Notes: See Disclaimer, part 1. Special thanks to SVR and Ellisandra for their wonderful beta help. I haven't forgotten this fic ... I've just been very busy.

New Caprica
1 month, 3 weeks before the Occupation.

The new detention center was as dull, cold, and stale smelling, as it had been the day Markos had detained her. Roslin wiped her boots on the roughly rectangular carpet piece that sat by the door.

So Mr. Gray set up the meeting?

Yes.

The purpose of which was to provide you with supplies for the school?

Yes.

The narrow entrance opened onto a reception area where a man in a bulky black uniform sat behind a stark metal desk. Behind him were three interrogation rooms and further back, a long row of dimly lit cells.

It didn't seem odd to you that there would be school supplies on a prison vessel?

No, it's common knowledge that many of the grounded ships have been converted to storage facilities.

The cells looked hastily constructed. They were mostly concrete; the wall facing the corridor was a wire mesh, the doors identical to those on the Astral Queen.

Would it surprise you to learn that there have been accusations against Mister Gray? That Mister Gray has accepted bribes and shown favoritism in the distribution of supplies.

She approached the desk. "Good morning." She didn't wait for the officer to respond. " I'd like to see Peter Gray." Not the Wally Gray I know.

"Bringing him his homework?" The guard's smile was genuine. His dark hair, graying at the sides, was closely cropped. He reached for a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, pulled open a low file drawer and removed a heavily creased sheet. Standing, he leaned across the desk. Maybe you don't know Mister Gray as well as you thought.

"Charlie, the President needs an escort to cell 4A." He turned back to her and winked.

"Not any longer, Mister—"

He extended a thick hand. "Icaria. Darren will do. In my mind, you're the only one deserving of the title." She nodded and took his hand.

A pear shaped man with a balding head and an awkward gait approached down the hallway. "Shit, Darren, where the frak's Bal—oh. " He stopped in front of Roslin and smirked. "This way ma'am." He extended his arm down the hallway.

She walked deliberately and ran her eyes over as many cells as she could looking for that flicker of recognition that might identify her attacker. Someone was retching. They turned a corner and the bulky officer stopped in front of a cell to their left.

Through the wire mesh she could see that Peter was on his feet. He turned at the sound of the cell door opening and Laura started at the mottled bruising on his face. The skin under his eyes and over his nose was black. A thin white bandage stood out on the bridge of his nose. When he saw who it was, he turned back towards the concrete wall.

"Fifteen minutes. He gives you any trouble, just holler."

"I'll be fine. Thank you."

They stood in silence for a while after the cell door clanged shut. Laura listened to the officer's footsteps as they became softer and more distant.

The cell was small. A thin, sweat-stained mattress sat atop a metal cot. A rusted bucket sat in an empty corner. Laura tried to ignore the smell.

Peter's hands never stopped moving. He picked at the oversized dull brown jumper that he wore, at a blister on his hand, and at the bandage across his nose. There was dried blood on his knuckles. Three days ago you were just a kid, angry that he had to move to the front of the classroom.

"May I sit?" Laura asked.

He didn't turn or look at her. He simply shrugged.

Laura sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress nearest Peter and simply started talking.

"When I first met your father, he and I worked on Richard Adar's campaign for Governor. Richard had rented out an old red brick house on the west side of Caprica City. He could have afforded better but he wanted to be close to the people." She watched Peter's finger where it traced random shapes on the gritty concrete wall. "It was late. I was sitting at an old, ugly table that we never seemed to be able to balance." The corner of her mouth curved upward. "Your dad figured it had more to do with the floor than the table." Peter had moved to stand beside the bed; his hand ran over the metal of the bed frame. He didn't look at her.

"I had just come from the printers. The first batch of pamphlets had Adar spelled wrong. I'd had to stand for hours while they printed a second batch. I was tired and angry and I still had to get them in envelopes to catch the morning post. Your father walked in then. He was exhausted. He collapsed into the chair beside me and told me he was pausing to the count the number of doors that had been slammed in his face." Her voice wavered a bit and she licked her bottom lip. "When he saw what I was doing he got up … told me he'd be right back." Laura sniffed and caught Peter's brown eyes as he lifted his head to look at her. She felt a tear track along the side of her nose. She didn't hide it or wipe it away.

"He came back with two coffees and without saying a word, sat beside me and started stuffing envelopes. I could have kissed him … " She smiled through her tears.

