Those Who Lift Each Other

by lls-mutant

When the Cylons attacked, the kids of New Directions were on board the Cybele, on their way to the All-Colony Show Choir Competition. Now they're members of the Fleet, being chased by the Cylons and trying to deal with the day-to-day struggles of a life after the worlds end.

8. Only Shooting Stars Break the Mold

Rachel sat in the shuttle on the way over to the second Presidential debate, clutching her notebook in her lap. Her heart was pounding hard with excitement. "I've never been over to the Galactica before," she confided.

D'Anna Biers arched an eyebrow in wry amusement. "You'll get over it," she predicted. "And fast. Believe me, the Galactica isn't anything like what you're imagining."

"What do you mean?"

"It's dark, dull, and looks more like a cheap motel combined with a factory. If Adama was smart, he would have these debates on the Pegasus."

"The Pegasus," Playa Palacios said, breaking into their conversation. "Imagine. A press room with personal keyboards in the desks and cushions on the seats that aren't torn."

"Microphones that always work," D'Anna said.

"Decent telescreens behind the speakers."

"Legroom in the seats."

Both women sighed longingly. Rachel looked back and forth between them. "Is the Pegasus really that much nicer than the Galactica?" she asked uncertainly.

"It was built thirty years later. What do you think?" D'Anna said.

Rachel wanted to respond, but D'Anna started up a conversation with Playa, turning her body in such a way that it was clear that Rachel was not welcome to participate. It didn't matter anyway, because they were landing. Rachel straightened up, eager to look around and see this place that Finn was living. Where he was still living, she told herself firmly. Finn had come over to say goodbye before a mission the other night, and even though he couldn't tell them what the mission was fore, Rachel knew it was something big.

To her delight, the crewman who met their shuttle was Mercedes. She looked good, wearing an olive green uniform with her hair sternly pinned up. Rachel gave her a tentative grin, relieved when Mercedes smiled back much larger.

"Any word from Finn?" Rachel asked as Mercedes started to lead the reporters to the conference room.

"No, but no one expects it right now. Don't worry so much, Rachel," Mercedes said, patting her shoulder. "Worry about the debate. President Roslin is going to crush Baltar," she added with a great deal of satisfaction. "But this is big, right? Them letting you cover this?"

"Well, that's the thing," Rachel said, hesitating.

Mercedes stopped in her tracks. "Wait. What's the thing?"

Rachel grabbed Mercedes' arm and pulled her out of the way. "You've got to help me," she whispered as the other reporters filed into the conference room. "I've been trying and trying to break into the bigger stories, but Mr. Ishinhall won't recognize my obvious talent. He keeps sticking me on pieces of no importance when clearly, I can do much better and much more important work."

"So how am I supposed to help you?" Mercedes asked.

"I have my press credentials, but I'm not on the list of reporters allowed in," Rachel explained. "I just need to get in. Once I get in, I can ask the kind of sharp and incisive questions that will bring Roslin and Baltar to their knees and surely get me noticed as a reporter of note. That's all I need, Mercedes. Just to get into the room.. Please."

Mercedes hesitated, and Rachel held her breath. To her relief, a huge grin spread across Mercedes' face. "I didn't help you with this," she warned Rachel.

"Oh, thank you, Mercedes. Thank you thank you thank you. When I win the Colonial Press Award, you will be the first person I think in my acceptance speech."

"I'd better be," Mercedes said with a laugh. "Come on. Let's go this way."

The conference room was small and crowded with cameras and reporters. Here and there Rachel caught people eyeing her skeptically, but no one said anything, especially with Mercedes at her side. There were no seats left up front, though, and that was going to make getting noticed harder. Rachel slipped into a seat near the back, grateful that it was at least on an aisle. She opened her notebook nervously, pulled out a pen, and waited. She wished her dads could see her now. They'd be so- no. She cut that line of thought off sharply.

President Roslin entered the room first. She looked completely calm and unruffled, the Admiral beside her. It was brilliant, Rachel had to admit, having the Admiral escort her. It made it perfectly clear where the military stood. Roslin took her seat and a small, dark woman with her hair in an elegant twist bent to whisper something in her ear.

Rachel was so busy watching them that she almost missed Vice President Baltar's entrance. He didn't cut nearly as impressive a figure, Rachel privately thought, although he looked a lot more confident than he should after Roslin's resounding victory at the first debate. Tom Zarek stood next to Baltar, his hands folded in front of him as he half-studied, half-glared at the press, at their opponents, at anything in the room. It said something about the two of them that Rachel only noticed Kurt third. He wasn't wearing bright colors today, which helped explain it, although his bowtie was made of safety pins and his vest appeared to be missing a back. Zarek leaned over and said something to him and Kurt nodded and made some sort of notations on his clipboard, but eventually he looked up. Rachel waved. He took the stairs up to where she was sitting two at a time.

"I didn't know you were here now!" he whispered enthusiastically, crouching down beside her. "Big break?"

"Making one," Rachel whispered back. She looked at the candidates again. "The Vice President looks calm."

"Well, he has a reason to be," Kurt said, smiling enigmatically. "There's a little bombshell… oops. Can't say too much." He winked, and then looked back down. "I'd better get down there," he said apologetically.

"Is there any chance you can direct a question my way?" Rachel asked anxiously.

Kurt gave her one of those wide-eyed, incredulous looks and somehow, Rachel knew she'd asked the wrong thing. "There's no questions," he said. "Just the debate. It's not a press conference, Rachel."

"No questions? But Kurt, I-" She needed to be able to ask questions- that was how she was going to get noticed.

"Don't worry," he said, patting her hand. "There will be a story for you. Trust me." He grinned evilly, and then hurried down the stairs again. Rachel stared after him, feeling like all of her plans were in ruin.

***

Presidential debates were boring. Well, not boring, Rachel amended, staring at Roslin, who was talking in a measured, confident voice. Just… hard to understand. They'd discussed economic policy and defense, and frankly, Rachel just didn't fully understand the layers and the fine points. She felt a little better when she saw Kurt stifling a yawn and noticed that two seats down, Sekou Hamilton was doodling a rather entertaining drawing of Baltar.

Roslin had just finished talking about the search for Earth.

"Yes, the search for Earth." Baltar gripped both sides of the podium, his smirk widening. "I have no doubt that President Roslin believes that she has a cunning and scientific plan, but the end result is that we are simply left with the navigational equivalent of throwing darts at a target in terms of deciding where to go. If President Roslin and Admiral Adama knew where Earth was, we would be there by now, or at the very least have an estimation of arrival.

"We, as a Fleet, have not had cause to question this policy until now. How could we? We have nowhere else to go. Even if we found a habitable planet, the Cylons would surely find us and attack, and that would be the end of humanity as we know it. So even if President Roslin is following a will'o'wisp to a mythical haven, her plan has kept us on the move, and therefore safe from the Cylons. But now the game has changed."

There was a slight buzz as Baltar paused for effect, smirking at Roslin. Roslin had her arms crossed and a haughty but interested expression on her face. Baltar's smirk widened to a diabolical grin, and then he turned back to the audience and leaned to the microphone.

"The planet that was discovered is not only habitable, but is hidden in a nebula and therefore concealed from Cylon detection. If elected President, the search for the possibly mythical Earth will be abandoned, and this planet will be settled. Permanently."

Debates weren't the place to ask questions, but every reporter was on their feet. Rachel jumped up as well, her hand in the air, even though she didn't have a question fully formed. But the moderator immediately squashed the press response, and Rachel took her seat reluctantly. Baltar was radiating smugness, and Kurt and Zarek were like a pair of cats who'd gotten to the cream. But the most interesting expression in the entire room was the one on Roslin's face. She was frozen with her eyes opened wide, and Rachel was sure that was an expression of fear.

***

"I'm serious. It's the moment that the election turned," Rachel said to Mr. Ishinhall. "You have to let me cover it."

"Are you insane?" Mr. Ishinhall asked, running a hand through his graying hair, which had thinned out considerably in the eight months that Rachel had known him.

"Not at all. The planet offers people a completely different-"

"I know that," he said, cutting her off. "Everyone knows that. Which is why I'm giving the story to Playa. It's the biggest story in the Fleet right now."

"But-"

"But what? What can you give this story that Playa Palacios can't? You're doing a good enough job with what I give you, Rachel, but the fact is, you're still a kid, and your interviews show it. Your questions are shallow and juvenile, your delivery is too earnest, and you lack the empathy and experience needed to understand what the average person in the Fleet is interested in. People don't care about show tunes and how culture is developing anymore. They only care about staying alive."

"But Mr. Ishinhall-"

"No buts, Rachel. This is a story that can affect the future of the Fleet. Playa is covering it."

Defeated, Rachel did the only thing she knew how to do. She nodded once, very tightly, and stormed out.

***

"Shallow and juvenile! My questions are not shallow and juvenile. They are incisive and cutting, and bringing the focus back to the artistic heart of the people. People need culture! They need music and art and theater! It's what we work to stay alive for!"

"You watched Death to the Poetry Society right before we left Gemenon, didn't you?" Artie asked, looking up from his work and giving Rachel a long, level look. They were sitting in the Cybele's nearly-deserted passenger cabin. Artie had what looked like a sheaf of papers spread out on the table, covered in diagrams and charts. "I'm pretty sure that's a direct quote."

"It was playing over on Cloud 9," Rachel said dismissively. "That's not the point. Or it is the point. People need things in their lives other than the daily drudgery of manufacturing lines and training drills! They need escape! Romance! Drama! They need something to stimulate their hearts and their minds."

Artie shrugged. "I don't disagree, but you do realize these things are a lower priority than safety right now, right? Besides, there are a few shows being put on. Why don't you audition for one?"

"They all have my audition tapes, but they're venues that are incapable of properly showcasing my talent," Rachel said.

"Really?" Artie asked. His voice was sarcastic, but his eyes were sympathetic. Rachel sighed and thudded down in a chair at the table he was working at.

"No," Rachel said, crossing her arms. "But the shows that have been on have been put on by troupes. I've tried to get in, but…."

"I know." Artie dropped the sarcasm. "I put in a good word for you with Days of Our Battleship, and they said they liked your tape, but they just don't have a part right now for a girl your age."

"It's not fair," Rachel complained. "I'd work so hard. My dads always said that was something that… never mind. I'd work hard. You know that."

"That's what I told them. But the part just isn't there." Artie shrugged. "Rachel… do you think maybe that Ishinhall has a point?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked sharply.

