The brilliant idea for this chapter came from a friend at 1am after watching Battlestar last Friday. We were quite pleased with ourselves. Hope you like it. There isn't much A/R in this chapter but don't worry it's coming, I promise!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all belongs to Ron Moore and Sci-fi ect.
Laura Roslin collapsed into her plush brown chair as soon as Adama was out of her office. She swallowed hard and fought with all she had in her to hold back the tears. The President of the Twelve Colonies does NOT, under any circumstances, cry. Especially not over cylon babies. Over and over she repeated that to herself. Only once did she have to reach up and brush the wetness away from her high cheek bones. She was glad she had because only a second after the tears had gone Tory entered her office.
"Madame President," Tory began as she briskly trod into the office with her eyes gazing down at her notebook. She looked up quickly about to launch into whatever she had been meaning to say but the words seemed to catch in her throat. Warning alarms rang in Roslin's head. Maybe the tears were still visible. Had Tory seen Helo and Adama leave her office? Could she see how the conversation cut her to the core?
"Are you alright?" Tory asked, her voice losing some of the professional assurance it usually had.
"I'm fine," Roslin replied with a forced smile. The harder she forced the smile the more her heart sank. "What did you need?"
Tory lifted her head to one side and eyed Roslin carefully. Concern took over the girl's dark features.
"Dr. Cottle is here to see you…He says it's urgent." Tory trailed off. "Are you sure you're alright?"
The mention of Dr. Cottle surprised Roslin. She had been to see him since the rescue from New Caprica but he had assured her everything was fine. Ever since her cancer the very mention of his name caused her heart to race in fear.
"As far as I know," Roslin told her assistant. It was the truth. For a brief moment telling the truth felt so warm and welcome. Lies of all kinds seemed the only things filling her life anymore.
"Send him in," Roslin said with a wave of her hand. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and brushed the wrinkles out of her pink blouse. Capturing and reigning in the emotions which had overcome her a moment before was difficult but she succeeded. Tory nodded suspiciously and left the room. In the few seconds she was gone Roslin willed herself to remain calm. Dr. Cottle could be visiting her about any number of things. There was no sense in getting worked up over nothing. Just because the visit was unexpected and urgent…
Cottle shuffled into the room and broke Roslin's frightening train of thought. She stood up and rounded her desk to shake hands with the doctor. The action soothed her nerves even though Cottle had a puzzled expression on his craggy face.
"Please don't tell me you have bad news," she said, her voice sounding smaller, meeker than she would have liked. The fear was showing through.
"Oh, no, no," Cottle said, enlightenment lifting his eyebrows, "You are perfectly healthy."
Roslin couldn't help but breathe a deep sigh of relief at the words. You are perfectly healthy, she told herself again. Now she could relax.
"What can I do for you doctor?" she asked, her mood suddenly much more cheerful than it had been. This time her smile was genuine. Dr. Cottle only returned her smile with the same puzzled look he had when he first entered.
"We recently had a blood drive," Cottle began. He pulled out a manila envelope and took out a page of medical papers. He placed them on her desk and she approached with her arms folded.
"These are some blood samples," he continued, "The one on the right is yours."
Roslin took out her glasses and looked at the marks on the page. She really couldn't make heads or tails of what it said but she nodded as if she understood anyway. She glanced at the paper on the left. For a moment she studied the pages until she realized that the pattern on each paper was the same.
"The charts look the same," she told Cottle. He glanced up at her with his old eyes.
"The genetic markers are the same, yes," Cottle explained. Roslin narrowed her eyes.
"I don't understand," she told him truthfully. If he had a point she wanted him to get to it. She had other important matters to deal with and she was still reeling from the conversation with Adama and Helo.
"You understand that each human being has unique set of markers within their DNA. The only similar or matching markers are shared between family members," Cottle explained.
Roslin shifted her weight from one foot to the other and took off her glasses. Cottle picked up the piece of paper on the left and began waving it in the air.
"Chief Tyrol came to me during the blood drive. He had forgotten what blood type he was so I ran a test. I thought it was odd because he had a certain genetic marker, fairly rare but by no means harmful. I had recently seen it in someone else's blood sample. I'm getting old so it took me a few days to realize it was yours. I compared your sample to Tyrol's," Cottle said. He set Tyrol's sample down next to Roslin's.
"A match."
Cottle straightened his stance beside her but Roslin continued to look at the samples. Without build up or warning her heart suddenly began beat hard against her chest.
"What are you saying?" she asked her voice barely above a whisper.
