“Galactica, Hot Dog. Receiving a message via signal code. Someone’s using the lights in the one of the passenger cabins. Relaying the message now.” Dualla acknowledged Hot Dog and turned to the Admiral.

“Sir, message relay from Hot Dog in emergency signal code. Reads: SAR Raptor break one hour break starboard flank break bring in the cat break. Message repeats.” Dualla almost smiled. “Hot Dog says his signal code isn’t up to spec but Razor is verifying, sir.”

Starbuck. His girl was alive and working one of her hopefully more brilliant than crazy plans. He looked at Dee. “Inform Apollo, skids up in forty minutes. Launch a search and rescue raptor immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

With so many colonists having fled New Caprica on any available ship, no one reacted to an unfamiliar face. Kara had found that if she kept to her own business, she had free roam of the ship. The hardest part was trying not to look rushed.

“Laundry’s that way.” A short, heavy set woman was pointing in the opposite direction.

Kara smiled self consciously. “Actually, I was told to go to the maintenance and hanger bays to, you know, pick up the knuckle draggers’ stuff.”

“You haven’t been here very long have you?” Her eyes sparkled.

“No. I just wanted off that rock. I didn’t care what ship.”

“Me neither. Hanger deck’s four levels below just follow the smell. Jet fuel and body odour, the combination is unmistakeable.”

“Thanks.”

A single masked guard patrolled the lower hanger deck. She watched him carefully, noted that he never strayed more than two metres from the Raptor. The Raptor canopy had not repaired itself in her absence and from what she could see, the consoles appeared damaged. She waited a few minutes longer, brain screaming at her that she couldn’t afford the time, to be sure that no more guards stalked the area. Satisfied, she pushed the cart straight into the heart of the hanger bay.

“You there.” He came at her quickly. “What are you doing?” His voice echoed in the space.

Kara stopped just short of hitting him with the cart. She circled it until she was beside him.

“I was told to walk the maintenance and hanger bays and pick up coveralls, rags, that sort of thing. I have the work order right here.”

Before he could reply or reach to stop her, Kara leaned into the laundry bin and grabbed the first thing she laid her hands on. She swung her body upward, turned and pulled the sweat stained T-shirt across the face and behind the head of the guard beside her. His weapon clattered to the floor as he reached for his face with both hands. Now behind him, she used her grip on the edges of the shirt to jerk him backwards and then jammed her knee up into the small of his back.

Air left his lungs in a huff, his hips bucked upwards and she stepped back leaving him space to slam onto the floor on his back. She stepped by him and reached for the gun.

In one fluid motion he rolled, pivoted around a hand on the concrete and swept his leg across both of hers. She landed in a heap beside him but managed to have the presence of mind to kick the gun away before he could grab it.

He was up first and after it, making long strides across the bay. She tore after him, threw her body at his as he slowed to pick up the gun. She ended up on his back, arms crossed in front of his neck. Her momentum pushed them both to the floor. She fought to keep her grip, adjusted it carefully. Her wounded arm pulsed with pain.

“Too bad for you I’m not your average military hack.” She had him in a perfect rear strangle hold. Her right wrist bone compressed his windpipe, her right hand snug in her left elbow, her left hand secured behind his head. “My mother was a freak show. Taught me a few things.”

Somehow he managed to stand with her still on his back. He staggered, unable to breathe, and then used his remaining strength to slam her back into the bulkhead.

“Ahh!” she yelled at the pain as he did it a second time but concentrated only on tightening her grip. The third time he faltered, one knee hit the ground. She took the sign of weakness for what it was and let him go. She had the gun against his temple before he had a chance to fill his lungs.

Pushing him onto his back she knelt on his chest. She allowed him only shallow sips of air. “The President, where is she?”

She felt his chest push against her leg as he struggled for air. “Don’t … know”

Frustrated and out of time she shot him in the shoulder. He arched into her and yelped in pain. “Tell me what I want to know or next time, I shoot something more sensitive.”

He groaned. A red pool formed under his shoulder and he wasted no more time. “Medical bay. Deck eight. Won’t do any good though,” he almost smiled. “She’s dead by now.”

“We’ll see about that, move.” She forced him into a nearby storage room and used some electrical wiring to secure his hands and feet. She examined his wound. “Bullet went right through. You’ll live.” She took a minute to secure some clean rags around it before she left him.

She went straight to the Raptor. The entire length of the comm., navigation and ECO consoles were fried. Cockpit glass was everywhere. She bloodied her hands collecting what she needed and then shoved it all unceremoniously into the laundry bin. She adjusted enough clothing to conceal everything and set a brisk pace out of the bay.

