figures looking every inch the President of the Colonies and Admiral of the Fleet: dignified, respectful, and, most importantly, unbroken. The two leaders listened to Elosha deliver a eulogy on the dais. In the dream, it was soundless, but during the funeral, Laura had thought it sounded like many other eulogies—she'd heard so many.

Laura noticed a woman walking among the bodies, whose svelte black dress clung to her every curve. If Laura appeared like captured starlight, this woman encapsulated the inky black of space in both dress and the cold aura she radiated. She looked like a Six, but nothing felt familiar or right about her. The woman hadn't been at the funeral; Laura would have remembered the stir caused by a Six in a formal dress who wove her way through the bodies like some haunting angel of death.

Sensing the Not-Six's importance to the vision, Laura pushed away from the wall and followed her. The mist remained thick and pervasive through the Flight Deck as she picked her way through the bodies, and the woman didn't appear to see or take any interest in Laura.

Laura watched as she bent and studied a fallen Leoben model before placing a hand on his forehead, blessing the dead body. When the black-dressed woman finished, she stood and looked around with a judgemental frown. Laura trailed after her as she sashayed up to Baltar, who stood next to the President as befitted the Vice President.

"See how the humans lined up all the Cylons in the back?" she asked, her clear, audible voice surprising Laura. She addressed Baltar, ignoring everyone else—including her look-alike, Caprica Six, who stood beside Baltar to represent the Cylons.

"Enough people didn't want the Cylons here in the first place," Baltar answered. That was true, another symptom of how their alliance with the rebel Cylons remained in a perilous position. Laura fully knew that the failed mission strained it further.

Not-Six scoffed in derision and circled the Vice President, graceful as the sleekest panther. "All are equal in the eyes of God. The Cylons risked their lives alongside the humans. They should be placed beside their comrades in death."

"You seem constantly to forget—Cylons did commit that little genocide incident, upon which you never quite like to comment. Self-conscious, darling?" Baltar drawled, acerbic humor poisoning his tone.

Laura watched as the Six ran her palm over Baltar's chest before reaching for his throat. She curled her fingers around it with a menacing smile while the funeral continued around them. "I've warned you before: don't make me angry, Gauis."

Despite the nails biting into his flesh, Baltar simply glanced at the President who stood next to him and then looked back to Not-Six with an unimpressed expression. In fact, he looked amused. "You know, I think that I've gotten quite adept at dealing with easily irritable women. I've found that it keeps life interesting."

"I can never decide if you are the smartest human in existence or the dumbest."

In another situation, Laura would have laughed. Instead, frustration welled in her. None of this offered anything that might help her or her people.

Finally, Laura turned from them and found herself drawn a few paces away. She came to stand in front of Bill and used the opportunity to observe him unreservedly. To others, he wore a severe facade, everything about him careful and measured so that he portrayed strength and calm; Laura saw her beloved husband looking tired enough to sleep for days. His blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and his body seemed weighed down by his many burdens. The need to do something, anything to ease their troubles burned in her.

Show me something useful! No half-truths and symbols. No warnings that I'll only understand when it's too late!

From this angle, she noticed how often his eyes flicked toward the President beside him, checking on her. A warm tenderness filled Laura's heart. People thought Bill Adama was stoic and cold, but she'd discovered how the man before her was deeply warm and caring. His fiercest wish was to look after his family. With his many cares, Laura worried how far he tried to stretch himself. She watched how the reflection of herself pressed the back of her hand against his, a subtle gesture suitable while in public, but conveying everything important: I'm here. We're in this together.

"Your little Pythia is useless."

What if he doesn't make it back next time? Or the boys? A shudder passed through her body.

Not-Six cut in front of Laura with a swish of her black dress, interrupting her thoughts. The woman's interest had shifted away from her human toy. Her focus now rested on the vision's Adama and Roslin, both of whom she studied with narrowed eyes.

"What do people see in him?"

Everything, Laura thought, bristling. Baltar simply shrugged at the insult.

"He's what some might call a good man," he said boredly.

"And her? She's so ordinary. So boring. I've never understood why God uses her in his plan. What makes her special?" Her gaze drifted over to the President.

"Oh, even I know that one," Baltar drawled. He let the suspense drag for a moment, and Laura found herself curious about what he would say. "Her flawed humanity, and that she understands humanity's flaws."

In front of Laura, Not-Six shrugged at Baltar's answer, dismissing it. She turned her attention to the crowd of onlookers as the funeral ended. The crowd took up their traditional chant, "so say we all." To Laura, it remained soundless.