"I ran the test, two, three, four times. Each time the same result. Galen Tyrol is a close blood relation to you. Too close to be anything further removed than a father, brother, or…"
Cottle stopped as Roslin moved around her desk to the chair. The room was spinning and everything seemed to become hyper realistic. The light in the office was too yellow; the brown oak of her desk was to rich; the sound of Cottle's breathing was too loud. Roslin put a shaky hand to her forehead. She closed her eyes and collected her thoughts. When she looked up Cottle was standing bewildered with his eyebrows squeezed together and his old mouth slightly open.
"Obviously," Roslin cleared her throat, "The need for secrecy is vital."
"Secrecy?" Cottle asked.
"Tyrol is my son," Roslin said a little more abruptly than she meant too.
Cottle's mouth dropped. Her surprise mirrored his but she held it inside.
"But he's—" Cottle began.
"I became pregnant when I was sixteen," Roslin stated.
Suddenly everything in the room became an irritation to her. As if life wasn't frakked up enough already, now she had to add this to her list of problems. Finding earth, saving the humanity, fighting cancer and staving off accusations and praise for being the religious leader were all too much to deal with. Now, on top of forcing her heart into submission because of her…no, she wouldn't say it…whatever these feelings for Adama were, and she was positively sure she knew the name for them, she refused to acknowledge or admit it…now on top of that she her son….her son, whom she never expected to see as long as she lived was alive. Out of billions of people why did he have to survive? Why did she have to know him?
"I see," Dr. Cottle said, rubbing his chin with his thumb. The sound of his voice startled her. She had forgotten he was even in the room.
"I expect you would like to tell him," Cottle continued.
"What?" Roslin asked, staring into the emptiness of her office. For a moment all she could see was Tyrol's nervous face as he pulled off the cloth from the nose of the blackbird to reveal her name written across it in beautiful white letters.
"Yes, of course," Roslin said shaking off the trance, "I will tell him when the time is right. You must keep it to yourself until then."
"When the time is right? Just when will that be? I am bound by doctor patient rules. He has as much right to know as you do," Cottle argued.
"You are also bound by the orders of the president, but, I am hoping it won't come to that…" Roslin took a deep breath and looked at Cottle with pleading eyes. "I need some time."
"Fine, Laura," Cottle said in his gruff voice. She knew he was showing her he wasn't afraid of her so called 'Presidential' authority by taking the liberty of using her first name.
"But I know you. If you don't tell him soon I will," Cottle finished.
Roslin couldn't tell if he was truly grumpy with her or if it was simply part of his normal bedside manner. He gathered up the papers on Roslin's desk and left the room.
Roslin could only sit and stare out the window. Space was cold and empty. Her life, however, was not. People had come along she never expected to meet, good people; ones she thought about often and with pleasure. Pilots, mechanics, political aids and military officers she might never have taken the time to get to know had the Colonies not been destroyed.
Adama would not have been in her life. He was a man whom she respected, greatly admired and trusted…someone close to her…and now there was someone else...another relationship forced by the situation. Inadvertently her eyes fell to the picture on her desk of Billy. Why had she latched onto the boy? Was she making up for the loss she felt when the agency came to take her own son? Was Chief Tyrol like Billy? She didn't know very much about the mechanic. He had saved her and Tom Zarek on New Caprica. He had once been involved with the Cylon. He had a wife and…a child. Lords of Kobol, Roslin thought, that makes me a grandmother. She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips. Life was certainly surprising.
"Tory," Roslin said into the phone at her desk.
"Yes, Madame President," came the reply.
"I would like to take a tour of Galactica's hanger deck to boost moral. The mechanics have been working double shifts since the rescue from New Caprica," Roslin said, which was in fact true, despite her ulterior motives.
"Please schedule something for next week," Roslin stated.
"You already have a briefing scheduled with Chief Tyrol and the Admiral," Tory said.
"Do I?" Roslin asked in surprise.
"I don't believe the Admiral will be attending," she told Tory with a frown. She had a feeling she wouldn't see Adama for a few weeks after what had transpired in her office.
"Would you like me to schedule the tour as well?" Tory questioned, her voice sounded unfazed by the change of the Admiral's plans. Roslin mulled things over for a few moments.
"Yes, thank you," she said and removed her finger from the button on the phone.
Roslin leaned back in her chair. At first finding out about Tyrol had shaken her badly. Now for some reason a sense of calm over took her. For the first time since the fleet had been reunited Roslin felt…happy. Her son was alive and she knew who he was. She smiled and began tackling the mountain of paper work on her desk.
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With hands covered in engine grease and head squeezed between the small opening to the underside of the Viper, Galen Tyrol felt truly at home.
"Frak," he muttered. He placed one finger on a lose bolt and with his other hand reached out from under the ship.
"Vireem, hand me the wrench," Tyrol said, wiggling his fingers. His back and shoulder started to hurt. His temper was short since he had been up the night before with his son, allowing Cally to get some much needed rest.