Artie shrugged again. "Baltar just announced that if he's elected, we'll be settling permanently on a planet. You haven't even mentioned that."

"So?" Rachel asked, baffled. "You know about it!"

"I'm just sayin'," Artie said. "That's what most people are going to want to know about. What's the planet like? What kind of resources does it have? What sort of temperatures and climate? That's what people want to hear, not if there are plans to build a theater."

Rachel sighed angrily and crossed her arms, looking away. Artie didn't bother to argue with her, but went back to his own work. From where she was sitting, Rachel could see the Fleet out the window, against the constant backdrop of space.

"It has been a long time since we've seen sunlight," she said.

"Mmm."

"I guess I see your point. There is a certain provincial desire to know what sort of surface is down there. But I have no idea where I can…" she trailed off, the idea coming to her.

"Rachel?" Artie looked up, and then groaned. "I have no idea what you're thinking, but I'm not sure I want to know."

"I know what I can do," Rachel said excitedly. "I know how I can get a story in there before Playa does. Will you help me?"

"With what?"

"Just taping. Directing. If I can get an interview subject, would you tape it?"

Artie shrugged. "Sure," he said. "But who would you possibly interview that Playa couldn't interview on her own?"

Rachel just grinned.

***

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Rachel chased after Kurt into the New Directions room. "You're the aide to a vice presidential candidate!"

"First of all, I'm the aide to a Quorum representative and a campaign manager," Kurt corrected her.

Rachel waved that off. "Everyone knows that Baltar will pick Zarek if he's elected."

"Second," Kurt said, ignoring Rachel's protestation, "I've been told not to talk to the press without clearance. I could get fired over this, Rachel."

"Mr. Zarek wouldn't fire you," Rachel said.

Kurt crossed his arms and glared. "You want to bet?"

Rachel sighed. "Come on. Can't you come up with something? I know! We could do a shadow interview, like they do with witnesses of crimes!"

"And you don't think Zarek would recognize my voice?" But Kurt frowned. "Look, the best I can do is ask for the clearance. Okay? I'll ask him." Rachel squealed and lunged forward to hug Kurt. He stiffened in her embrace like he always did when she caught him off guard, but he patted her back. "I can't promise anything," he warned her.

"It's okay," Rachel said, feeling far more hopeful than she had in a while. "I'm sure he'll say yes."

***

Some nights the New Directions barely saw each other, but on that night they somehow seemed to manage to gather in the room. Santana and Mercedes made it over from the Galactica, and Sam came over from the Daru Mozu, although his wife Rya was stuck working another shift. All of them were there except for Finn and Puck, who were off on that classified mission.

"I don't get it," Santana said that night, putting her stocking feet up on the table. "What's the big deal about a supernova?"

"Nebula, Santana," Quinn said, nudging her feet off the table. "There's a huge difference."

"Whatever. What's the big deal about a nebula?"

"In a word, interference," Artie explained. "The nebula hinders DRADIS triangulation. It's practically useless."

"Which means the Cylons won't be able to find us," Kurt said firmly.

"No," Artie said, side-eyeing Kurt. "It means the Cylons won't be able to use DRADIS to find us. If they're really determined to do it, there are other ways they could find us."

"But the odds of them finding us by a manual search are really low," Sam said.

"And yet, they somehow keep doing it," Quinn said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah. With a DRADIS." Sam glared at Quinn.

"That's what we assume. We have no idea what other technology they might be hiding."

Rachel listened to the argument, watching each person speak in turn. The planet was all anyone could talk about since it had been discovered. And it was lovely, Rachel was sure of that, but right now she had other things on her mind.

"They really went on a mission?" she asked Santana yet again. Everyone else at the table groaned, and Santana sighed and dropped her head back.

"Yes," she said. "It was a volunteer-only mission, and both Finn and Puck volunteered, okay? I've told you that, like, four times. They're insane." She leaned her head on Brittany's shoulder. "Asking another million times isn't going to change the fact that they're both morons. And Finn came over and said goodbye to you, so don't get so start with the wounded widow nonsense."

"Where did they go, anyway?" Mike asked. "Are they taking on the Cylons?"

Mercedes and Santana exchanged uneasy glances, and Rachel was sure they knew exactly where Puck and Finn were. It was too bad they couldn't tell her- it would be an exclusive that would surely blow Playa Palacois out of the water and land Rachel a spot on the news during a time when people were actually awake enough to watch. Something real, not just little fluff pieces. She could just see herself interviewing Santana, getting Santana to explain that Finn and Puck and the others went to the Cylon home world to blast them to pieces, or were on a top-secret, highly dangerous mission to… to… Rachel really wasn't sure. What would they be doing that would be so dangerous and yet Santana would refuse to go? It was a mystery.

She was so distracted by her own thoughts that she hadn't realized that the conversation had shifted back to the planet and the upcoming election. "I can't believe you'd even think of voting for Roslin!" Tina was saying to Artie. "You know she'll continue to outlaw abortion, and I'd think that you, an agnostic-"

"Just because I'm voting for her doesn't mean I agree with everything she does," Artie told Tina. "But I just don't believe the Cylons aren't going to find this planet if they decide to look for it."

"But Gaius Baltar is a scientist," Tina said. "He designed the Colonial Defense System. He would know if the Cylons were really likely to be a threat! And I just want off this ship! I don't want to have a baby on a spaceship!" Mike squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

"You'd have more medical resources on a spaceship than an uninhabited planet," Quinn said coolly.

"Only if you think the first thing built wouldn't be a hospital," Kurt put in. "Which, if elected, is exactly what Baltar would do."

"Then he's an idiot," Artie said. "The first thing you need on any new colony is potable water. The first thing built should be a water treatment plant."

"Oh. Well. Good thing I'm not the one planning the city," Kurt said. He laughed airily, and Artie made a face. Kurt caught Rachel looking at him and scooted over, patting the bunk beside him. Rachel took the seat beside him as the conversation veered into the others arguing about how a settlement should develop.

"I talked to Tom," Kurt said.

"And?" Rachel moved to the edge of the seat. "When can we start?"

"He wants to talk to you."

That took Rachel by surprise. "For an interview? I would be absolutely honored, but-"

"No. It's not an interview," Kurt said. "He just wants to talk to you."

"About what?" Rachel asked as the conversation ramped into an argument over sewers and if creatures found their own way in or if that story about the alligator in the Lima sewer was just a myth. "If he doesn't want to do an interview-"

"I didn't say that," Kurt said enigmatically. "Just… tomorrow, first thing. Come over to the Astral Queen with me."

The Astral Queen. Rachel shivered with a pleasurable sort of fear and naughtiness that the name evoked. "All right," she said. "Tomorrow morning, then." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Kurt shrugged. "You're welcome."

***

The Astral Queen wasn't quite what Rachel pictured. For the most part, the cells no longer looked like cells, but almost like small apartments. But what really struck Rachel was the optimistic, excited feeling among the ships' residents. The wirelesses and televisions were all tuned to election coverage, and there were even campaign posters hanging, the majority of which were for Baltar.

Kurt led her to a conference room. The room was rather stark, but there was a pitcher of water on the table, two glasses, and a small plate of artistically arranged crackers and cheese. Tom Zarek rose when Rachel walked into the room, smiling genially. "Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt nodded. "Mr. Zarek. Rachel." He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Rachel watched him go, panicked. No one had said this meeting was just her and Zarek.

"Miss Berry," he said, smiling at her. "Please. Have a seat."

Rachel took a deep breath. Kurt had been working for Zarek for months and had only seemed to be getting happier. Zarek wasn't going to stab her and hide the body somewhere on the Astral Queen, she told herself firmly. "Thank you for meeting with me," she began. "I know that your time is very valuable, but I think that this arrangement could benefit the both of us."

The corners of Zarek's eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "Slow down, Rachel," he said, sounding like a kind old uncle, and pouring her a glass of water. "Please. Help yourself."

Rachel took a cracker to be polite, but didn't eat it. "Thank you."

"I really enjoy your work, you know."

"You've seen it?" Rachel asked skeptically. "It's on in the middle of the night."

"I've seen it. You're actually quite popular on the Astral Queen." Rachel looked down at her skirt and wondered exactly why she might be popular on a ship of male prisoners.

"I'm surprised," she said primly. "All the stories I'm given are fluff pieces."

"And that's exactly why you're popular here," Zarek said smoothly. "These men have not had much to smile about in the past decade or two, or even longer. Your stories offer light and hope. I suspect they do to others in the Fleet as well, especially since you sing with your group."

"Which is why I'm always on during the dead times," Rachel said bitterly.

"But you've been moving closer to better time slots. And with the right story, you could find yourself rocketed into a much better position."

"Right. The right story." Rachel straightened up. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I know that you yourself will be interviewing with the Colonial Gang and Ms. Biers and some of the others, but I wanted to ask permission to interview Kurt. I know he's just an aide but-"

"But no one should underestimate just how much aides know," Zarek finished for her. "I agree completely. I also think that an interview between you two would appeal to the younger population of the Fleet. Couple that with the light and hope aspect that I mentioned, and between the two of you, you could paint a very, very positive picture of the future of the Baltar administration."

"But I-"

"Here." Zarek handed her a packet of papers.

"What's this?" Rachel scanned the first page.

"A list of questions for the interview, as well as an idea of what Kurt's answers will be like."

"I… No, Mr. Zarek, you misunderstand me. I wanted to interview Kurt."

"And I'm giving my clearance, as long as you stick to these questions."

"But that's not an interview! That's a propaganda piece!"

"It's an election, Rachel. What do you think I'm looking for?"

"But the people need incisive and candid questions that allow them to make an informed decision! Not just some regurgitated campaign promises!"

Zarek looked amused. "I take it you've never watched a campaign before. This will give voters our side, Rachel. No matter what you ask, Kurt is going to be answering as a representative of the Baltar campaign. That's why you're interviewing him."

"No, I'm interviewing him in order to show Mr. Ishinhall what I can do! That I can be a serious journalist! This is my chance to move up from fluff pieces to real stories, and I can't compromise that by using pre-written questions and not asking the hard ones!"

"I see." Zarek sat back, templing his fingers and looking over the tips at her, studying her.

"D'Anna Biers told me that when a subject can't answer the question, that's just as telling as when they can," Rachel continued. "So I can't just ask Kurt a bunch of questions that you put together. That doesn't prove that I can do anything!"