"I thought you were going to yell at me." Peter's voice was quiet and carried an undertone of anger. He rubbed a corner of the fabric covering the mattress between his thumb and index finger.

"I considered it," she said.

He looked at her then, studied her until she felt a little uncomfortable, but she didn't look away. Something softened in his eyes and he began to talk. "I don't sleep anymore. I can't eat." His restless hands balled into fists. "I just want to hurt someone … I just want … how long am I gonna feel like this?"

"I miss him too, Peter," she said, holding his gaze. "You will feel better. It may not seem like it now, but you will. You're angry and you have every right to be."

He shook his head and winced. "Mr. Brooks says that I need to be strong … that I have to be the man my Dad would have wanted me to be."

"He shouldn't have said that. It's unfair. You can't be expected to ignore how you feel. It's ok to hurt. It's ok to be angry. You're not alone."

"I wish it would just go away. Out there –" he stabbed his finger in the direction of the cell door, "everyone looks at me like I'm some kind of freak. They whisper and point. There goes the kid whose dad got murdered. When do you think he'll snap?"

"Is that why you fought that boy? To get in here?"

Peter shrugged. His eyes hit the floor.

"You're not a freak, Peter." She reached out and set her hand on his arm. "Each and every one of those people out there knows what it's like to lose someone they love. The Cylons saw to that. Our loss is the one thing that we all share."

Peter's eyes were glassy when he brought them to hers again. She felt the subtle press of his weight against her hand. "Do you know who killed my dad?"

There was a loud crack of wood against metal. "Time."

Laura ignored the officer on the other side of the grate and shook her head. "The investigation could take a while. You'll get an answer, Peter. I promise you that."

The door slid open and the heavy officer stood in the entrance, his arms folded across his middle. Peter was looking at the floor. She ran her hand along his upper arm and gently squeezed his shoulder. He didn't flinch. The officer led her out and she was two steps down the corridor when she heard: "Miss Roslin?"

She turned. Peter was standing at the cell door. "You won't … you won't tell anyone you were here right?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't," he said quietly.

Battlestar Galactica
Auxiliary Communications

"Where the hell have you been?" Adama watched Saul Tigh's pen skid across the page at the sound of his voice.

"Gods damn it." Tigh slammed the pen down onto the comm board. "You found me easy enough."

"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to still be here." Adama crossed the room, came up beside Tigh and leaned past his friend to scan his crease-lined papers.

Tigh glared at Adama. "You ever try to work through a manual decryption half bagged?"

Adama glared over at Tigh for a moment before his posture relaxed. "What have you got?"

"First … can I tell you how stupid it was to trust Starbuck with this?"

"No."

"Don't read over my shoulder."

"Fine."

"You know she'd have your ass for hiring a babysitter." A flicker of amusement crossed Tigh's face. "I may not know Roslin very well, but I sure as hell know she'd hate this."

"Are you finished with the opinions?"

"No."

The two men stood staring at one another and, not for the first time, Adama regretted getting Tigh back into the fleet. Perceptive, even when half drunk, Tigh started talking.

"There's a lot of confusion right now. Baltar, his cronies, the NCS, no one's talking. Word is Gray's body was in rough shape. The longer the silence lingers, the more paranoid people get."

"That it?"

"No. Look, Bill, you can't go down there."

Adama raised an eyebrow. "Quit stalling and tell me what's going on."

Tigh tore his gaze from the papers in front of him and watched Adama's face. "Roslin found Gray. Something happened on the Astral Queen. Starbuck says Roslin was a little roughed up afterward. Nothing that needed Cottle's attention," Tigh added quickly. "There is a suspect in custody in the case."

Adama knew 'a little roughed up' meant to Starbuck, but he forced himself to concentrate on Saul's last statement. "What are the chances that this is the beginning of an attack on the previous government?"

Tigh took a moment to consider than answered: "There's no way to know until –"

"Someone else dies." Adama finished gravely. "Roslin made a lot of tough decisions, decisions that affected the livelihood of a lot of people. The people down there are living a hard life. In that kind of environment, wounds fester. Grudges tend to consume."

Tigh shook his head. "Whatever is happening, you can't interfere. First thing Baltar will do is ask for your resignation and he'll be well within his legal rights to do it. That will leave a drunk in charge. You'd be giving him exactly what he wants."

"Grab that pen." Saul picked up the pen from the comm board and flipped the paper over. "Tell Kara to conceal a sidearm. Roslin isn't to go to the bathroom without Kara knowing about it. I want a complete report on the investigation and I don't care how she gets it. If something even smells funny, I want to hear about it. Have her tell anyone she can trust to watch former members of Roslin's government. I will not let this escalate."

