This is a chapter about nothing much at all , but it does kinda set things up a bit for what's to come - at least that's what I'm telling myself so that I don't feel guilty about wasting your time! Thanks as always to those who read and take the time to drop a line - it's appreciated!

Disclaimer: If they were mine, they'd be just as messed up as they already are, just in a different way. My thanks to TPTB for letting me write my version guilt-free.

Note: Thanks to SuperLizard, who raised the good point about how I end my chapters - the "End" indicates the end of the chapter, not the end of the story. I'm sorry for any confusion. (Though gray hair looks rather distinguished...)

Too High a Cost
By: Mariel

-xxxxxxxxxx-

Chapter 13

Interlude

Galactica loomed silently in space, its port side pod doors open in welcome. In the darkness, five raptors raced towards it. Moments later, secure in the confines of Galactica's insides, those just returned from Kobol barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before the unmistakable sensation of a jump washed over them. When the jump was complete and they had regained their sense of place and time, Kara and Lee looked at one another over the prone bodies of Adama and Roslin.

They were home.

Metres away, in the stealth raptor they had piloted back, Helo and Sharon looked at one another and thought the same thought.

Then worry about the two who had arrived without knowing settled over everyone.

-xxx-

One week and three jumps later, the fleet rested, its focus primarily directed upon the Life Station of the Galactica and the two patients who had taken up residence there.

At this particular moment in time, however, the person in charge of the Life Station on the Galactica wished them anywhere else. "One is bad enough. The two of them at once is just plain impossible," Cottle grumbled under his breath. Flinging his clipboard onto his desk, he reached for his fourteenth cigarette of the day.

Maybe this one I'll get to finish, he thought as he lit it with an angry flick of his lighter.

Trying to shut his ears to the busy sounds of his full-to-overflowing Life Station, he collapsed on his chair and put his head back. Exhaling a steady blue stream of smoke into the air, he wearily closed his eyes and fleetingly wondered when he'd last slept.

Feeling every minute of his age, he took another comforting drag on his cigarette...

Life had been totally frakked up ever since they'd returned from Kobol. The press were constantly pestering him for information or trying to sneak around for 'exclusive photos' of his two guests of honour, and the flow of visitors - both those with valid reasons for being there and those without - had been ceaseless, irritating and inconvenient. Add to that the fact that Adama was healing better than he ought to have been but was still stubbornly in a coma and the President was apparently well on the road to recovery but shouldn't have been, and life got suddenly more complicated - especially since he had a theory as to why their recoveries were so unusual. The blood results he needed to confirm his hypothesis, however, had yet to come back - and would take gods-knew-how-long because the lab had more important things to worry about at the moment.

And those things were only the tip of his frakking huge iceberg of woes...

It was enough, he thought tiredly, to make a man misplace his sunny disposition...

His thoughts were interrupted by one of his most recently trained medics. Sticking her dark-haired head around the opening of his office door, Dana Meyes began, "Sir-"

Keeping his head firmly planted against the back of his chair, Cottle didn't bother opening his eyes. Uttering a curse, he said, "If it's those damned press people again, tell them if they don't stop hounding me about Roslin and Adama, I'm going to kill the two of them just to put myself out of the misery of being their doctor! More than four thousand people sick from this frakking bacterial outbreak, and all anyone wants to know about is what Roslin had for breakfast and if we provided special hospital gowns for them! You tell those leeches-"

The slender woman hurried to interrupt his tirade. "It's not the press, sir. They all headed down to the mess when they heard Picon chili is on the menu tonight. It'll be an hour or more before they're back. I'm here because we've got two patients coming in from the Astral Queen, and the Romany is requesting that we send someone to take a look at a couple of their engineers."

Cottle grunted and silently thanked the mess for the unexpected few moments of reprieve.

Finally lifting his head, he looked at the woman in his doorway. Meyes was no spring chicken, and had likely heard it all more than once, but he liked her and showed it by valiantly resisting the urge to colourfully describe what the Romany could do with its engineers. Instead, he growled, "I told them no more house calls! If they have people who need attention their own medical staff can't handle, they need to transport their asses over here themselves. We're busy enough without having to waste time travelling here, there, and everywhere. I can't spare the people or the time."