"You do realize this is a fairly standard practice, and that even if Ishinhall realizes that the questions are pre-arranged, he won't be objecting to it?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Zarek, you're wrong," Rachel said flatly. She pushed the packet back to him. "I'm sorry. I can't do this." Suddenly she remembered who she was talking to and cringed. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"No." Zarek looked very tired. "This was a mutual opportunity for us both, not a threat. But let me break it down for you, Rachel. If you say no, that's fine. You'll go back to the Cybele and your job and do the stories you do, and I'll find someone else to do this story. Because you are right- having a young face on this campaign will help us appeal to the younger population of the Fleet, and we're at the point where every little bit helps. So the story will be done, whether it's by you or someone else. You only have to deal with the knowledge that turning this down leads to an opportunity for someone else."

The idea of someone else getting the story would have killed her if Mr. Ishinhall hadn't accused her of asking questions that were too facile and juvenile. This was not a story that would impress him. Rachel stood up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Zarek," she said stiffly, "but I just don't think this would showcase my talents."

"I'm sorry, too," Zarek said, standing and extending his hand to her. "It could have been a great opportunity for you."

As Rachel shook his hand, a thought occurred to her. "Would you have done it?" she asked. "After all, you refused to apologize for what you did on Sagittaron."

Instead of laughing, he considered her question seriously. "I never wanted to be a journalist," he finally said. "You do. You're making a mistake."

"I don't think so," Rachel said, feeling more confident. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Zarek, but I'll find my own story."

"Good luck with that."

***

"They gave the story to Amber Calhoun! Amber Calhoun!" Rachel repeated, as if that would help Mr. Schuester understand the gravity of the situation. "And do you know what happened next?

"No." Mr. Schuester looked down at the stack of papers he was grading and sighed. He looked tired and strained, but then, so did everybody. "What happened next?"

"She got the story on the next Presidential debate! Mr. Ishinhall wants her to cover the story on the general reaction to the candidates' stance on defense!"

Mr. Schuester blinked at her. "You don't know the first thing about defense."

"You don't have to in order to ask questions! That's the point! Making the issues accessible to the general public!"

"Which you can't do unless you understand what the issues are. Not that it seems to matter." He tossed his pen onto the stack of papers. "The public doesn't understand it either."

"What are those, anyway?" Rachel asked.

"Essays from my Colonial History class over on the Monarch," he explained. "It's amazing. Do you know just how many of them think that the Cimtar Peace Accord was signed to end battles with curved blades? It ended the Cylon War! You'd think that more kids would get that!"

"Well, you're an excellent teacher," Rachel said, because she supposed she should encourage him. She patted his hand. "I'm sure they'll understand after you explain it."

"No, what they understand is the world is ending, and it's just one more excuse not to do homework," Mr. Schuester sighed. "The worst part of it is, they need this knowledge more than ever. So many of these kids are voting age, and I'm afraid they don't understand the first thing about how our government works. What they need is someone to make it fun, to really make it exciting." He sighed. "If we were back on Gemenon, I'd say we should cover it in Glee club, but I'm afraid I don't know many songs about how the government works." He laughed a little, but Rachel straightened up.

"I have to go."

"Rachel?"

"It was wonderful talking with you, Mr. Schue, and I'm sure you'll be able to impart the gift of knowledge to a deserving younger generation. But you've just given me a brilliant idea."

"Ah, Rachel-"

But Rachel was off. This was the best idea ever.

***

"Wait, you want us to write and perform our own songs before Election Day?" Artie said. "That's crazy!"

"It's not," Rachel said excitedly. "We wrote 'Light Up the World' and 'Pretending' right before Nationals. We work best under pressure."

"Yeah, but there's working best under pressure and then there's pure insanity," Artie said. "There's no way you can get it all done before the elections happen."

"The elections are still seven days away," Rachel said. "And I'm not doing it alone."

***

Rachel couldn't get all of New Directions corralled into their room on the Cybele, but she corralled a lot of them and locked the door. Although there was grumbling about the idea of writing Presidential Elections- The Musical!, Rachel also noticed that songs were getting written. Rather than writing music, they opted to take popular songs and change the words, which might not have the artistic integrity that composing their own tunes would have, but was definitely a lot quicker. There were just… issues.

Sam strummed the guitar, playing the opening chords of "Baby," as Brittany took the floor to sing.

"We're on a spaceship, recycled air
We're chased by Cylons, death and despair
We have no sky, we have no sun,
The situation is anything except fun.

And now I'm pregnant, Boy, we can't deal
It's all too much, it can't be real.
But there's an answer and as hard as it is
It's what is best for us so we did this.

Cause I was like baby, baby, baby, no
Like baby, baby, baby, NO,
Like baby, baby, baby, no
The choice should always be mine."

Sam put the guitar down with a furious sort of expression. "Tina's working on the second verse."

"Oh, my Gods," Quinn said, cradling her forehead in her hands.

"You are not singing a song about abortion to 'Baby'," Mercedes added.

"No! It's perfect!" Rachel said. "Abortion is a hot issue in this election. It's where Baltar first opposed President Roslin, and it's one of the more divisive issues. Besides, Tina is writing and Sam is playing from the heart."

"Yeah, and can you stop saying that? It's not exactly something I want to be doing," Sam said crossly.

"So don't," Mercedes said. "It's like, way offensive, and not because I don't believe in abortion."

"We could work up a back-up dance," Brittany suggested.

"No." The answer was unanimous from everyone in the room.

"The thing is," Mike said, "there's really only three big issues. There's abortion, Roslin's religion, and the planet. Other than that, there aren't a lot of issues to talk about. Baltar doesn't differ from Roslin on much else."

"Yeah," Artie said. "It's not like there's much of an economy, and the Admiral decides what the military does."

"We ought to have a song about the Admiral," Quinn said. "Because a President that doesn't work well with the Admiral isn't going to be an effective President at all." She tapped her pen against her pursed lips.

"We could go musical with that one," Rachel said. "Maybe take 'You're the One That I Want'" and write it from Admiral Adama's point of view?"

"Only if you have a pro-Baltar song to balance it out," Sam put in quickly. "If you're using 'Life Is a Fertilized Egg' - which doesn't even fit with 'Life is a Highway', by the way- to go against 'Baby, No', then you've got to have a song about how Baltar would do with the military."

"Like what?" Santana asked sarcastically. "The Old Man can't stand Baltar."

"'I Hate Everything About You'," Artie suggested.

"'Give You Hell' could work," Mercedes said.

"My Imaginary Friend," Brittany piped up.

"Or…" Quinn's eyes lit up with a maniacal gleam as she ignored Brittany, "we need to think a little more… country." She looked at Sam. "'You Belong to Me.'"

Sam rolled his eyes, but obediently started playing the intro to the song.

"You're on the phone with Ms. Roslin, the President
She's going on about political precedent,
She doesn't get your weapons like I do.
I'm in the lab on the Galactica battlestar
I'm thinking about the how she pushes you oh-so-far
And she'll never give you 'freedom' like I do.

But she gives keynotes, I wear lab coats
She's the incumbent and I screwed her over
I'm dreamin' bout the day you all wake up and find
The way to screw us over was here all the time.

If you could see that I'm the one that'll patronize you
Dismiss, reject, and try to colonize you
You should vote for me,
You should vote for me

Sleeping here in my seat up in the Quorum
Bored to death in any political forum
You should-"

"Enough!" Sam shouted, pushing his guitar away. "That's not a pro-Baltar song!"

"Well, the Admiral has made his support for the President clear," Quinn said, "to the point where he escorts her to the debates!"

"Guys, chill," Mercedes put in. "Save it for the songs."

"Or not," Rachel said. "The whole point of this exercise is to explain the positions, not espouse them." She turned to Quinn. "As cutting and clever as your song is, it's not informative. The first rule of reporting is that you need to be distanced from your subject matter."

"Like you follow that," Quinn snapped. "You cried during your story on pets in the Fleet."

"That's not fair to Rachel," Mike said. "If you didn't cry looking at those kittens, you just don't have a heart." Artie nodded.

Quinn sighed impatiently. "My point is, this isn't reporting. This is, essentially, a musical debate. There's nothing wrong with presenting a candidate in a negative light. I know that at least two people have completely lost their senses," she glared at Sam and Tina, "but I think it's clear that President Roslin is the best leader for this Fleet."

"It's not clear," Tina said. "Especially with the planet involved. That's really the game changer, isn't it? Do we want to settle on the planet or continue looking for Earth?"

"Which is why," Rachel said, seizing the opportunity to get things back on track, "I think the planet should be the center of our debate with my song 'Damnit, Planet, What to Do?' It's a song that is perfectly balanced between both sides, delving into both reasons that we should settle on the planet and reasons that we should not." She began handing the lyrics out. "We should start rehearsing now."

Mercedes raised her eyebrows as she read the lyrics, and Sam immediately started working out the chords for "Damnit, Janet" on his guitar. Even Quinn sighed, muttering something about 'damn talent.' Rachel smiled. As much as they were bickering, this was all going to go perfectly.

***

"Well?" Rachel asked, as Mr. Ishinhall clicked off the video. "What do you think?"

"It's impressive," Mr. Ishinhall said, laughing. "You guys really did all of this in forty-eight hours?" Rachel nodded, and he let out a low whistle. "It really is a shame that we never got the whole group together for that show. I don't suppose there's any way you could convince them?"

Rachel's heart twisted, but she clamped down on her pain. "No," she said. "Four of them are in the military and Kurt is working for Zarek and Quinn is learning to be a doctor-"

"I figured. Well, we'll definitely be showing this, Rachel. Aside from doing a good job explaining the candidates' positions, it's really quite catchy and clever. I rather expect the adults of the Fleet will be entertained by it as well.

Rachel brightened. "So I can have some more serious stories now?" she asked, sitting up straighter.

The smile leeched off of Mr. Ishinhall's face. "Rachel," he said seriously, "you're a talented girl. Extremely talented. I knew about your singing, but I didn't know about the writing until just now. If the Cylons had never attacked the Colonies, I have no doubt that I would have been seeing you opening on stage at some point in my life."

Rachel brightened. This could only be good news.

"But reporting… reporting is different. It's not performing. The reporter is the vessel for the story, and the story needs to take the center stage. That's something you have yet to be able to do. Your personality is stamped on every story."

"But all the greatest reporters were like that!" Rachel protested.

"No, all the greatest news personalities were like that. There's a difference. And what I need is someone who can report the issues, who can uncover the truth and bring the people of the Fleet the story, not their version of the story, and how the story affects them."

