Laura was lying in bed with a book in her hand when the curtain to her private quarters slid open. She sat up quickly, pulling on her robe, just as President Adar stepped inside.
She looked at him. Of course. She didn't need to ask why he was here, but she did anyway. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't hesitate. "I came to talk. I owe you an apology. You've done an extraordinary job holding things together. I'm proud of you." His tone was unusually soft. "I've made mistakes. Too many. After all these years in office, I'm tired. Tired of the noise, the infighting. On Caprica, things were simpler. The Cabinet at least cooperate. Out here? It's just survival and complaint. But I get it now. I have to step up."
Laura watched him carefully. Something in his demeanor had shifted. He seemed—if not sincere, then at least emotionally present. She saw traces of the man she once believed in. The man who used to speak with fire in his voice when he was just a mayoral candidate. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe the holocaust of the Colonies had cracked through his vanity. Or maybe he simply needed something. He was always at his most earnest when he wanted something.
"I need you, Laura," he said, locking eyes with her. "Especially now. Cain's pushing back hard, and I can't manage the fleet alone."
There it is. She folded her arms. "So you do need something."
This was her moment. She could feel it.
"Fine," she said. "I'll help persuade Cain and Bill to focus on the survival of this fleet. But this house arrest, or whatever you're calling it, ends now. I'm returning to my life with Bill. And I won't tolerate another veiled threat about his career. I've kept my distance these past few days—for your comfort, not mine. That ends tonight."
He gave a dry laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."
Her eyes didn't waver. "Try me."
He smiled faintly. Calculated. "You and Adama never made sense. But you and I… we're about to have a child. We should formalize things. Make it right. A marriage would solve a lot of questions."
She didn't flinch. She was done letting him control the tone.
"Richard," she said quietly, but with steel. "Do you even understand the consequences of what you're suggesting?"
He said nothing, but the look in his eyes said go on.
"I'm not just some naïve school teacher anymore. I'm the Vice President of this fleet. The people trust me. They see me as a stabilizing force in a collapsing world. You think a rushed marriage between the President and his former Secretary of Education—who just happens to be pregnant with his child—won't raise questions?" She stepped forward, gaze steady. "If this story gets out, it's not just a scandal. It's a crisis. You were married. You were in office. I was your subordinate. There's no version of this that doesn't shatter public morale and discredit the entire civilian government."
"You're being dramatic," he muttered, already defensive.
"No. I'm being real. We are balancing this fleet on a razor's edge. People are looking for stability, leadership, truth. And you want to tie your personal mess to the symbol of authority they're barely clinging to?" She let that sink in. "You're not protecting the fleet, Richard. You're protecting yourself. Your image. Your pride. And you want me to sacrifice what little trust the people have left to clean up your mistake."
He tried to interrupt, but she cut through him with a look.
"Don't confuse the woman who once loved you with the Vice President standing in front of you now. I will not let your vanity collapse this fleet. From this point forward it's only business.
"You think this is all transactional?"
"I think you've always made it transactional. Let's not pretend this is about love. You had that chance. You chose Brook instead. You proposed to her while I waited like a fool, thinking what we had mattered."
Her voice stayed steady, even as old wounds reopened. "I loved you. Deeply. And you used that. I was your fallback, your safety net. The woman who'd always be there, who'd sacrifice everything for you."
"Laura…" he started.
She cut him off. "But then I met Bill. And I saw what love looks like when it's not built on control. You didn't just break my heart, Richard. You abused my loyalty. And I'm done pretending. From now on, this is business. Nothing more."
He sighed, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.
"Whatever it takes. If professionalism is what you want, I'll play along. But I know you, Laura. You always come back."
He reached for her hand. His fingers were warm, practiced. He brushed his lips against her skin. A shiver moved through her—not desire, not nostalgia. Just revulsion and clarity. She finally saw the end of it. The game. The pull. The manipulation. It was over. And for the first time in years, she felt free.
"I'll be waiting," he said as he turned to leave, voice low and deliberate. "All the way to the end, no matter what. All the way to the end…"
She was walking through the familiar hallways of Pegasus few days later, her mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions. She spent so much time on this ship just wandering off. Fresh in her memories of those sleepless nights, she worried about what the future holds for her and the baby. Circumstances changed, but somehow, she found those long walks helped clear her mind. And she did have a lot to think about. Adar had let her go. At least, that's what it looked like. And yet, a part of her knew: men like Richard Adar didn't let go. They waited. Patiently. For weakness. For peace. For joy. Just long enough to take it away when it hurt most. What if this was all a setup? She worried that he might do something to Bill or his family. She couldn't take that off her mind. She wandered deep into that ship and didn't even realize she was standing in front of CAG's office. She knocked on the hatch and, a few seconds later, was standing before Lee.
"Laura. What can I do for you?" he said, surprised by her visit. Ever since the fleet merged, he hadn't had a chance to see her. As if he wouldn't have official business with the Vice President, she was simply unavailable for most of the population; her aides, Tory and Billy, ensured that.
"Captain Apollo." She greeted him with a radiant smile on her face. He helped her into the room. "Did you get a chance to talk to your father?"
