Colonial One, one day after Admiral Adama's promotion ceremony
President Roslin was pissed when Admiral Adama had arrived with an unwelcome guest for their morning meeting. She was feeling well this morning, dressed and ready to work, and the presence of the ship's chief medical officer was a reminder of her mortality that she simply did not need today.
But Admiral Adama had done his best to make excuses, assuring her that he was taking Doctor Cottle to all of his meetings today to instruct the leaders on each ship about a new quarantine procedure in development after a virus running rampant on the Astral Queen had found its way to Galactica via a transport pilot.
"So, if you think someone is sick, lock 'em in a room and call me. I don't need anyone with this damn plague on a damn Raptor," the doctor finished, fumbling for a cigarette before remembering he'd promised the president, at least on her turf, not to fill her weakened lungs with tobacco smoke.
Laura Roslin considered the old military man and the even older MD before her. She was sure this could have been communicated in a memo to the fleet. Still, she pasted on a tight smile and stood to shake Cottle's tar-stained hand. "Thank you, Doctor. We'll take the new procedure under advisement."
He shook her hand and glanced at the Admiral, who gave a barely visible nod of encouragement.
Dr. Cottle looked back at the woman standing before him. "Well, Madam President, since I'm here, we think it would be a good idea to give you a once over, see how you're doing."
She glared over her glasses at Adama, then at Cottle, and then at Billy, who seemed to be trying to sink into the wallpaper on the other side of the small room.
All three men looked back with varying degrees of insistence, the young aide's surety in this plan visibly the least stable.
She graced all of them with a tight smile and said, cheerfully just for spite,"I'm pretty sure I'm still dying, Doctor."
"Be that as it may, I'd like to see just what your stubborn body is doing to keep you alive for this long. Might help me save someone not as stupid as you, young lady." Doctor Cottle walked toward the curtain leading to her private quarters, parted it, and gestured for her to lead the way. Giving up, she followed, but not before casting another withering stare at the two remaining co-conspirators occupying her office.
As soon as the curtain swung closed, the older man and the much younger one eyed each other. Neither seemed to have words to share about the plight of the woman they both adored undressing for what could be her final voluntary medical examination just a few feet away. They settled for preoccupied silence.
Billy busied himself with straightening papers on Roslin's desk, his mind replaying yesterday's painful conversation.
"I need you to promise me that you will wait until the very end before you call Dr. Cottle. Can you promise me that, Billy? I need you to promise me."
He shook his head, internally assuring himself that he hadn't betrayed her trust by agreeing to Admiral Adama's plan to bring the doctor to their morning meeting. He wasn't condemning her to Life Station, he reasoned, but buying her some time by allowing Cottle to examine her on her own ship.
Admiral Adama was lost in his own thoughts as well, flipping mindlessly through the briefing papers he'd brought to camouflage the real reason he was in President Roslin's office. She'd given him his wings and with them her dying blessing of his leadership. He still didn't know what came over him when he leaned down to kiss her but he'd been more preoccupied in the hours since with her response. She'd laughed. No, not laughed. Giggled. Like a schoolgirl. He tried to push every emotion that giggle had elicited from him out of his head, focusing on being content with having made a dying woman happy, even if just for a moment. She, they, didn't have time for anything more.
Both men started at Doctor Cottle's inelegant emergence from behind the curtain, which he immediately pulled closed with the full force of his arm.
"She's getting dressed," he said, without offering anything more.
"How is she?" It was Admiral Adama who managed to croak the words out first. Billy simply sunk into the president's chair, unconscious of protocol for the moment.
"Like the lady said, she's dying," he replied harshly. Seeing the anguish echoed on two faces, he softened and considered his next words.
"I'd like to have her in Life Station now. She's only got a few days, at most." The doctor studied the patterns on the floor for a moment before continuing. "I could make her more comfortable there, make sure the end isn't agonizing."
Billy stood, filled suddenly with purpose. "She doesn't want that, Doctor. She doesn't want to be cold and alone and...in a zoo." He stopped, sure his trembling voice had given away his boss' deepest confidence.
Admiral Adama looked back at Cottle, who effectively cut them both off with a wave of his hand. "I know that. She's just made clear her wishes in the most vulgar way the young lady knows and I've no grounds to drag her to my sickbay against her will. Today."
He made his way to an ancient medical bag, discarded near the Admiral's boot. He rustled around before producing a small, oblong bag.
The doctor fixed his stare on Billy and privately gauged the boy's stomach for the task before him. He kept private the pride welling up in his hardened heart as he realized the boy would do anything to help his president, even if it meant struggling with regret for the rest of his life.
"The end isn't going to be pretty. She's being eaten alive by this disease and she can feel every bite. Her lungs will shut down, followed by the other vital organs, and her heart will finally, mercifully, stop beating. She won't let me take her for a scan but there's a strong chance the cancer has gone to her brain." He paused as both men emitted gasps on a different register. He sighed before plunging ahead. "She may not be able to speak when the time comes, she may not know where she is or who is around her."
He approached Billy, ignoring the terrified look on his face, and pressed the bag into his hands.
"This is the strongest morpha I have. When it gets unbearable, give her an injection in her upper arm. But not more than one a day or you'll be the one to finally finish her off."
Billy looked down at the bag in his hands as if he'd been handed a long anticipated gift wrapped carefully in the folds of a grenade. He wasn't sure he'd be able to endure what the old doctor had just described but then he remembered the warm comfort of her embrace the day before, the promise he'd made, and the trust in her eyes. He simply nodded and opened a drawer into which he deposited the collection of loaded needles.
"Admiral Adama, I've got to be off." He gave a curt nod to the senior officer, then to the young man still staring pointedly at the drawer. He was out the door just a moment before the president, dressed and looking only slightly worse for wear, appeared from behind the curtain.
"Admiral Adama. I hope you didn't come here just to waste my time with that fool's errand. I'm ready for your sitrep, assuming you have one."
The chastened officer looked at Billy then back to the President. Billy blushed as he remembered the kiss President Roslin and the Admiral had shared the day before, wondering if they wanted more than just a few minutes alone to talk shop. "I'll wait outside, Madam President. Call if you need anything."