"But-"

"Look. Rachel. Right now, we have the elections, and these elections have the potential to change everything. I can't tell you what the immediate future of television even is right now, because so much depends on whether or not we settle on this planet. You obviously have talent, but it's not a talent we can capitalize on right now."

"But-"

"I can still use you in the capacity I've been using you, and I will certainly run this segment. But until I see more serious, more impartial work from you, I'm sorry, but the big stories will keep going to those who can handle them."

"I see," Rachel said, trying to keep her dignity about her. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Well, then, Mr. Ishinhall, I think I shall take my leave."

Mr. Ishinhall remained sitting, looking up at her from under lowered brows. "Let me guess. You're storming out again?"

"Of course."

He handed her a stack of papers. "Take this to the editing room on your way, will you?"

Rachel snatched the papers from him, tossed her hair over her shoulder, put her nose in the air and turned on her heel, getting her skirt to flare out perfectly as she did so. Her storm-out was an absolute work of art, although even she had to admit it probably didn't make her top ten storm-outs ever.

The back halls of Cloud 9 were not a particularly good place for sulking. There were no convenient little cubbies or benches where you could be mostly hidden, but found if the right person wandered by. Not that the right person was around anyway. Any of the right people.

Rachel decided to take a detour and go to the gardens. It was the best part of being a reporter, getting to go in the synthetic garden under the lighted dome. Rachel had been in here enough that she could see the signs that this garden wasn't real- if you looked hard enough at the projected sky, you could see the seams, and there were cleverly concealed vents in the flower beds. But it was still better than anyplace else in the Fleet.

She wandered the paths, trying to pretend that Finn was with her. Things with Finn had been very… undefined since the attacks. Before the All-Colony Show Choir Championship, they'd known that their relationship was very likely on borrowed time since Rachel planned on trying to move to Caprica and Finn wanted to stay on Gemenon. Interplanetary relationships could work, of course, especially since Finn had been saving up the money Burt had been paying him from the garage for a holoband, which would make meeting up in a virtual sort of world a lot easier. But shortly after the attacks Finn had joined the military. They were still a couple- when Finn came over to the Cybele they held hands and kissed and all that- but they didn't kick everyone out of the room like Mike and Tina or Brittany and Santana did. Rachel had assumed a lot of that had to do with the fact that Finn still had parents, both of whom subscribed to traditional Gemenese parental mores when it came to premarital sex.

Her own parents hadn't been so prudish, she thought. She missed her dads so much. She would give anything to be back on Gemenon, nestled against Daddy's shoulder watching a movie as Papa ruffled their hair and worked on his computer from the armchair, pretending he wasn't enjoying the fifty-seventh viewing of whatever musical they were watching. She couldn't smell their cologne anymore or feel her cheek against their sweaters, and that almost hurt more than the fact that they were gone.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice that she was on a collision course until someone put out their hand to stop her, and she looked up to see Playa Palacios. "Oh. You. Wonderful." Rachel heaved a sigh.

Playa looked at her with confusion. "Rachel Derry, right?"

"Berry." Playa didn't even know her name?

"Oh. Right. What are you doing here, Rachel? I thought you'd be prepping for the debates."

"Why aren't you?" Rachel asked.

Playa shrugged. "I just finished interviewing Zarek. The gardens make such a nice backdrop for an interview. I think when I interview the Vice President we'll have to come here, instead of in his lab like he's been asking for. Don't you think?"

"Don't I think?" Rachel repeated incredulously. "Why would you care what I think?"

Playa peered more closely at Rachel's face. "Are you all right?"

"Why would you care? Not that it's any of your business," Rachel added hastily. "It's just been a very long day and I had a very disappointing meeting with Mr. Ishinhall, who still refuses to recognize my talent, and I just realized I have no idea if my boyfriend is still actually my boyfriend and-"

Playa put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Come have a drink with me," she said, and before Rachel could argue, Playa was steering her commandingly out of the gardens.

She didn't lead them to the Starlight Lounge, but rather to a place that Rachel had been once before. It was designed to look like an old-fashioned diner, with booths and a long bar. Playa steered her to the bar and caught the eye of the woman behind it. "Two hot chocolates," she said.

Rachel didn't protest. The vegan thing had had to go a long time ago. Playa waited until the hot chocolates- synthetic as they were- came before she spoke again. "I take it you've had a very bad day."

"I don't know why you care," Rachel said, trying not to sniffle. "After all, I'm your competition."

"Mmm." Playa took a sip of her hot chocolate. "I miss real milk," she said. "The dehydrated stuff just is not the same." Rachel just shrugged. "Were you going to study journalism in college?"

"No," Rachel said. "I was accepted in the CADA program."

"The Caprica Academy of Dramatic Arts? They only take about twenty students a year." Rachel nodded gloomily, and Playa let out a low whistle. "I had no idea."

"Well, I do sing and act."

"I knew that. But to get into CADA…. My first assignment was writing about the theater scene on Caprica," Playa explained. "I'm familiar with the program through that. Why aren't you with any of the shows on the networks?"

"I tried," Rachel said. "But there are only a few and I wasn't what they were looking for."

"Ah."

"I keep telling myself that someday there will be more of an opportunity. That there will be a better show or there will be theater on Earth or… or something. That this won't last forever, and I can take my proper place as a star."

"Why are you in journalism then?" Playa asked.

"It's the only way I can work on my presence," Rachel explained. "Granted, a camera is different- I would really prefer to perform in front of a live audience- but there aren't many options left. It's not that I don't want to work hard- I've been working hard for what I want since I was six months old. I will do anything it takes to make it, and if for the next few years that means doing news stories, that's what I'll do."

Playa took a long, thoughtful sip of her hot chocolate. "You might regret that. I wanted to reach the top, too, but not like this."

Rachel cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that before the attacks, I was doing your job- fluff pieces at two in the morning. I had my eye on this position, but I didn't really envision losing everything else to get it. If I could change it- even if it could just be that my family was in this Fleet- I would. But you were traveling with your parents, right?"

"I… er… no," Rachel said, staring down at the counter. "My dads were back on Gemenon."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Rachel shrugged, pushing the thought away. "No. I mean, losing my parents doesn't make me special. Everyone lost their parents, right? Well, most people- we have a whole family left in New Directions, but they're unusual. Everyone's going through that."

"That doesn't mean you don't have the right to feel anything about it," Playa said.

Rachel waved her off. "I feel. But I don't have an outlet to channel my pain. And it's too bad, really. This is exactly the kind of pain that makes divas great."

Playa choked on her hot chocolate. "Sorry," she said, once she'd finished coughing and wiped her mouth. "Did you just say…never mind. I don't want to know."

"I know it sounds shocking," Rachel admitted, "but that's what you need to do to make it in show business. Everything has to be utilized. And right now, pain and loss are the common denominators across the Fleet. They resonate with people. So if I could find the right platform, I'd be set. Journalism could be that platform, you know. I could… reach out to people in their pain." Rachel gestured expressively. "But I can't get anywhere."

"That's because you're treating journalism like show business, and it's not," Playa said. She took another sip of her drink. "There is a similarity in that you have to be ruthless. I won't even tell you some of the things I've done for a story. And presentation certainly matters. But content matters even more, and that's what you've been missing. It's also where I think you're expecting too much of yourself. You're eighteen, Rachel, and you've never studied journalism. You're not going to rocket to the top of the pack."

"I know," Rachel said, sighing. She finally picked up her own drink and sipped it, trying not to make a face at the synthetic taste.

"You'll get your chance someday, you know."

"At reporting?"

"At acting. If Baltar wins this election and we settle on this planet, a theater won't open right away, but eventually, it will open. People need their escapism."

"You really think so?" Rachel asked, her heart lifting.

"I really think so," Playa said.

That was something she hadn't considered, but suddenly, Rachel could see it in her mind. It wouldn't be the big, grand theaters of Caprica, or even the theaters of Illumini, but it would be a building and a stage and real productions. It was the light at the end of the tunnel. If Baltar won. But if Roslin won and the search for Earth continued, it was more of this life in spaceships, where entertainment and escapism were a low priority and all the glamour and camera time was dedicated to the news.

"We'll see," Rachel said, unwilling to hope.

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Playa said, pushing her mug back on the counter. "It was nice talking to you, Rachel."

"Yes. It was nice talking to you, too. Thank you for the hot chocolate." Playa smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder, and Rachel watched her leave. She might have a point about the planet, but Rachel was sure that she'd better keep all her options open. She didn't know if she could take another dream dying.

***

The Presidential debates raged on. Despite the success of Presidential Elections – The Musical!, (Mercedes gleefully confided that even Colonel Tigh had been humming "Baby", which Rachel supposed was a lot funnier if you knew Colonel Tigh), Rachel's only story was on art projects of kids in the Fleet. Which was lovely, but not exactly hard-hitting journalism that would skyrocket her to a better position. And the polls were opening- they'd be open for two days, the perfect time to get optimum viewership as people made their decisions. All Rachel needed was the perfect story.

She got it.

The news came unexpectedly, when Brittany found her practicing her best "I hate to give such heartbreaking news" expression in the mirror. "Come on. Mercedes says we all need to get over to the Galactica right now."

"Why?" A cold shaft of fear made her shiver. "Is it Finn?"

Brittany shrugged. "I don't know. But we should go. The shuttle will be here any minute."

It's Finn. It's Finn. Rachel was certain Finn was dead. They'd get off the shuttle and another pilot- it would be a pilot, right?- would approach, and he- or she- would have this terrible grim look on their face. And all of New Directions would be standing there together, Rachel clinging to- Tina? No. Quinn? No. Kurt? Yes, Kurt, especially since Kurt was Finn's brother- Kurt's hand. And Kurt would pull himself up with tears in his eyes, ready to hear the worst, and Rachel would shrink closer and then the pilot would say "I'm so sorry" and she knew she'd never be able to hold back the tears.

She was planning what song she'd sing at Finn's funeral- she had it narrowed down to "My Heart Will go On" and "Unbreak My Heart"- when the shuttle docked in the Galactica. And there was Finn, standing on the deck, very much alive, wearing his flight suit and smiling at them. Puck was standing next to him, although Rachel barely recognized him under his flack gear. Standing next to him was a girl that looked extremely familiar. All three of them looked wet.

"Is it just me," Artie began, peering out the window at the people waiting on deck, "or does she look like…."