"Oh, trouble in paradise. Have you?" His words hit a little too close to the truth. He seemed to sense it and pivoted. "No, I didn't. There's been a lot going on for a moment. And frankly, I don't see how he and I could find common ground again after all those years. But I might think about calling him. So what's bringing you back on the Pegasus?"
He gestured toward the corridor, signaling he was needed elsewhere. She took his hand as he helped her up, and they walked side by side through the halls.
The connection between them hadn't faded. Over time, it had grown—rooted in shared grief, respect, and the quiet understanding that comes from survival. When news of Caprica's destruction had reached them, and Lee had been crushed by the belief that his mother had died, Laura had simply been there. Like a surrogate mother. Present. Steady. Unspoken.
That bond had only deepened when she told him the truth—the one no one else knew. That the child she was carrying wasn't Bill's. Lee had been stunned. Angry, even. But he had listened. And in time, he understood. He saw the woman behind the title. The regret behind the walls. He knew she hadn't told him to gain sympathy, but because she needed to tell someone—anyone—when she and Bill had parted in anger, and she'd convinced herself she'd never see him again.
Lee kept the secret. Took care of her. Watched over her and the baby. Not just because it was the right thing to do—because it was what his father would have wanted. And maybe, even if he'd never admit it out loud, because he was his father's son. Steady. Loyal. A quiet protector.
Laura often thanked the Gods for him. He was the son she never had. And in many ways, the one she never expected.
"President Adar sent me to smooth things over with the Admiral," she finally said. "After their last... encounter."
Lee nodded. "Got it." There was no need to say more. He was too low in the chain of command to weigh in, and too wise to ask questions she didn't want to answer.
"And," she added with a small smile, "seeing my favorite Captain seemed like a good excuse."
He gave a brief grin in return. They both knew why she was really there. This wasn't a diplomatic errand. It was a pause. A breath. She needed to anchor herself before facing Bill. And Lee was a safe place—steady ground before the storm. She didn't have to say a word about Bill. Just being near Lee gave her the calm she needed. The courage.
Within the day, the fleet returned to its usual order. Thanks to Laura, the military reached an agreement with the civilian government. Adar had to concede and consent to the mission that Admiral Cain planned. This granted her a few days away from the office while Adar and Cain focused on the mission. She knew it was time to face Bill. Their only contact lately had been brief messages over the radio. She'd told him she was fine, too busy to visit—but she wasn't even sure if that was true. She hadn't known how to talk to him after so much time apart. She had been avoiding him, not out of indifference, but fear. Fear of what he'd say. Fear of what he wouldn't. Command had pulled them in different directions, different ships, different pressures. And then there was President Adar.
She'd told herself walking away was the only way to protect Bill. She couldn't bear the idea of him being targeted. Not by a man like that. Not again. So she had disappeared. No explanation. Just silence.
Now she was here, heart pounding as she stepped into his quarters. The marines saluted her, but the formality only made her feel like a stranger. The door sealed shut behind her. No turning back now, Roslin. Inside, the room was still. Familiar, but distant. The air was heavier here. Her baby shifted—a flutter, a soft nudge. As if the child inside her knew she needed strength. She bit her lip and took a steadying breath, moving deeper into the room.
"I'll be there in a minute!" he called from the bathroom.
He didn't know it was her. Her heart climbed into her throat and her stomach turned; she'd never explained why she'd left. She deserved his anger. She deserved worse. But she was done hiding. Then—he appeared. He froze when he saw her. His breath caught, just slightly. Time stilled. Something inside her cracked. She stepped forward, instinctively, and buried herself in his arms.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He held her tightly, one hand in her hair, the other around her back. Her presence alone—warm, trembling, real—shattered days of cold silence. Bill had waited. Not with hope, but with weight. He had buried his questions under duty, buried his pain under structure and routine. That was the only way to function when the person you loved was just... gone. No warning. No reason. But now she was here. And in her silence, he heard everything. He pulled her closer, grounding himself in her presence. She smelled like memory. Like something he'd tried not to miss.
She whispered through a cracked voice, "I'm sorry."
"You're here," he murmured. That was what mattered.
He kissed her softly, like touching something fragile. She tasted like tears and exhaustion. But she was real. And finally safe.
Later, she led him to the couch and curled beside him, her head on his lap. He cradled her with slow, gentle movements, brushing strands of auburn hair from her face. Every part of him wanted to freeze this moment—burn it into memory.
As she drifted off, he watched her. Studied her. Memorized the shape of her jaw, the shadows under her eyes, the very pregnant belly. She had been through hell. Alone. And he hadn't been there.
She spoke later, voice quiet in the dim light. Told him about the baby. About Adar. About why she'd gone. Not to leave him—but to protect him. He hated that she'd been alone in it. Hated that she felt she had to be. Hated Adar even more. But he understood. There was no blame in his heart. Only a quiet ache—and relief that she was here now, that she was free.
Evening came without them noticing. Shadows moved across the walls as time passed unnoticed. They stayed close, saying little. They didn't need words. Not yet. The silence between them no longer held distance. Now, it just held peace.
TBC