Tigh collected the papers and gave Adama a wan smile. "There was a time when a lack of military support was a government's death sentence."

Adama's face remained hard. "I don't miss the Cylons. Neither do you."

The next day.

The Prometheus was a dirty ship. It wasn't just the dust and the mud that had settled on every surface. The stench of human vice still clung to its bulkheads even though its operations had been officially shut down. Its largest cargo compartment had been converted into a poorly stocked bar. The lighting was bad, the alcohol worse. A thick layer of homegrown New Caprica smoke obscured much of the room and Roslin had to struggle to keep her focus.

"What happened to you?" Tom Zarek sat in front of her, his facial features obscured by shadow, his hair longer and his face thinner. She had had to call in several favours just to get a temporary location for the Vice-President.

She subconsciously drew her hair over the side of her face and angled her head so that the still swollen bruise became less visible. "I need your help."

He reached over and gently pushed her hair back behind her ear. His fingers were warm against her skin. "I've heard that before," he said, not a trace of bitterness in his voice. A chill ran through her already stiff frame at the thought of the freezer units on the Astral Queen. It hasn't been that long.

She took a deep breath through her nose and nodded her head. She had neither the time nor the patience for games. "I was the one that found Wally Gray's body. The man that killed him was still on the Astral Queen when --"

"Do you have a name?" Zarek's eyes traced the length of the bruising on her face. Before she could answer he added. "That was insensitive. I'm sorry for your loss."

She ignored his paltry attempt at sympathy and shook her head. "Look, I'm getting shut out here. Baltar's not seeing anyone anymore and Markos is chronically busy. Information is so hard to come by that the press has started fabricating reports." Not that that's new. "I've got the feeling that this whole thing is just going to go away."

Zarek smiled. "Somehow I knew you wouldn't make a very good civilian." He took a long sip of his drink, and winced. His voice was dry and hoarse. "What do you know about Markos?"

"Not much. I'd never met him before we settled here."

Zarek leaned towards her and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "He's an ex-con."

"What?"

"Yeah, he knows the game from the inside. Went into corporate security when he got out. His methods were considered … unorthodox … and his fee was high."

"What was his crime?"

"Not far from what he does now. When deals go wrong, Markos cleans up after. Prison only added to his client list."

"Does Baltar know?"

"I don't think he cares. Markos gets jobs done. There weren't many CEOs that cared how." Zarek pulled a thin cigarette, and a lighter from his pocket. "You mind?"

Roslin waved her hand dismissively. "You think Markos is involved in Wally's death?"

Zarek lit the cigarette and closed his eyes as he took his first drag. "It's a nasty habit, but there isn't much else prison has to offer until you work your way up a little."

"And Markos?"

"Worked his way all the way to the top."

"Tom?" He smiled that all too charming smile. Roslin's body felt heavy and her thoughts swirled like the smoke that covered the ceiling. "I need information on the investigation. What is it going to take?"

She expected a predatory grin, instead he leaned away from her and took another drink.

"Nothing," Zarek answered. "Get me a name and I'll see what I can dig up. If he was able to get on the Astral Queen it's more than likely I'll know him."

Roslin spun the untouched glass in her hand. Somewhere behind her she could hear an argument slowly escalate in volume. It hasn't been that long. Whatever you want, there's a reason you're not telling me now. She lifted the glass and let the alcohol splash briefly against her lips. "You're a tough man to find."

Zarek ground his cigarette into the ash filled can that sat in the center of the table. "Ever since the workers started to riot, Baltar's been nervous. Thinks everyone's out to get him. Told me to fly under the Dradis for a while." He leaned forward until his lips were beside her ear and whispered. "So no one can get us both."

She stared at him incredulously and he laughed before he continued. "I'll do what I can to help you. Wallace Gray was a good man." He lifted his glass and Roslin lifted her own hardly touched drink. They toasted Wally and Roslin considered Zarek over the rim of her glass. "I'll find you." He said quietly.

Roslin nodded. I hate that I'm going to owe you. Again.

Colonial One.

"Where have you been?" Baltar struggled not to sound as needy as he felt. He couldn't really remember what she had said to him, the mere sound of her voice had his blood rushing loudly and not in the direction of his brain. And he didn't care, not for a second, that the woman before him existed only in his over fertile imagination.