It’s not too late. It’s not too late. She repeated the mantra to herself and to whichever Gods took the time to listen.

***

“Galactica, this is Search and Rescue One. We have visual contact with the Bounty. Approaching her starboard flank. Matching course and speed.”

“Roger, SAR one, keep your eyes open.”

“Mark one eyeball, acknowledged.”

10 minutes before first colonist scheduled to be executed…

Four raptors clung to the Bounty like tics on a dog. A fifth stalked its starboard flank. The lumbering carrier, her Dradis and transmissions jammed, slid silently through space.

“Galactica, Apollo. All four Raptors in position. We have soft seal. Pressurizing.”

“Acknowledged, Apollo. Good hunting.”

***

Kara crawled gingerly through the duct work, the entire length of her back tender and aching. She breathed through the pain and then managed to bury it, her mind focussed on the cold metal of the gun in her hand and the goal that came ever closer as she passed room after room. She knew she was cutting it close. If Adama had gotten her message the ship would be crawling with marines in a matter of minutes. And when that happened, every terrorist left alive would be gunning for Roslin. She had to be gone before then. A familiar voice halted her progress and she instinctively pressed her stomach flat against the metal of the duct and froze in place. She scanned the room though the mesh of the grate.

“…hurts … have a meeting soon …”

“She isn’t making any sense.” A blond haired man obstructed her view of Roslin.

“…when have results? …”

“She’s in shock.“ A man, who was obviously a doctor or at the very least dressed as one, folded his arms across his chest.

“She’s in pain. Look, that’s got to be enough.” Kara thought she saw tears begin to form in the blond man’s eyes. “I appreciate what you did for my son … Gods …” he was crying openly now, “but please,” his gaze went from the doctor to the two other armed men in the room, “you didn’t say anything about killing her.”

“You have what you wanted.“ The doctor walked over to one of the armed guards. “Watch them both. I’m going to check on the boy.”

“Anthony, please!” The blond man implored as an armed guard pushed him back from where Roslin was lying. When he moved, Kara bit down hard on her lip to prevent a gasp from slipping past. Really, it looked like a simple academy blood drive except for the paleness of Roslin’s skin, the way she hovered at the edge of consciousness, her breathing rapid and uneven.

She had to move now.

Kara forced her mind to quiet and her muscles to work slowly as she eased the grate cover off and set it beside her. She calmed her breathing, forced her heart rate to slow and brought the gun to eye level. She braced her arms and prepared to absorb the kickback from the gun. One shot for the man by the bed, turn to the right, one shot for the man by the door. She practised the motions before taking a last breath, her finger light on the trigger.

First shot. The man by the bed took a kill shot through his chest and fell back. The blond man dove behind a lab bench. The other armed man stood; his gun arm came up to fire.

Second shot. She hit him in the shoulder, the momentum of the bullet twisted his body violently, and he landed on his back on the floor. Kara hurled her body feet first through the grate. She fell the few feet to the floor, her weaker knee wobbled as her legs absorbed the force of her landing. The blond man was nowhere to be seen, but she did catch sight of the man she’d injured as he tried get a clear shot at Roslin.

No frakkin’ way. She put two more bullets into him and he fell, weapon tumbling from his hands. She saw an arm shoot out from behind the lab bench and towards the gun. She lunged forward, crushing the hand and the gun under her foot.

“Ahhh!” The blond haired man pulled his hand free and pressed it protectively against his midsection. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled a roll of tape she from a nearby bin. She bound his hands and feet together.

“What the frak were you doing?” She screamed into his ear.

“I’m sorry … I’m so sorry...” he sputtered as he felt her gun against his forehead. “You don’t have time for me; you need to help her.” Kara brought the grip of the gun down hard on the man’s temple and he slumped over. She slipped the gun into waistband of her pants and went to Roslin.

“… happening … don’t … where …”

Kara met her panicked gaze. “Shh … it’s ok. You’re getting out of here.” She swallowed thickly as she removed the rubber tubing where it compressed Roslin’s bicep and pulled the needle from the President’s arm. A weak trail of blood snaked down her pale skin. She took the bag of Roslin’s blood from where it sat on the bed, sealed it and put it in the pocket of her shirt. She then tore a strip off the bedding and wrapped it carefully around Roslin’s arm. Her skin was cold and clammy. “Can you get up?” she asked quietly, desperate to keep moving.