"I can't believe it," Quinn said scornfully, as the engine slowly shut off and the door began to open. "Puck really does have a type, doesn't he? She looks exactly like Zizes, if she'd lost forty pounds."

"Actually, she is Lauren," Brittany said. "I can tell. You can see her green bra with the red polka dots through her t-shirt."

"What?" Artie asked.

Brittany shrugged. "We had gym together. Lauren always had the coolest bras."

"It's not Lauren, Brittany. Lauren's dead."

Rachel climbed off the shuttle, and before she could think about it anymore, Finn enveloped her in a huge hug and lifted off her feet. She squeaked, half laughing and half fighting it. "You're getting me all wet!" she said, but she really didn't care. Finn was there against her, alive and safe. Rachel leaned her head against the wet leather of his flight uniform for a moment.

"This might be a crazy question, but why are you guys wet?" Artie asked from behind her. "What's going on?

"You know, I think a guy with glasses as thick as yours would figure out that if you're going to pull people off an irradiated planet, you've got to put them through a decontamination shower," the girl said, and Rachel's mouth dropped open because it was Lauren.

Tina squealed. "You're kidding me!" She started to move towards her to hug Lauren, but both Sam and Mike lunged for her and pulled her back.

"A decontamination shower doesn't get it all off!" Mike said.

"Yeah, you don't want to risk it," Sam said.

Lauren regarded them with annoyance. "What, do I have cooties?"

"No, but she's pregnant," Sam said. Lauren's eyes widened, but she was successfully distracted by Mike hugging her.

"That's where you were?" Rachel asked Puck as the others waited their turns to greet Lauren. "Gemenon?"

"Caprica. Remember? The wrestling team was there for a meet. We got Coach Beiste back, too," Finn said, smiling. Rachel bounced on her toes happily, but Finn's smile faded a little. "And Blaine."

"Blaine, too? That's incredible news! Kurt must be- wait? Why do you look so sad?" Rachel studied him. "Is something wrong?"

Finn nodded grimly. "He's sick, Rach. Real sick. He's in the infirmary right now. Kurt's with him."

"Oh, no." Rachel nuzzled closer to Finn. As she did, she caught sight of Tom Zarek over Finn's shoulder, watching the people milling around. He saw her watching, and to her surprise, he winked before he turned away to talk to someone else. Rachel shuddered.

"You okay?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. Yes," Rachel said, turning her attention back to Finn. "What about you? Are you all right?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine." Finn hugged her tight. "It just… it kind of freaks you out, you know? They were down there for nine months."

A horrible thought dawned on her. "Do you think- on Gemenon-"

"No. There couldn't be. No one's left alive on Gemenon, Rachel." But something about the closed expression on Finn's face made her think he was lying.

"But if there were all these people-"

"There were only twenty something," Finn said. "That's all that was left. Don't think about it," he said. "Please, Rachel, you don't know what it was like down there. Don't think about it."

"All right," Rachel said, more because Finn looked so disturbed than because she thought he was right.

"Come on," he said, steering her away from the deck. "I want to get out of this wet leather anyway."

"Where do you change?" Rachel asked.

She'd meant it at face value- she really had no idea what the soldiers' daily lives were like on the Galactica. But Finn blushed as he tugged her hand, and Rachel was suddenly very, very sure that all of Finn's reticence towards sex on the Cybele had everything to do with his parents. Her heart lifted as she followed along, letting thoughts of Gemenon and survivors drift away from her mind in the face of being with Finn, and being grateful that he was alive.

***

The clock said 4:23 in the morning when someone knocked on the door of the New Directions' room. The swiftness with which Mr. Hummel answered the door only confirmed that he'd been awake, waiting for it. Rachel laid on her own bunk, chin on her folded hands, watching as the light from the corridor illuminated the lines of grief on his face as the bearer of bad news spoke quietly and urgently.

"Burt?" Mrs. H asked quietly as he shut the door slowly.

Coach Sylvester was up as well. "Curlicue," she said.

Mr. Hummel nodded. Mrs. H covered her mouth, but Coach Sylvester just looked sad. Like she'd been expecting it. Almost empty.

"Should we wake the kids up and tell them?" Mrs. H asked.

"Let 'em sleep," Coach Sylvester said. "Not like they can do anything."

"Sue!"

"No, she's right," Mr. Hummel said. He was getting dressed as he spoke. "The funeral isn't going to be right now, and the last thing that Kurt needs is everyone swarming him. Xu said that Finn's with him now, and Will and Coach Beiste and Lauren and Puck and Mercedes are all over there. They're sending a shuttle for me, but that's it."

"You don't think we should send any of the kids?" Carole asked.

"Send Schnoz over there," Coach Sylvester suggested, and Rachel automatically touched her own nose. "She's been awake the whole time."

Mr. Hummel turned around and looked up at her, and Rachel flushed. "Well, Kurt and I have been very close," she said defensively. "And I-"

"No need to explain," Mr. Hummel cut her off as he pulled on his shirt. "Get dressed. I want to get over there as soon as possible."

***

Kurt looked terrible. They'd taken Blaine's body to the morgue already when they arrived, but Kurt was still sitting beside the empty bed, staring at the stripped mattress. He was holding onto Finn's hand, with Mercedes at one shoulder. To Rachel's mild surprise, Mr. Zarek was there, too, sitting in a chair and the end of Blaine's bed, his forehead resting on his folded hands like he was thinking… or praying.

"You know, this is the second time he's had to deal with Blaine dying," Finn said when Burt had detached Kurt from his side and taken control. "You'd think I'd be a little bit better at knowing what to say this time around."

Rachel tried to smile, but it wouldn't come out. "You should get some sleep," was all she could say.

"I know. But I feel like I should stay here, you know?"

"His dad's here, Finn," Rachel said. "And Mercedes and me. Go sleep."

"But-"

Burt was listening. "Rachel's right, son," he said. "Last thing we need is for the Cylons to attack and for you to get yourself blown to bits."

Kurt shuddered back to life long enough to nod. "It's okay, Finn. Really."

Finn looked around doubtfully, then shrugged. "All right," he said, and backed away. Rachel could see his exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders and the slowness of his steps. She wished he could stay because Blaine dying and Kurt's face were the saddest things she could imagine, but even she could acknowledge that Finn needed sleep badly.

"Kurt…" she began tentatively, because staying silent seemed wrong. "Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do?"

Kurt shook his head. His eyes and his nose were both red, and Rachel could tell he'd been crying hard. Not that she blamed him, of course. "Do you want to talk about what to sing at the funeral?" she began. "Because I have some…" the look Mercedes was giving her was fierce enough to make her trail off, and adding the horrified looks from Kurt and Mr. Hummel only made it worse. Even Mr. Zarek was staring at her. She stared at the bed, mortified.

"I'll get some coffee," Zarek finally said. "Rachel? Come help me?"

Startled, Rachel glanced at Mr. Hummel, who nodded approval. It seemed silly- she'd come to comfort Kurt, after all- but Kurt was barely looking at anyone and besides, coffee in a time of loss was almost tradition. She trailed after Zarek as he made his way over to the coffee station in the far corner of the infirmary.

"I can't believe it," Rachel said, looking back at the tableau by the bed. "I thought it was going to work out and he'd get better. It all seems like such a cruel joke."

"The gods don't always share our sense of humor," Zarek said bitterly. "I think everyone in this Fleet knows that." He set out a few mugs and began pouring coffee. "So how goes the reporting? I saw your piece on children's' artwork. Very… inspiring."

Rachel drew herself up. "I'll have you know, I've had plenty of opportunities since, all of which I've made myself."

"Yes, Presidential Elections- The Musical! It was quite clever, I'll give you that. But what has that show gotten you, Rachel? A story on the debates? Interviews of the candidates? Hell, even interviews of various citizens to find out their opinions? Or have you been stuck with the mediocrity of stories about the fate of Fleet pets and the inspiring artwork of children?"

Rachel flushed. "I don't know why you insist on bringing that up," she shot back. "There's no reason you should even care."

"There wasn't. Now there is." Zarek pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Rachel. She opened it and took out a picture. It was Kurt and Blaine tearfully embracing. The photographer had caught the moment perfectly, and their joy at finding each other again was obvious- and heartbreaking, knowing how the story ended.

"What do you want with this?" Rachel asked.

"It's a story," Zarek said. "A story of what could have been, if this administration had gone back to Caprica earlier. Of what still could be, if we stopped at New Caprica, settled permanently, and then used our military resources to search the other planets for survivors."

Search for survivors. Something about that made Rachel's heart jump right into her throat. "Why are you telling me this?" Rachel asked.

"Because I need something. The polls are open, but this election is going to be close. We need a little more to put us over the top. This story- a story of love and betrayal under Roslin's administration- could do it. And I need you to run it. You know both Kurt and Blaine, and you're here."

"Kurt is my friend," Rachel said stiffly. "He would never-"

"Kurt won't care. He's too caught up in Blaine's death to know that the elections are even happening. He won't notice if he's a pawn in them."

He was right. Rachel swore silently to herself.

"Naturally," Zarek continued, "I don't expect you to do this out of the kindness of your heart. And I don't expect you to fall for the 'it will get you better stories' line of reasoning, either. Because if we don't win, we both know it won't."

"Then what will it get me?"

Zarek's gaze was even. "First question at the inaugural address. Should we take the coffee to the others?"

Rachel stared down at the picture in her hand, Zarek's eyes boring into her. First question. First question was a huge deal. Mr. Ishinhall would have to acknowledge her and give her more stories if she had first question at the inaugural address.

She put the picture back in the envelope and tucked it under her arm, and then picked up two cups of coffee. "Shall we go back?" she asked, feeling a little sick as the paper crinkled under her arm.

Zarek smiled at her with approval. "We shall."

***

The story practically wrote itself. In fact, two pilots and someone from Caprica contacted her and asked to be interviewed, saying that Caprica was a story that needed to be heard. Rachel was certain that Zarek had told them to get in touch with her, but it didn't matter. They gave her exactly the story she needed.

It would have been better if she could have interviewed Kurt or Coach Beiste or Lauren, but there was no time. The polls were only open for a short time, and the story had to get on early if it was going to have any effect at all. So she settled for what she could get, and even without the interviews, Rachel still had to admit it was a gut-wrenching and heartbreaking story. Definitely some of her best work ever.

New Directions wasn't as impressed. "Really, Rachel?" Quinn said as the piece wound to a close. "You really think Kurt wanted that splashed across the Fleet?"