She stood up slowly, fluidly, the thin red material of her dress tightened briefly over the swell of her breasts. It was the one and only time that he actually appreciated the lack of heat in the room.

Her scent washed over him as she approached, a clean sweetness that mixed inelegantly with the curl of smoke that rose from the cigarette in his limp hand. She drew a warm finger across his forehead, scraping gently with a perfect nail.

"Right here." She tapped his head for emphasis. "The real question is: Where have you been, Gaius?"

He could do nothing but stand there as she ran the same finger over his ear, the stubble on his chin, the length of his chest. I've missed the sex, you know. Sex with a machine has its benefits. You were never cold, never tired and you always knew just how to -- ouch. When she reached the hollow of his sternum she jabbed her finger into his flesh though his shirt and continued: "Where is the man who stepped from Roslin's shadow and demanded freedom and choice? Who promised his people a better life?"

Baltar's eyes narrowed. "Oh that's rich. It really is." He took a deliberately long drag from his cigarette and blew a thin stream of smoke over her shoulder. "Take a look around. You'll excuse me if I don't wax poetic over the glorious destiny God has chosen for me."

Her nails dug into his stubble-covered flesh when she suddenly grabbed his chin. "Your vision is embarrassingly narrow. God seeks only to prepare you for what is to come."

"Mr. President?" Baltar started at the sound of Felix Gaeta's voice. The Cylon's grip did not waver and Baltar glanced as far towards the door to his office as he could manage.

"I'm busy," he said.

"I understand that, sir; I'll only be a minute." Gaeta crossed to the desk and into Baltar's field of view. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked.

Oh, for God's sake. Baltar closed his eyes briefly. He imagined how he must look, standing in them middle of his office with his neck extended forward awkwardly. "Yes, of course. My neck has just been a little stiff lately … just trying to stretch it out."

"Okay..." Gaeta crossed to the bank of file cabinets at the back of the room. There was a loud squeak when he opened one of the lower drawers.

Baltar dropped his voice; his eyes returned to her face. "And just what is to come? Wait—" he raised his hand. "Let me guess. I am about to do something that will spell the end of my entire race … and … and … our only hope is some completely cryptic warning you're about to share out of the goodness of your little mechanical heart."

She let go and slapped him hard. His head turned sharply to the right and his grunt caught his aide's attention. Baltar turned his head from side to side in an exaggerated attempt to stretch out his neck. "Much better," he mumbled with a satisfied groan and turned his attention back to the Cylon. We've really gotten off to a bad start here, I suppose now would not be the time to tell you that I have a custom made bed.

"Ask him where Markos is." Her expression was hard, her voice commanding. No, I didn't think so.

"Mister Gaeta, where is Minister Markos?" Baltar's cheek still stung.

Gaeta's eyes flicked upward briefly. "The detention center, sir, interrogating the chief suspect in the Gray case."

He felt her hair brush his cheek; her breath was warm against his ear. "Tell your aide to join him."

"Why?"

"Um … to move the investigation forward I assume." Gaeta answered needlessly.

"There needs to be a witness."

Jarek Markos' fist slid off the blood soaked chin of the inmate that lay half propped against the wall of the interrogation room.

"I won't ask again. How did you get onto the Astral Queen?" He grabbed the man by his brown coverall and hauled him to his feet. "Did you enjoy it, snapping that man's neck?" A liquid gurgle sounded from the inmate's throat and his eyes were unfocussed and glassy. Markos spun him and wrapped an arm around his neck; the base of his thumb pressed against the inmate's larynx. He laid his other hand on top of the first and slowly began increasing pressure. "You're going to die for killing that man, so I don't give a shit if I do it now or later. But if you give me a name – if you tell me who helped you – I'll spare you a helluva lot of pain."

He used his grip to pull the man's head back over his shoulder so he could hear the incoherent, whispered gasps that the inmate made. The man's sweat and blood soaked Markos' hands and arm.

Felix Gaeta had barely managed to work his way past reception when he overheard the words:

"Not good enough."

By the time he arrived at the threshold of the interrogation room, Markos was allowing the limp body of a stocky, dark haired man to slide from his chest and onto the floor.

Kara Thrace crouched in the back corner of her cell, her mind remarkably focused despite the amount of alcohol in her system, and listened.

"Katsulas is dead; what the frak do we do now?"

"Nothing, it's over. I'll make the announcement tomorrow."

"But what if he did have an accomplice?"

"Trust me, he would have told me."

Continued part 7.