The crowd began to disperse with slumped shoulders and clenched fists. Six nodded at them. "Look at them, Gaius. Can you feel the emotion of the crowd? The simmering anger? The frustration?"

"It'll boil over if we're not careful," Baltar said, and Laura knew they were right. She looked over her people with compassion, knowing it was hard to lose friends and knowing this alliance with the Cylons wasn't easy. Only her memories of the other timeline made it palatable to her. She looked around, searching the crowd in case a clue or warning could be found there.

"Stop staring at her!" Gaius exclaimed suddenly. Laura turned and found Not-Six glowering at the President, who now spoke with the military leaders.

"Don't worry. She's not my type," Six said with a wrinkle of her nose. "And she can't see me, Gaius. I'm still the little voice in your head. Only you can see me."

"Then why the interest?"

Six glared at the President. "If she embraced God's gift, this never would have happened."

Laura felt that statement like a slap to the face. Her son lay in sickbay, good men and women were dead, and she and her husband were drained—she would have avoided it if she'd known. To suggest otherwise was sickening.

"Since she clearly adores her children. I can only assume you refer to the psychotic episodes her followers call prophecy?"

"Such a scientist. Weren't we just talking about your own psychoactive imaginary friend? Your gift from God?"

"Well, I wonder why anyone might reject unasked-for gifts? Perhaps it came with unwanted strings attached, like having an imaginary friend. Do you think it's fun? Imagine an invisible lover being so damned bossy while I frak her flesh and blood counterpart."

Not-Six slapped him. Baltar stumbled to the side from the force of the blow. Laura remembered seeing him lose his balance a bit at the funeral, but dismissed it as another one of his odd moments.

Baltar touched his cheek and rolled his eyes. "My own personal psychoactive poltergeist strikes again."

Not-Six's eyes threw daggers at Baltar, whose bravado quickly gave way to a nervous shuffling. He excused himself from the people around him, grabbed Caprica's hand, and the pair departed, leaving Not-Six behind.

The crowd mingled for a bit, and then Laura's attention shifted to the dead bodies. She sent a prayer to the judges of the underworld that the souls of those who died might be weighed kindly. Bring them to the Elysium fields where they may find their peace and rest.

Despite her guilt, she knew they'd made the right play with the information available. Laura thought about her visions and their hidden clues and meaning and wondered if she should delve deeper into what she saw. At least in the last timeline, they only happened when she took Chamalla; now she endured whenever they struck.

"You're troubled," said a warm, rich voice. For a moment, Laura thought the voice addressed her, but the familiar figure of Elosha glided right past her and approached the Six. Like everyone else in this dream, nothing suggested that Elosha saw Laura at all.

"Humanity is frustrating," Six said, giving the older being a nod of deference.

"They can be." Elosha's robes stirred up the mists as she came to stand next to Six. The priestess gave the woman an indulgent smile. "Did your human frustrate you again?"

Six gave an irritated huff. "Why would God create such willful, petty creatures?!"

Elosha chuckled, an amused and motherly sound. "You still need someone to remind you to mind your anger, child. Do you doubt God's will?"

"I've never doubted God's plan."

"And yet, you only see what you want. Does God only command what you want?"

"I don't need a lesson."

"You wanted Baltar to lead. You thought it was God's plan."

"I remembered it from the other timelines."

"Even for our kind, the Cycles of Time wear us down. So many memories within us; not even I can remember them all. Doubtless, you saw Baltar winning the election, but that alone does not make him a leader. The anointed leader. You've never accepted that Laura chose to follow the path laid out for her—the one that she picked out for herself," Elosha said before turning away to let her wise words take root. She calmly raised her hands over the dead bodies and whispered a prayer in old Gemenese for the fallen.

Laura racked her brain for something she'd read in the Sacred Scrolls to identify the two beings. She trusted the figure of Elosha, having been guided by what she knew was the same being more than once throughout this timeline. Besides, she also remembered vision when Elosha convinced her to allow herself to completely and unreservedly love Bill. Maybe some visions aren't useless.

Six turned away, her black dress swooshing around her. She walked up to the President, who still stood by the Admiral. They conversed with the people around them, offering condolences to surviving family and words of hope to surviving comrades. Stalking right up to them, Six glared at the pair.

"She tried to kill the child before it was ever born. The shape of things to come. Our baby. She's a threat to her."