Dana Meyes nodded. Her face showing her weariness, she asked, "And the two coming from the Queen? Where should I put them? They're going to need beds, sir."

Cottle briefly closed his eyes. Leave it to the two leaders of the frakking remains of humanity to be on death's door at the same time the rest of the fleet decided to develop a new strain of bacteria that appeared bent on killing a quarter of the people it attacked. There seemed no logic to who got it and who remained immune, and no accounting for who died from it and who slowly recovered. All he knew was that it resisted every anti-bacterial weapon he had in his pharmaceutical arsenal. The lab reported that they had a couple good leads on developing something to combat it, but it was taking time - and time was one of the many things he didn't have a lot of.

Manpower, space, and empty beds were others.

"We're running out of room, Meyes."

Lack of space had become a problem very quickly. So much so, that two days earlier an order had gone out to the fleet to take care of their sick as best they could, leaving Galactica to deal with only the most severe cases. The numbers arriving had decreased since that, but finding a place to put those still arriving remained a problem.

Meyes looked at the doctor with a mixture of understanding and impatience. "I understand that, sir, but..."

"Are there any free beds in the day treatment area?"

She shook her head no.

"We moved a bunch of cots and sleeping mattresses into the starboard corridor. Any empty ones?"

Again, she shook her head.

Cottle frowned. It was good news, since it meant no one had died in the past twenty-four hours. It carried with it, however a problem: no newly empty beds for incoming patients.

Already knowing the answer, he asked: "Any rooms we can double up on?"

Meyes hesitated. "Just the President's and the Admiral's, sir.."

He shook his head. "It's hard enough to keep them protected from the bacteria as it is," he groused. "We can hardly have them sharing space with people dying from it, can we?"

He waited for her to respond, knowing what the next logical move was, but damned if he was going to be the one to suggest it.

Meyes, bless her well-meaning, practical soul, helpfully did it for him.

"No," she agreed, "but if they could share an isolation compartment with each other, it would free up space for another few beds."

Pleased, Cottle nodded. Not his idea, not his responsibility.

"Well, you're in charge of admitting and if you need the space, go ahead and do it, if you have to," he said in a grudging tone. Knowing exactly what he wanted done, he suggested, "It'll probably be better to move Roslin in with the Admiral. He's got the smaller of the two units, and it's tucked farther away. It's also quieter there, and it's harder for the press to get at - and we can screen it off if we want to." He grunted. "Adama in a coma shouldn't be too onerous a roommate for our President." Taking a drag on his cigarette, he exhaled noisily and rasped, "Hell, it'll be a match made in heaven: he'll just lie there while she does all the talking." His lips curved. "Someone had better remind her not to take his silence for agreement."

Meyes' mouth quirked. Sharing an amused glance with him, she nodded and said, "I'll take care of the move right away, sir."

Cottle watched her leave, then rested his head back against his chair. He was quite sure Roslin would greet the new arrangement with a certain amount of restrained relief, but he knew damned well that Adama would throw a cold, controlled fit if he woke up and found the President anywhere near him. He'd heard the rumours, knew a lot of them were true, and had seen the man Bill had become. It all added up to Roslin being the last person Adama would want to be confined with.

He sighed and lifted his cigarette to his mouth. Might force him to deal with some things, though. Shrugging, he inhaled deeply. He'd worry about it once Adama woke up.

Smoke bit at the back of his throat and he grimaced..

If Adama woke up...

-xxx-

Slipping through the curtain leading into Roslin's isolation cubicle, Dana Meyes took a deep breath and then smiled.

"Good afternoon, Madame President!"

Laura Roslin looked up from one of the reports Tory had left that morning and smiled back wearily. There were shadows under her eyes and her cheeks were hollow. Had she been standing, it would have been obvious that she held herself stiffly, her muscles and ribs still sore from the damage done by the bullets that had travelled through her. Lying in bed, however, and propped up on pillows and feeling relaxed, she looked pale and thinner, but otherwise reassuringly okay for someone who had been looking across the river at Charon only days ago.

Removing her glasses, Roslin said, "Good afternoon, Dana! I'm surprised to see you this time of day."

