Summary: Basically this story is several moments taking place during the final leg of the journey to Earth. There is some Roslin/Adama, some Lee/Kara, a little Sam/Kara near the end, and major character deaths warning. I am not going to attempt to explain the grand plan of the cylons, nor will I try to theorize what will come of Baltar's plotline. All this story assumes is that they find Earth, and it is close to present day – something that I doubt will actually happen in the show, but it works for the purpose of this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Battlestar Galactica, or any of the characters of Galactica. All I own are my ideas and theories.

A/N: Thanks to Alex for being my sounding board, and for helping me to come up with this idea in the first place. Oh and please leave comments. Love it? Hate it? I don't care either way. Just let me know.

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1.

He sat beside her bedside, his large hand enclosing her smaller one. He had gotten fed up with the media hours ago and kicked them out, and after Cottle admitted that there was nothing more that he could do for her, he had kicked the doctor out too. So now they were alone in his quarters, since he had never actually gotten around to finding somewhere else to put her up while she went through the Deloxin treatment. He stroked her naked scalp, mourning the loss of her beautiful hair to the cancer treatments. She opened her eyes slowly, the drug-induced fog, making them blurry. But for the first time in months, he could not see pain in them. Cottle had scrounged up enough pain meds to allow her to pass away peacefully, and for that, he was grateful. He felt her hand move ever so slightly in his. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out of her throat. With his free hand, he reached for a glass of water and gently placed it to her lips. She sipped and was finally able to speak through cracked lips.

"Bill?" His breath hitched in his throat, and he found himself unable to speak for a moment.

"I'm here," he finally managed, squeezing her hand lightly. He saw a look of relief in her eyes, and his thoughts flashed back to a conversation from months ago, when Kara first returned.

o0o

As he poured himself another glass, he heard her voice from behind him.

"You're so afraid to live alone."

"And you're afraid to die that way." She made a small sound of acknowledgment, but he continued. "You're afraid that you may not be the dying leader you thought you were. Or that your death may be as meaningless as everyone else's.

o0o

It was only later that night that he found the tufts of hair in the bottom of his garbage. And that was when the rift between them started to widen. He was afraid. Afraid to lose her to the cancer, and afraid to lose his daughter again. As Kara's absence grew longer, the gulf widened. He watched her as she grew more and more stressed, knowing that a part of it was from trying to cover for him. So he watched, and worried. He tried to make overtures, to help her through the worst times, sharing with her their common interest in mysteries. And she allowed that. As her illness worsened, they sped through his dwindling collection of books even faster. It was the small bridge between them that was all that remained of their bond before Kara's return from the dead. He held onto that bond, and as her cancer worsened, it slowly began to grow stronger again. He soon found himself in the position of fighting off all the media and well-wishers who seemed to feel that their presence would improve her suffering. More and more often, Saul would take one look at him in the morning, and expel him from CIC to get some sleep after having spent the whole night at her side, helping her to fight the nausea. The stories became a refuge. A place where no one had cancer, where the good guys always won, and the criminals were punished, and everyone went home happy.

As he looked into her eyes again, he saw the question there, and answered it in the only way he could.

"I'll stay." He saw the look of relief in her eyes, as she fought to keep them open; as she finally lost that battle, and as her grip on his hand finally slackened.