13. excessive chain

Billy doesn't try and keep track of of the months anymore. Well, not generally. He knows the date - has to know those because scheduling is his department as well as press briefings, office organization, and report reviews - but he stopped keeping track of the specific months and holidays weeks ago. He'd had to when he'd spent the week leading up to his eldest sister's birthday jumpy as a cat.

The day of, President Roslin had taken him aside and quietly talked the whole thing out of him. She'd smiled at him, sad and reassuring, before gently patting him on the shoulder and asking him if he wanted the afternoon off. Gods if it wasn't embarrassing as all hells.

"No, ma'am," he'd said. "We have a full schedule today."

And so, he'd made a conscious effort to stop actually knowing what day it was. His life - outside of constant threat of death - had gotten a lot less stressful after that.

Still, sometimes, he can't help but be reminded.

"Billy!" Tory, an underaide who mostly handled external communication, had bounced in earlier that morning all smiles and barely contained excitement. "Did you hear? The Tiresus is having a Feast Day celebration next week! You should come. You're from Caprica too, right? They said there might even be pie!"

"What?" He'd been in the middle of reading that the overnight's supply report and thus, less than coherent.

"Feast Day. Pie. Wednesday."

And then it had registered. "Uh... okay."

She'd gone on a bit about pie and lack of sugar and how it was inhumane that the Cylons had destroyed all sources of chocolate – a rant he'd been subjected to every few days – before dropping the reports she had for him and moving off to spread the word. She hadn't noticed that he hadn't exactly returned her euphoria or anticipation.

He really hadn't known what to say. Because Feast Day had been the one day out of the year that his entire family had made the effort to get together. All the nieces and nephews and cousins under one roof. There'd been teasing and screaming matches galore. And there'd been pie.

He remembered one particular Feast Day when his sisters had chained him to the downstairs banister and taken turns making their friends kiss him. He'd been six and it had been the ultimate torture that had only ended when his mother had walked in to announce dinner. She'd been so serious, helping untangle him from the plastic the girls had knotted around him.

He'd gotten an extra-big scoop of ice cream for that.

And those remembrances had hurt. They still did.

Billy sighs and stares up at the ceiling above his desk. The Feast Day celebration had already started. Theoretically, he should be over there, if just as a show of support. He can't do it though. Not today. Maybe not every.

He's supposed to be with his family. Instead, he's alive and so very, very far away. And he's probably the only one who even remembers the Keikeya clan.

He thinks about how he'd probably be ignoring his sisters' screaming over who was losing what in which pyramid game right about now, and when it all gets too depressing, he goes back to filing. And doesn't think about anything at all.