"Yeah, Blaine just died," Artie said. "It hasn't even been twelve hours. The body's still warm."

"It's news," Rachel said defensively.

"The rescue is news," Tina agreed. "Blaine dying like that? That's not news."

"No, it is," Sam argued. "Especially that bit about Baltar wanting to go back to the Colonies to search for more survivors. Is that really true, Rachel?" Everyone looked at her.

"That's what my source said," Rachel said. "I can't imagine why it wouldn't be." Survivors. The word was still heavy on her tongue, twisting in her stomach. There could be survivors on Gememon. She couldn't let herself hope. Not after all this.

"Then why didn't Baltar say it in the debates?" Mike asked.

"Because he didn't know there were survivors on Caprica," Sam said. "How can you promise to make a rescue if you don't know there are people down there?"

"You really have it in for President Roslin, don't you?" Quinn demanded.

Sam snorted. "Do you blame me?"

"Yes," Quinn said angrily. "She gave your wife asylum."

"She made my wife into a political chess piece," Sam said, standing up.

"Hey! Break it up, okay?" Mike said, stepping between the two of them. "Neither of you are deciding this election on your own!"

It descended into an argument, like almost every conversation did these days. Rachel sighed. She understood that times were charged and everyone was on edge, but still. It was the best work she'd ever done, and no one seemed to notice that. And if they didn't, what were the chances that anyone else would, either?

Really, it was enough to make a person cry.

***

It took a lot of searching, but Rachel did finally find Coach Beiste over on the Galactica, in the weight room. She wasn't lifting, though. She was just sitting on the bench, staring into space.

"Coach Beiste?" Rachel walked in carefully. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Coach Beiste snapped back to the present. "Sure, darlin'. What is it?"

Encouraged by the warm reply, Rachel sat down on the bench next to her. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Blaine. I imagine you must have been very close to him, and as one of his friends from before, I certainly understand how devastating a loss it must be." Coach Beiste nodded, and Rachel rushed on. "I had some questions. About Caprica. Well, sort of about Caprica. More about Lima."

A shadow passed over Beiste's face. "I'll try to answer, but you probably know more than I do. All we know about the Colonies or the Fleet is what we've heard since we got on board."

"No, I know that," Rachel said. "It's just… so many of you survived. And for so long. Do you think… do you think it's really possible people could have survived on other planets?"

"Pretty sure they did." Beiste's face darkened further. "There were more people on Caprica, if you can call what they were going through surviving."

"Prisoners of war?" Rachel asked, horrified.

"You could say that," Beiste said, but she didn't elaborate. It didn't matter. Rachel rushed on.

"Well, do you think people could have survived in Lima? Do you think they could be down there right now, waiting for us to rescue them and just holding on? Do you think-" She cut off as Beiste put a hand on her shoulder.

"Pumpkin, I know you want to think that. I do. But there were a lot of things that had to go right for us to stay alive. We were right near a bomb shelter, for one. We were at a high elevation. Other people found us, and we were near hospitals so we could get anti-radiation meds. We had guns and ammo and people who figured out how to use them. We lost seventy people before you all pulled us out of there, and if you hadn't come along when you did, we would have lost even more. There might be survivors on the other planets, but you've gotta know that chances are, there aren't a whole lot of them."

"But you survived," Rachel said, tearing up. "And Lima-"

"Lima is right near a few big cities. It's near sea level."

"But it's possible," Rachel insisted.

"It's possible," Beiste admitted. "But it's not likely."

"Still. Possible. I mean, we got you, Lauren, and Blaine back," Rachel said. "Miracles do happen. You're living proof. Well, mostly."

"It sure is nice to think about. I just don't think it happened."

"That's okay. Thank you, Coach Beiste," Rachel said, jumping up. "I just needed to know."

"Rachel-"

"No. It's possible. That's enough, right? It's enough to have some hope to go on? That maybe, just maybe, my dads-" she broke off, because even then the words hurt.

"Rachel…" Coach Beiste tried again. She looked sad and serious. Rachel looked away, backing towards the door.

"Thank you, Coach. I'm glad you're back, you know. It really is… it really brings New Directions a lot of hope. Thank you." Rachel fled before Coach Beiste could say any more.

Her dads could be alive. It was possible. That was all Rachel needed right now. She might have lost her dreams of the stage and the theater, but maybe, just maybe, there was something left from her old life after all.

***

The ballot was in front of her. Rachel knew all the facts, all the statistics, and if someone had asked her a week ago, she would have firmly said she was voting for President Roslin. President Roslin made sense. She was amazing, and she'd gotten them this far. Yes, she'd outlawed abortion, which Rachel did ethically disagree with, but at the same time, the decision was understandable in the light of the number of people left. And it was the only previous decision Rachel didn't agree with. President Roslin had a good working relationship with Admiral Adama, she valued education, she had experience, and she kept the Fleet going.

But if they landed on New Caprica, if they settled….

If they settled, life could go back to normal. In time, of course, and not like it was. But normal. There would be a city. There would be more than just running. There would be culture again, and theater.

There would be a theater.

And then there were survivors. If they landed on New Caprica and used that as a base, they'd go back to search for survivors. Rationally, Rachel knew there couldn't be many. Not really. They'd pulled less than thirty people off of Caprica. But what if…?

What ifs were only hopes- there was no guarantee. Rachel knew that. Baltar couldn't be sure her dads were alive, and if they were dead, he couldn't bring them back. Even if they were alive, maybe they'd never find them. But Rachel knew better than anyone that hope was one of the most powerful things in the universe.

She checked "Baltar" on the ballot and put it in the box.

***

"You're wanted," Mr. Ishanhall told her over the wireless.

"Excuse me?"

"The polls are coming to a close, and we're starting to cover reactions. I'm sending contingents to Colonial One and the Astral Queen. Get over to the Astral Queen."

Rachel brightened. "Mr. Ishinhall, I assure you, I will continue to do an outstanding job," she said. "I'm so glad that the piece on Kurt and Blaine that I did impressed you."

"It didn't," he said shortly. "It was pure propaganda, and if Baltar sends people back to the Colonies to search for survivors or gets Adama to agree to do it I'll eat my hat. But it impressed Zarek, and he asked for you."

"Oh."

"You're not going alone," he warned her. "I'm sending a whole contingent."

"Oh, I know," Rachel said, still excited. This was still a step up, and if Zarek was pleased maybe he'd swing a few questions her way.

To her delight, Zarek approached her as soon as she walked in. "I'm ready," she said eagerly, wearing her best smile. "Mr. Zarek, I just want to say thank you so much for this opportunity. I know that you promised me first question at the inauguration, but to request me for this contingent is an honor. Not completely unexpected, of course, but an honor all the same."

Zarek looked at her queerly. "I didn't ask you here for that," he said.

"Excuse me? Wasn't the story what you wanted?"

"The story was exactly what I wanted," Zarek said, leading her through a crowd of people. "But tonight, my problem is Kurt."

Rachel's confusion deepened. "Kurt?"

"I need Kurt here," Zarek explained. "He's been working on the campaign from the start, and he has his own system for organizing things that I have yet to make heads or tails of. Besides, he deserves to be here when the win is announced. However, as I'm sure you're aware, he's not in the best mental state right now. I need someone to make sure he doesn't fall apart."

"But… but… why me?"

Zarek shrugged. "I did ask his brother first, but he has duty. And besides," Zarek's eyes pierced through her, "you owe him, after using his tragedy to further your career."

"But you asked me to do the story!" Rachel protested, although his attempt to shame her into doing his bidding was definitely working.

"Yes I did. You're the one who said yes." Zarek clamped his arm firmly around her shoulder and half-guided, half-pushed her towards an office. "He's in here."

The office was small and cluttered with file cabinets, with a large desk on one wall and a small one on the other. The place was fairly neat, but Rachel quickly noticed that there were no pictures on the wall above the larger desk, and several above the smaller one, as well as two framed photos in the corner. Kurt was standing at a file cabinet, leafing through. He was dressed all in black, and when he looked up, his eyes and nose were tinged red. Looking at him, Rachel felt incredibly guilty about the story.

"Does he know about it?" she whispered to Zarek.

He shrugged. "I don't think he knows much of anything right now." He shoved her into the office, left, and closed the door.

"Hi, Kurt."

His brow furrowed. "What are you doing here?" He didn't sound angry when he asked. Just… half-dead. Zarek was right. If he knew about the story, he didn't care. Rachel brightened.

"Mr. Ishinhall sent me over to cover the results of the election as they come in, and Mr. Zarek thought that maybe you could help me."

"Really." It was sarcastic, but there was no heat in it. Kurt found the file he was looking for and shut the drawer. "More like he's afraid I'll flush myself out the airlock when he's not looking."

That made Rachel's heart lurch in panic. "Would you?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No, although I can't deny it does have its appeal. However, the thought of my body hitting the windshield of another ship really does kill any romantic imagery such a scenario might have. Come on." He led her out of the office and into a conference room.

The crowd in the room was… interesting, to say the least. Rachel was glad that Kurt was there with her. Several of the men gathered still wore prison garb, although it was mixed with other clothes. Several members of the press were there, all bigger names, including Sekou Hamilton, which only served to emphasize that Rachel was there for another purpose altogether. The Aerelon and Leonis representatives to the Quorum of Twelve were there. The atmosphere was electric and exciting, and the numbers written on a chalkboard indicated exactly why. Baltar was ahead by over a thousand votes.

Baltar himself was standing in the corner, holding court. Rachel had seen him in person before, but for some reason it had never registered how short he was. It was really pronounced when Kurt made his way over and stood a good two inches taller, the same height as Zarek. Kurt waited until Zarek and Baltar were done talking, then handed Zarek the file and whispered something in his ear. Zarek listened intently, nodded, and said a few words. It was kind of fascinating to watch, really, Rachel thought.

"Hey! Quiet! They're announcing the numbers again!" someone shouted, and turned the television in the corner up, where James McManus was following the results.

"But what we have so far is 6,282 more votes for Baltar, which puts his total now to 21,569. Is that-that correct? And we also have Roslin. Her total now is at 17,754. We've had 2,981 more votes come in for Roslin at this time."

A cheer went up through the room, drowning out McManus's voice. The other reporters were immediately in Baltar's face, but when Rachel started over there, Zarek frowned fiercely and she sighed, annoyed. The greatest story she'd ever had a chance at, and she was stuck babysitting her best friend, who obviously didn't need her. Kurt had been caught by the Aerelon representative and was nodding earnestly as the representative said something. Rachel felt completely useless. Even when she tried to talk to someone, she couldn't break into the conversation.