Elosha barely deigned to respond; she continued to move around the dead, blessing the fallen."Your human, Baltar, saves Hera every time and thus ensures humanity's future."

Six ignored Elsoha, prowling toward the President, a sleek panther stalking her prey. Her eyes narrowed as she thought aloud. "How would she feel to have her life choked out of her?"

Laura's heart jumped in her throat when Six put her hand to the President's throat just as she had done to Gaius. Laura saw herself cough as Six squeezed, and she remembered feeling strange. To see this specter threatening her, perhaps having caused the sensation, caused her blood to run cold. Six continued to squeeze and speak, "And God sees it fit to bless her with her own child. The last child conceived on the Colonies—the shape of life as it was. How would she feel to see her own child die?"

No!

"Release her!" Elosha commanded, her voice booming through the Flight Deck. The mists now moved angrily about, twisting around the dead and the two figures. Elosha rose to her full height, seeming taller than Laura had ever seen. "You dare threaten grave harm to a human? One of the Twelve no less?! The one God anointed as a leader."

Six instantly pulled away as if burned, dropping her hand back down to her side. "It's their heathen scriptures that call her the anointed leader."

"Old Gods. New God. You don't like to think of Kobol, but do you not remember the connection? Besides, those words are from Pythia, the only human other than Laura to touch the Orb of Kronos and keep her mind. Thus they can reach deeper levels of reality and touch higher understanding."

"She doesn't even try to use that gift."

Saul's voice echoed in her head; "Your little Pythia is useless. Her gods are useless!" Laura wanted to demand answers, but she still couldn't make a sound. Whatever happens to me in these visions, it's not a gift. To see things that only make sense later? To endure endless puzzles and always have something worrying me?

...unless I could learn to control it...

Laura walked up to them, wanting to learn more. Her ears pricked, alert for any information that might help. The idea of controlling her visions, using them to see what she needed was enticing. But even as Laura strode up to them, she felt herself slipping farther away from them. The mists rose up all around her, and the world went dark.

She felt herself falling.

…

Laura felt herself roll as the bed dipped behind her. Her eyes snapped open, momentarily frantic as the haunted feeling from the vision faded.

"It's just me, Laura," Bill's tired voice said, rough with fatigue but no less soothing, breaking through her haze. Laura's pounding heartbeat calmed, and she rolled over to face her husband as he settled himself into the rack. He lay on his back to ease the pain in his shoulder, but she heard a hiss of discomfort.

"Started to wonder if you were coming," Laura teased gently. "Even you need rest."

"I remembered that when I started dozing off at my desk," he said. "Need to be at my best tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he would interrogate Cavil. He'd waited until the concussion fully healed and the Fleet returned to order. Face the enemy from a position of strength.

Even in the dark, Laura could tell he moved stiffly as he tried to find a comfortable position in spite of his injuries. Laying so close together and knowing him so well, she read the tension in his body. She finally asked, "Bill, how is the pain? Did you take your meds?"

Taking his glances off, he huffed. "Don't want Cottle's magic beans."

Laura rolled her eyes, propping herself up and grabbing the two pain pills she'd set on the shelf at the head of the rack along with the glass of water.

"You're predictable as ever," Laura said, handing him the pills and water. "and you need a good night's sleep. Please."

Laura knew she put just the right amount of loving care in her tone when he didn't protest but took the pills before setting the glass down above their heads. She nestled into him, running a hand over his chest to settle over his steadily beating heart.

"I can tell how pleased you are with yourself," Bill grumbled and Laura smiled, enjoying the quiet moment with him. They'd had not nearly enough of them lately, and she doubted she'd ever get enough of the simple joy they brought. She entwined her legs with his, unconsciously slipping her toes under Bill in her quest for warmth.

"Laura! Your toes are frakkin' icicles!"

Suddenly, Laura was back in her vision, barefoot and stepping through the mist. She felt the cold slipping up her body. Doing the only logical thing that came to mind, she burrowed deeper into Bill and let his warmth surround her.

"You'll make it better," she murmured sleepily.

"The things I do for you," he chuckled, brushing a soft kiss against her skin while pulling her close with his good arm. Gods, if anything happened to him and I could have prevented it—Laura closed her eyes and tried not to think about things she couldn't control. Unless I can.

...

Whew. This chapter might be the closest I've come to washing my hands of this fic, but I promised myself I'd finish it. Thanks for bearing with the slow updates my friends. I hope you stay on this ride with me :)