The medic shrugged. "We're busy, so Doctor Cottle asked me to stay on, ma'am. We've got more patients coming in, and it's taking a bit of juggling to find space for them." She hesitated a moment. Placing her hands behind her back, she discreetly moved her fingers in an ancient gesture for luck as she continued, "I've been ordered to move you in with the Admiral so that we have this unit available for the newcomers."

Roslin frowned.

Mistaking the frown for displeasure, Dana rushed to apologise. "I'm truly sorry, Madam, but there are so many people being shipped here we don't know where to put them. Your sharing the Admiral's isolation unit would really help us out. We only suggest it because you're the only two here who need to be quarantined from the bacteria."

Realising the impression the other woman had gotten, Laura waved a hand at her. "I don't mind, Dana. I'm just concerned that you haven't asked sooner. I know this bacteria problem has reached epidemic proportions. I don't like to think other people have suffered because I've had a room to myself."

Dana smiled in relief. "Oh, no. We've coped up until now. And thank you, Madame President." Beginning to back away towards the exit, she said, "I'll get everything set up in the Admiral's room, then come back for you shortly."

Trying to sound casual, Laura stopped her from leaving by asking, "How is the Admiral doing?"

Meyes paused. The question was far from unexpected. She got it every time she entered the President's room. In fact, the President had begun asking about Admiral Adama shortly after she'd regained consciousness following her surgery. She'd even demanded to be taken to see him immediately. Cottle had said no, she was to stay where she was. As she had grown stronger, her requests had grown more persistent. Cottle had remained adamant. The Admiral, he had said, didn't need more visitors than he had already - Lee and Kara had taken up permanent residence at his side, he complained, and Helo and Sharon weren't much better. It was hard enough making sure they were sanitized properly before entering the Admiral's room without adding someone who would have to be brought into the room in a wheelchair. Add Tigh and a few dozen others to the list of people who were constantly showing up to stand and look through the sheer walls of the Admiral's isolation unit, and you had far more people standing about than were needed. Looking at her, he'd frowned, and added that she was in no condition to be up and about yet, anyway. His parting shot had been said as he'd left her room, and had had to do with people having better things to do than to escort her on social calls...

Roslin had frowned and bided her time. As discreetly as she could, she'd questioned her visitors about him, and pestered staff for information every chance she got. Frustrated and unsatisfied with what she was being told, she'd finally asked to see Cottle privately. Soon thereafter, Cottle had let it be known that if the President of the Twelve Colonies asked after the Admiral of the Fleet's health, she was to be given direct answers from Life Station staff. "But make sure you couch it in reassuring terms," he cautioned everyone. Making it sound very plausible, he told them, "She's worried about being out an Admiral if he doesn't soon take a turn for the better. She's got enough on her plate without worrying about that, so keep it as positive as you can."

Having been the President's primary care giver since her arrival, Dana had seen first hand Roslin's deepening dismay each time she'd been told there had been no change, and developed her own reason for the President's worry.

In her estimation, it had nothing to do with losing the Admiral of the Fleet and all about losing the man himself.

It was only an opinion, however, and she kept to herself.

Regretting the disappointment she'd knew it would cause the President, she reluctantly said, "He's the same, ma'am, but I'm sure he'll wake up soon. His vitals are all good, and it looks as though the internal bleeding has stopped. The damaged artery is still playing up a bit, but Doctor Cottle seems confident that the sutures will hold and heal." She looked at Roslin, who was only a few years older than herself, and felt at a loss. Wanting to say something to comfort, she held the President's green eyes with dark, quietly confident brown ones. "Doctor Cottle says it's a miracle he's alive," she said gently. "The gods are watching over him, Madame President. He'll be all right. I know it."

Laura nodded, and glanced away. She had tried calling upon her faith, but her fear had become too overwhelming. No matter how well he was doing physically, Bill was still in a coma, and had been for a week. She didn't know much about comas, but she did know that the longer a person was in one, the smaller the chances were that they would come out of it.

"He needs to wake up soon," she said.

"That he does," Meyes agreed. Inhaling deeply, she added briskly, "And he will. He's just taking his time and getting his rest." She paused. "Just as you should be." Looking at her timepiece, she said in a softer tone, "I'll be back in about thirty minutes to roll you into your new room." She smiled slightly."You're finally getting the chance to see him! Perhaps you could take a short nap before I take you."