She was sitting in a corner just waiting for something to happen when the TV got turned up again. The votes for Baltar were over twenty thousand now, and the excitement and energy were up again. Kurt came over and sat down beside her, and Rachel grumpily thought that he looked pretty perky for someone she was supposed to be propping up.

"Just a little while longer," Kurt said, crossing his legs and grabbing his knee. "It's looking really positive."

"Good," Rachel said. "Kurt? Can I ask you about something?" Kurt arched his eyebrows, and Rachel took a deep breath. "I know this is probably a painful subject for you right now because of Blaine," she began, and his smile slipped several notches, "but this plan of Baltar's to go back for the survivors on the planets-"

"What plan?" Kurt asked, his brows furrowed.

"The plan," Rachel said. "It was something Mr. Zarek told me when he asked me to do a story. That if Baltar won, he'd go back for the survivors."

"Oh."

"Oh? So you have heard about this?"

"I think so." Kurt frowned. "I was in the room, but I wasn't really listening, although I have to admit that they can be rather hard to shut out, even in the throes of grief."

"Well?" Rachel leaned into him. "So it's true?"

Kurt sighed heavily. "It's a strategy," he explained.

Rachel's blood froze. "What?"

"A strategy. After the Caprica rescue, the whole concept of survivors has to be addressed at some point," Kurt said with a shrug. "But it doesn't matter what the President wants, because ultimately, it's a military decision. So Baltar- or Roslin- can promise to go back and look, but in the end, it's Adama who has to do it. And if Adama says no, well then, how can you blame the President? It's all the Admiral's fault."

"But that… that's dishonest!" Rachel said. "It's horrible!"

Kurt shrugged. "It's politics."

"But I voted for Baltar because of that!" Rachel said. "I checked that ballot because… because I thought…." The tears were forming now. "They could still be alive, Kurt! We have to go back and see!"

Kurt closed his eyes and knocked his head back against the wall. "Rachel-" he began, but he was cut off by the buzz of the crowd and the TV being turned up again. Rachel automatically looked towards the TV, where James McManus was back on the screen, giving the latest results.

"Wow. Okay. 8,593 for Roslin, which puts her over the top. That's 24,265 for Laura Roslin. Is that correct? And 22,366 for Gaius Baltar. We're going to check these again because that has put her over the top. She-she has done it. She has retained the presidency in an improbable comeback in the final hours of the campaign."

Silence.

The silence didn't last long- it exploded into an incredulous, infuriated uproar. The press corps were rushing to get over to Baltar, ready for his reaction. But Baltar was in shock, staring at the television. And, if Rachel was seeing things right, a small smile was playing at one corner of his mouth. No, she couldn't be seeing things right.

She should be over there. She should be there with her microphone, shoving it in Baltar's face and elbowing the others out of the way. But she couldn't move, because if she did, the first thing she would ask him was why he promised to look for survivors when he knew he never could, and she didn't trust herself not to burst into tears or to rage at him before she got all the words out. She sat by Kurt, who was still sitting perfectly still, eyes closed. But his shoulders slumped even more, and Rachel thought that his nose was getting red again.

"Rachel. Stay." The order was barked to her as Zarek walked by. Rachel wanted to argue that she hadn't planned on going anywhere, but he was already gone.

A tear trickled down Kurt's cheek, and grateful that she could be useful, Rachel reached out and took his hand. "I'm sorry, Kurt," she said when she could speak. "I know you worked really hard on this and really wanted to-"

"I miss him so much."

"What?"

Kurt opened his eyes and looked at her. "I miss him so much already," he said, and Rachel knew him well enough to know this was a genuine break down. "I thought I had him back, and then he died and it's like the first time all over again, but even worse. I can still feel his skin and his breath and his-"

Rachel didn't listen to the rest, because it was becoming more and more garbled and Kurt was losing it fast. She jumped to her feet, grabbed his arm and pulled him to standing, and then towed him into the office. She slammed the door just in time as Kurt sank into the seat at the small desk and just started bawling. Hard. Rachel couldn't blame him. She pulled Zarek's chair over and sat beside Kurt, rubbing his back as he cried.

Finally, the storm showed signs of letting up. Kurt produced a handkerchief from somewhere in his pockets and blew his nose. "I'm sorry," he said. "I guess I was just keeping it together for the election, and now that's over…."

"I completely understand," Rachel said. She patted his shoulder a little more. "It's a normal psychological response. I know that I-"

"Before you say another word, can I ask you- beg you- please. Just this once. Do not make this about you."

"I…" Rachel fell silent.

"Right." Kurt wiped at his nose. "Are you coming to the funeral?"

"Of course. What are you singing?"

Kurt cracked a tiny smile at the question. "'Blackbird.' He asked me to."

"Oh, Kurt…"

"I know." He sniffled. "It's tomorrow morning. The inauguration won't be until the afternoon, not that it matters much, but still…."

Rachel squeezed his hand. "I'll be there."

***

Zarek had said stay, so Rachel stayed. Eventually Kurt fell asleep, his head on his desk. It didn't look all that comfortable, but Rachel thought it was probably better to leave him where he was. Better than the way he was crying, anyway.

She was curled in Zarek's chair, halfway to dozing herself when the office door opened, and she started awake. Zarek stormed in, saw Kurt asleep at the desk, and immediately stopped. He gestured to Rachel to leave the room. Rachel did, but when she turned around, she saw that Zarek had brought a blanket out from somewhere and was spreading it over Kurt's shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Rachel hissed as Zarek closed the door.

He shrugged. "It can get cold in here. Come on. We need to talk."

She followed him down the hall and around a corner, but stopped when he opened a door. The room was small, with an unmade bed in the corner and a dresser against one wall and an armchair in a corner. "Don't you think this is a little inappropriate?" Rachel asked.

Zarek sighed. "Don't worry. I am many things, Rachel, but I am not a child molester. I like women, but I do have my limits. You're safe."

He looked tired. Tired and angry. Figuring that Kurt had been safe with him all this time, Rachel took a chance and stepped in. Zarek followed her and closed the door.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair. He moved across the room and sat down on his bed. "There's been a recount."

"A recount?" Rachel's eyes widened. "What-"

"A recount." Zarek's mouth twisted on the word. "It turns out that there was a… mistake. Roslin didn't win the election. Baltar did."

"Oh. I… I didn't hear that."

"You and Kurt were in there for quite a while," Zarek said. "So, there will be an inauguration, and you have the first question."

"Yes," Rachel said, relieved that he remembered.

"I want it to be about the recount, and if Baltar thinks it was an honest mistake or if Roslin tried to steal the election."

"What? You can't tell me what the question is! That wasn't part of the agreement!"

Zarek's stare was level. "You don't have to have the first question."

Rachel wanted to stomp her foot, but managed to refrain. She was at his mercy. "Why me?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Why don't you have someone else ask it? It's not like I was allowed near a microphone all night."

Zarek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Because whoever asks this question will make an enemy of Roslin. That recount happened for a reason, and the election results changed because it wasn't a mistake. Roslin tried to steal the election and someone caught her."

"But-"

"Gaius doesn't agree with that. He thinks Roslin is too noble." Zarek snorted at that. "She's not. She's a politician, and she's a damn good one. She does what she has to do to protect her interests, and she is not above stealing an election."

"But what good will asking Baltar-"

"President Baltar. It won't do much good… at that moment. Instead, it will start laying the stage for the investigation. It will start people questioning and start the media machine running. It will start the long, arduous process of bringing the truth to light. The people deserve that truth, Rachel."

"Like they deserved the truth of searching for survivors on the planets?" Rachel shot back.

Zarek sat back. "Check. But not checkmate. Because in the end, I know what you want. You want that first question. You need it if your career is going to take off. And so you're going to ask my question, and you're going to find that if you do so, you'll have other opportunities for questions. You'll be acknowledged at Presidential press conferences. Ishinhall will have no choice but to realize that you are popular with this administration, and he will respond by giving you better assignments. This doesn't just work in our favor, Rachel. It works in yours as well."

"I-"

"You had family, didn't you? Back on Gemenon? Family that you were hoping against all hope we would find?" Rachel nodded. "I don't blame you," Zarek continued. "I think everyone hoped that. Politics plays on people's hopes, Rachel. It's not just a game of power, it's a game of dreams. And I will push for Adama going back to the Colonies, at least to see what was there. We will make that effort. But we will fail."

"You don't know that!" Rachel snapped.

"I know it well enough. There were five billion people on Caprica, and we found thirty survivors. It would not have happened. Your mother and father-"

"My fathers."

"Your fathers are dead. I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry. Believe me, I take no joy in saying that, and I realize we might have gotten your hopes up only to dash them. But the reality of the situation is that we are not going to find them."

Rachel looked down at her lap, where her fingers were twisting in the fabric of her skirt. "I know that," she admitted as tears burned in her eyes. "I guess I've always known it. But I want to believe so badly…."

Zarek came over and knelt down in front of her, taking her hands. "We all want to believe, Rachel. We all want that hope, that possibility that miracles can exist. And we can have it. But not from the Colonies, and not from any passed down myths and legends. We can have it on this planet. It's more than a refuge or a political move. It's a place to start over, to right the wrongs that humanity has committed against itself. That's what we envision. That's what we're building. Help us build that, Rachel. Help us bring justice, truth, and liberty to the Colonies once and for all."

Rachel nodded. "All right," she said. "I'll ask the question."

Zarek squeezed her hands. "Good girl. Now come on. Let's go wake Kurt up and send you two home."

***

Rachel stood with the others at Blaine's funeral, Finn's arm clamped firmly around her shoulders. She was grateful for it, because this was harder than she'd thought it would be.

The funeral was big. All of New Directions were there, of course, and all of the Caprican survivors, plus a few pilots and Zarek. That sort of surprised Rachel when she thought of how Zarek had used Kurt and Blaine in the last days of the campaign, but made a little more sense when she remembered him tucking the blanket over Kurt last night.

For all that there had been so many deaths, there hadn't been many funerals. There had been services after the attacks and Rachel had gone to them, but they had been so raw and everything had been so unbelievable that they hadn't felt real. During the services, all she could think of was the death of her dreams- how with the Colonies gone, everything she'd ever worked for was gone as well. And now, although it was Blaine's body under that white sheet, and Kurt singing and Blaine's name on everyone's lips, thoughts of her fathers came pouring over her and she couldn't stop crying.