"Vireem?" he said again. "Davis…Gage?" When no wrench met with his waiting fingers he pulled his other hand from the inside of the Viper and rolled out from underneath the ship. Someone was going to get a lecture.
"Where the hell is everyon…" He stopped his sentence as soon as he looked up. Crewman Specialists' Davis and Vireem were talking to none other than the President of the Twelve Colonies.
Tyrol sprang to his feet. As if it would do any good, he started wiping his greasy hands on his orange deck suit.
"Madame President, I'm sorry, I did know…"
He was too nervous to form any more words. Being face to face with the President always made him nervous. She wasn't like Adama. Adama Tyrol understood. Laura Roslin was completely foreign to him.
The position of President had been the most important and influential of any on the Twelve Colonies before the attack. Although Tyrol knew she and Adama were more like equals, the intimidation of the title still sent an irrational fear through him. To add to it, Laura Roslin was classy. She came from an elite breed of socialites he never felt comfortable around. Every time he saw her a vision popped into his head. She was a debutant guest wearing expensive clothing and diamonds and he was the waiter in a greasy taco restaurant taking her order. The image was difficult to shake.
"Chief Tyrol," the President said, holding out a hand, "It's good to see you."
She smiled and he was blinded by pearly whites. He continued to wipe his hands on his jumpsuit.
"Oh, no, my hands are…" Again, his fear made it impossible to finish the sentence.
"I don't mind," the President replied, still holding out her hand. Tyrol, despite his irrational fear, found this action odd. She seemed like she wanted to shake his hand. He had no choice but to oblige. At least he had gotten most of the thick grease off.
"I didn't mean to disrupt your work," Roslin began, addressing Vireem and Davis as well. Tyrol was relieved the spotlight was off of him.
"I know how hard you've all been working. I just wanted to come down here and express my thanks in person," Roslin explained. Her smile was rewarded with goofy smiles from Vireem and Davis. Tyrol could not help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. Roslin had a way of making people feel needed.
"Okay, okay, back to work," Tyrol scolded his crewmen. They returned to working on the Viper still with goofy smiles and he was about to join them but the President stopped him.
"Chief Tyrol," she said to regain his attention. When he turned around to face her she looked…well…as nervous as he felt. He had never seen her look that way, not even when facing down Adama, which could make anyone lose their cool.
"Yeah," he said, unsure how to act. He put his hands on his hips out of habit. The longer the President hesitated the more nervous Tyrol became. He glanced above her head to see Tory and a few security guards standing near by.
"Your wife and son are well?" Roslin asked finally breaking the silence. Tyrol found the question, just like the President's behavior, very odd.
"Uh...yeah, they're good," he answered scratching his neck where the orange uniform met his skin.
Roslin nodded and cast her eyes toward the floor. Tyrol followed her gaze and found himself looking at her pointy black shoes. Frak, this is uncomfortable, he thought, wishing he could go back to hiding under the Viper. Roslin seemed like she wanted to have a conversation for a reason unfathomable to him. Tyrol figured anything was better than staring at her shoes in nervous suspense.
"How's…uh…the presidency?" he asked and fought the urge to slap himself in the forehead at the stupidity of the question. Roslin laughed but her eyes focused on him with delight and sympathy.
Yup, he thought, pity me because I'm just your dim-witted waiter.
"It has its days," Roslin answered slyly with a large smile still on her face. Tyrol, by this time, was completely weirded out. Did this conversation have a point? Was she ever going to get to it? He had a million and one things to do and the longer he stood there the more sweat he produced and the damper his uniform became.
"The Admiral mentioned you had some items to discuss with me. I believe Tory set up a time next week," Roslin said. At long last she was coming to the point.
"Yeah, I do. Just some minor issues regarding trading parts within the civilian fleet," Tyrol said. His voice was professional and he found the subject of business made being in her intimidating presence less strenuous.
"Perhaps, you and Cally would like to discuss it over dinner aboard Colonial One, as a way showing my thanks to you and your crew," Roslin said. Tyrol stumbled backwards in shock. The President of the Twelve Colonies just invited him, him, and his wife to dinner! This day just kept getting stranger.
"Uh…yeah...okay…great," was all Tyrol could manage to say. He was sure Roslin was merely smiling at the dumbfounded look he knew took over his face.
"Good. I will see you next week then," Roslin said and began to walk off.
"Alright. We'll be there," Tyrol said.
He swelled with pride in himself for putting together a coherent sentence for the first time since he saw her. Roslin pranced away like some kind of Caprican royalty. Holy frak! Wait until Cally hears about this. She'll never believe it, he thought, not sure he believed it himself. He was going to have dinner with the President aboard Colonial One. If that wasn't job satisfaction he didn't know what was.