Laura smiled slightly. "Everyone wants me to sleep."

"Everyone wants you well as soon as possible, ma'am."

The President put down the file she'd been holding and relaxed her head against her pillow. She'd been awake for almost four hours - a long time for her these days. Feeling tired, she said, "In that case, turn down the lights when you leave and I'll see what I can do."

As the lights dimmed, she closed her eyes.

And thought of Bill.

Her hands restlessly clutched at the bed covers. He wasn't doing well. Cottle, of course, said he ought to have been dead, and claimed puzzlement over the fact that he wasn't. He also claimed that she herself had accomplished a miraculous recovery.

She sighed, and set aside thoughts of medical mysteries. Finally, she allowed a trill of anticipation to trickle through her at the one piece of good news she'd received since her return here. They were moving her to him. She was finally going to see him for herself. A single drop of moisture escaped from her eye and made its way down her cheek. It was going to be all right.

He was going to be all right...

With that last, determined thought, she let herself relax into sleep.

-xxx-

She was woken minutes later by Cottle entering to check on her.

Opening her eyes slowly, she watched as he rounded the end of her bed and stood looking down at her. When she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand and said gruffly, "Madame President, he'll wake up when he's good and ready to wake up. The man's in a coma, for frak sakes! I'm starting to think he's the lucky one - it's the only way a person around here can get any peace!"

"I was about to ask how you were," Laura lied calmly.

"Bullshit," Cottle scoffed. "I never change. And neither," he said pointedly, "do you. Which is why I know what you were really going to ask. Hell, it's the only thing you've asked me since you came to after your operation."

He was right, but it rankled her that he was, so she reminded him in a prim tone, "I've been told I'll be moving into the same isolation unit as he, so I don't need to ask after him. I'll soon be able to see his condition for myself." Clearing her throat, she then used her best Presidential voice to continue, "My question, Doctor, was going to be exactly as I've indicated."

"Then I'll say that I'm just fine, thank you very much," he said, not believing her for a minute. He looked at her, saw that her ever-present worry had not abated and relented just for a moment. "He's doing all right, Madame President. I can't explain why. In my books, he ought to be dead, considering the amount of blood he lost and the mess he's made of his insides again. But then, you should be dead, too. You're both frakking miracles," he said.

Laura raised an eyebrow at his blunt language, but expressed no surprise. Jack Cottle was a law unto himself, and she for one was content to allow him that. She was just grateful he was still standing.

"Are you looking after yourself?" she asked impulsively.

The question threw him.

"The lab should have some of your results back to me in the next day or two. I'm hoping so, anyway," he said. "We had no idea this bacteria would be so far-reaching and so bloody lethal."

"You need rest," Laura persisted.

He nodded and finally responded to her concern. "And I'll get some. Tomorrow, maybe."

Doubting it, Laura nodded. Relaxing slightly, she looked at him with probing eyes.

"So tell me how Bill is really doing."

Cottle showed no reaction to her use of the Admiral's first name, but he noted it and placed the information carefully with the other observations he had made. "I told you: he should be dead, but he's not. And he is getting better - physically, anyway. I can't explain his coma or why he hasn't come out of it, though. This is just one of those situations no one can control - we just have to wait and see what happens."

A rustle of the curtain signalled Dana Meyes' return. Nodding towards the President, she turned to Cottle and said, "I've got the Admiral's room ready, sir."

"Good," Cottle said. "Might as well get her moved in now, then."

Laura lifted a hand to slow things down a bit. "Is there anyone with him?"

Dana shook her head. "No. I thought perhaps you'd want to get settled in without other people there. Lieutenant Thrace was with him, but she was very understanding and said she needed to get something to eat before her shift, anyway. She won't be back until tomorrow morning. The Admiral's son won't be here for another couple of hours."

Laura nodded, relieved. She knew that Kara and Lee had been taking turns sitting with Bill, and that Agathon and Valerii took turns as well, but she wanted no one there when she arrived to see him for the first time.

Smiling at the medic, Laura thanked her for her thoughtfulness. Bracing herself against her pillows, she inhaled deeply and said, "I think I'm ready, then."

End
Chapter 13