"You okay?" Finn asked her afterwards, guiding her to a private little alcove.

Rachel tried to nod, but her head wouldn't work. Instead, the tears just came harder. Finn sighed and pulled her in, and she cried as hard as she could on his chest.

"You okay?" he asked again when she finally pulled away.

"Your uniform," Rachel said, wiping ineffectually at the wet stains on the front of Finn's dress grays. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Finn said. "Did you know they do our laundry here? It's pretty awesome." His smile faded. "You seem like that was pretty intense. I know you and Blaine got along."

"We did," Rachel said, wiping her eyes. "But it was more than that. I think… I think I just haven't been able to think about my dads all this time, and now…." Finn cocked his head in a gesture for her to continue. "I was over on the Astral Queen for the elections," Rachel continued, wiping at her eyes. "And Kurt… he was okay, until they announced the winner. And then he just fell apart. Not because he thought President Baltar lost, but because the election had given him something else to think about besides Blaine and now it was all over."

"And… that's what it's like with you?" Finn asked.

Rachel nodded. "I've been so focused on my career and the news and journalism and the theater because as much as it hurts to lose that, it hurts so much less than my dads…" and there she went again, crying, back all over Finn's uniform.

Finn patted her gently until she calmed down again. "I wish I knew what to say," he said once she was done. "I kind of feel bad talking about it to anybody, because I still have my family. But I'm here for you."

"I know." Rachel sniffed. "And when we go down to the planet, maybe we can… we've been off and on for so long, Finn. Maybe we can get together for good."

"Yeah. That would be nice."

"You don't sound so sure about that," Rachel said.

Finn sighed heavily. "It's not you," he said. "I mean, there's no one else." Rachel looked at him, and Finn blushed. "You've got no idea what it's like over here, Rach. People have sex all the time. And yeah, I just don't… I don't want to. Not unless it's you." He touched her cheek gently. "So it's not because of you that I don't want to go down to the planet right now."

"Then what is it?"

"I saw your piece. The one about Kurt and Blaine."

Rachel cringed. "So you are mad at me."

"Huh? Oh, no. I mean, I was, for a little bit, but Kurt doesn't seem to care so there's not much of a point, you know? Besides, it was good."

"It was?" Rachel asked, that familiar excitement at Finn's approval leaping up inside her.

"Yeah. And it got me excited, you know? Really excited. All that stuff about going back to the Colonies and finding survivors. I mean, I know it's not going to happen- the fuel alone makes it too hard to do. But bringing back Lauren and Coach and Blaine? Saving those people? It's the most important thing I've ever done in my life."

"It's not-"

"It is," Finn said. "You know, my whole life I didn't really get it. I knew my dad was a hero, but I didn't understand how he could do that to Mom and me. How he could go over there knowing he could die and leave us alone. But now I get it. I would risk anything to keep my family safe. I feel like when I wear this uniform, he's proud of me, you know?"

"He always would have been proud of you," Rachel said.

"But this is different. It's like… it's real, you know? I can feel him. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not leaving the military. I don't want to leave it. I like the military. It's where I belong."

"You belong with us," Rachel said, the tears welling in her eyes again. "You belong with me."

"Yeah, I know, and I do," Finn said. "But as long as the Fleet's here protecting you guys, I belong here more. It's not gonna be forever, and I can come down in my Raptor and everything." He gave her that little half-smile that she loved. "It's kind of like what we always planned anyway, right? Except instead of you going to Caprica and me staying in Lima, it's you going to the planet and me staying on the Galactica."

"But this wasn't your dream!" Rachel protested. "It never has been!"

"Yeah, but it is now. I didn't get it before because there wasn't anything to fight, you know? It was just people. But now, with the Cylons after us, there is. Those attacks? They changed everything, Rachel, and they changed me. This is what I want to do. No- this is what I need to do."

She understood. She didn't want to, but of course she understood, because she had been born to do something special, too. But that hurt to say, so she just nodded.

"Come on," Finn said, pulling her close and out of their alcove. "It's all going to be okay. This is what we were going to do anyway, and it will be a lot easier for me to get down to the planet than it would have been for me to get to Caprica. If anything, we've got a better chance of making it than we ever did before."

Rachel closed her eyes. It was true, she knew it. And a life with Finn was something that she'd always wanted. She just wished that it hadn't come at so high of a cost.

***

Colonial One was crowded. Rachel was pushed off to the side, near a window, but at least she could actually see because she'd been put near the front. She was sandwiched between the wall and Sekou Hamilton, and standing on her tiptoes. Her palms were sweating and she was more nervous than if this had been an opening night. Off to the side, she caught Kurt's eye as he stood next to Zarek. He gave her a little wink.

The priest was starting the inauguration. "If you'll raise your right hand and repeat after me. 'I, Gaius Baltar, do now avow and affirm….'"

Baltar looked incredibly serious and Presidential. "I, Gaius Baltar, do now avow and affirm…."

"'That I take the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol without any moral reservation or mental evasion.…'"

Curious, Rachel leaned around to see if she could spot Roslin's face as Baltar repeated the oath. She was standing right in front, beside Admiral Adama, and Rachel could only see her in profile. But you didn't have to see her full face to know that she was pissed.

"That I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization," Baltar was saying. Rachel snapped her attention back to the front. Mr. Ishinhall had not been thrilled with Zarek's insistence about Rachel's placement in the press corps, and he had given her a very stern talking-to about the gravity of the situation. It had made her sort of glad that he didn't know she had the first question yet.

The ceremony came to a close with Baltar's resolute, "With every fiber of my being." The priest extended his hand in congratulations, and then Baltar turned towards the audience and gripped the podium.

"Thank you. I accept the role offered to me by the Colonies with humility and gratitude." Rachel joined the others in clapping. "And now... because it was the first will of the people, I'm going to sign my first executive order requiring the fleet to immediately establish settlements on the planet we have come to know as New Caprica. Admiral Adama. You have your orders."

This was it. They were going to call for questions. Rachel saw Zarek move towards the podium and rubbed her hands against her skirt, wishing her mouth wasn't so dry. Water. She really needed some water.

That was what she was thinking when Colonial One was rocked onto its side.

The impact was sudden and terrifying. One moment, she was thinking about water, the next she was off her feet and falling, a scream tearing out of her throat involuntarily. The ship didn't go completely over, but the sounds of bodies thudding together under the screams were unmistakable. The ship righted, the lights flickering, and Rachel scrambled across the floor in a desperate attempt to escape. She grabbed a window and pulled herself up, only to see the fireworks of a diminishing explosion.

Admiral Adama was on his feet, striding to the window. He put his hand on Rachel's shoulder and moved her out of the way, and then swore.

"What happened?" Roslin asked, pulling herself to standing. Rachel noticed that Baltar was still clinging to his podium, looking for all the world like he was hiding behind it. Only his eyes and the top of his head could be seen.

"It's Cloud 9," Adama said. "It's been destroyed."

The room exploded into a chaos of questions, demands, pleas for help and microphones thrust into the faces of Baltar, Roslin, and Adama. Rachel knew she might still get first question, but that question would do her absolutely no good now, because there was only one she could ask. And when Zarek called on her, she heard her voice shaking, even as she asked the only question she could.

"President Baltar, how do you plan to respond to this incredibly tragic event?"

***

"So that's it?" Brittany asked two nights later, when New Directions was all crowded into their room. "They're just calling it a tragedy? They're not investigating it?"

"They're investigating," Kurt explained for the seventh time. "We're just not assuming that it was a Cylon attack. The Cylons can't find us in this nebula, and they found a warhead missing from the Galactica. There are lots of other groups that could have done this."

"Like those Demand Peace nutjobs," Puck suggested. "Or those people who wanted the Eight and held up the bar. Remember that?" he asked, nudging Artie.

"Just a bit, given that Billy died that night." Artie replied sarcastically. "I'm just glad I wasn't working over on Cloud 9 the other night."

Rachel bowed her head a bit at that. A lot of people had been lost when Cloud 9 exploded, and she knew a lot of them. Not well, but Bob down in the editing room and Trina who did scripts, and the camera people… and Mr. Ishinhall. It was a terribly unworthy thought, but she couldn't help thinking she knew exactly how Dianna Soralos must have felt when she sang "Montage, Part 2: Nothing" in Dance Line. Fortunately, no one noticed her reaction, even Finn, who was sitting next to her.

"It's not a Cylon attack," Sam said, lounging on his bed with Rya. "If it was, they would have kept coming. But it's been two days and nothing."

"He's got a point," Rya said loyally, snuggling into the crook of Sam's arm.

"So what happens now?" Quinn asked, turning to Kurt.

"Settlement. In waves, of course, and it will take a while. But we're going down to the planet."

"I'm not," Santana said defiantly. "I'm staying on the Pegasus."

"Me, too," Mercedes said. "Well, on the Galactica. Until she stops flying." She looked defiantly at Kurt, who was definitely avoiding her eyes.

"Well, I'm looking forward to it," Tina said, her hands resting on her stomach. "I feel better about having this baby when he or she can actually see sky and hear birds someday. If nothing else, settling on this planet makes me feel like our family will have a home." Mike nodded his agreement, and the two of them kissed.

"Not to be a naysayer," Artie began, "but how long do you think some of us can stay on the ships, Kurt? I mean, there aren't exactly going to be wheelchair ramps and handicapped bathrooms down there."

"No, that's a good point," Kurt said. "I'll make a note of it and bring it up at the next settlement meeting." His voice was rich with self-satisfaction. "It's going to take time, of course. But this really is going to be a good thing. We'll be able to build up a civilization again. The first couple years will be tough, but after we get past them, other things will start happening."

"Food," Finn said. "Real food, not dehydrated stuff."

"Sunshine. Holy shit, when we were on Caprica, that was the thing that got me," Puck said.

"People might start writing books again," Rya said happily. "We'll be able to have entertainment."

"Dancing." Mike looked over at Brittany. "Maybe in a few years we can start a dance company."

"Music," Mercedes admitted. "It will be great when there are concerts again."

"And theater," Rachel said, sitting up. "We can build a theater, and people will come. It's going to be a long time before they can do the electronics for televisions or anything inside people's houses, but everyone can go out to a theater. It's going to happen."

"It is," Kurt said, smiling and lifting his chin, his eyes lighting up for the first time since Blaine had died. "Anything is possible on New Caprica."