“… think so… don’t … know.”

Kara helped Roslin to her feet and staggered as the older woman leaned into her with nearly her full weight. Kara pulled Roslin’s unbandaged arm around her shoulders and held it there with her hand. She wrapped her other arm around Roslin’s waist.

“Come on, we don’t have far to go.”

“Where? …” Roslin swayed into her as gravity pulled more blood away from her brain and Kara struggled to keep her up; her back protested painfully. She forced them both forward.

“Hey, Laura … Laura!” Kara nearly shouted, afraid Roslin was about to pass out. When Roslin shook her head and turned it towards her, Kara continued as she kept them moving. “Remember the dinner on New Caprica?”

Roslin slurred something that was not quite intelligible but sounded affirmative.

Kara smiled. “Gods, I was stupid, inviting the Admiral to dinner. I don’t cook. I have to confess, I only invited you so that you would help me. With the food … and with him.”

Roslin giggled slightly beside her as she half carried her down the hallway.

“Remember, we thought we would make the food authentic. Use only native ingredients.” She guided Roslin to the floor beside where she had left the laundry cart. She kept talking as she pulled her now complete and repaired flight suit from the cart. “We thought we were soooo smart.” It was awkward, trying to get Roslin into the suit but her body was weak, pliant and Kara managed. She was alarmed by how warm the President’s skin had become. Pulling the bag of blood from her pocket she placed it on Roslin‘s chest and sealed the suit around it. “The stew tasted like the inside of a Viper engine.”

“…mmm hmm …pretended … we liked it.”

“The Admiral ate half the bowl before we told him. I think I still have that stuff in my nose, I laughed so hard.”

“… still got a really nice … thank you … later on.” Kara blushed at the look on Roslin’s face.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She lifted the helmet.

Her tone may have been light but the truth was she was scared. Roslin was looking worse than when she’d first carried her from the medical bay and what she was about to go through was not going to help. Kara had seen shock before and knew the window of time was narrow. Galactica’s marines would not be sufficient to secure the Bounty. Those two facts left no other options. Roslin had to go. Now. She couldn’t help thinking how pissed the Old Man would be that she hadn’t done a better job.

She heard the ship groan, a muffled shriek of tearing metal. Marines were cutting through the hull.

“Ok,” she took a calming breath. “Laura, look at me.” She did. “The weight on your back is an air tank. I’m going to seal the helmet and pressurize the suit.”

“What …”

“There’s no good way to put this, so I’m just going to say it. You’re going out the airlock. The Admiral has a search and rescue raptor waiting. It’s going to be one hell of a ride, but you’re going home.” She could hear muffled voices, screams, and the tap tap tap of gunfire.

“…didn’t just hear the word airlock…no…”

“Just keep your eyes on me. Try to stand, you don‘t want to damage the suit on the way out.” Kara sealed the helmet and pressurized the suit. She gave Laura’s gloved hand a reassuring squeeze and helped her up. Still supporting most of the older woman’s weight, she held on until she felt Laura find her balance and then left her with her back facing the outer airlock doors. They kept eye contact as Kara sealed her side of the lock. She nodded, looked straight into Laura’s wildly panicked gaze and gave her a strong thumbs up.

Laura closed her eyes, trying to ignore the loud rasping of her own breath in the tiny space of the helmet. If this was the Gods’ way of exacting penance for her previous indiscretions with airlocks, she would have to seriously reconsider her role as their prophet.

There was a metallic shriek and she felt a terrible pull on her entire body. Her legs and arms were thrown forward, her body folded as she followed the stream of air out into the blackness beyond the ship. Her foot bounced off the edge of the lock which sent her body into a slow, nauseating spin that she was powerless to stop.

The staccato rhythm of her breathing echoed through the helmet and she found she lost all sense of her body position. Her inner ear, robbed of gravity, sent addled messages to her brain. She had only one clear thought: I’m going to throw up.

She closed her eyes, trying to get relief from the spinning stars. It was then that she felt the bump. Something grabbed her arm, steadied her gentle spin. She became aware of a deck under her feet before she collapsed, the metal rushing up to meet her exhausted frame. The jolt of hitting the floor brought her back towards consciousness and she felt hands reaching to remove the helmet. They were almost too late as it was barely off when she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the deck plating of the raptor. Someone reached out and kept her from slumping into it and she became aware of voices.

“She’s in shock.”

“Get that suit off of her.”

“Someone get this on ice.” A small weight left her chest and she felt hands pulling the suit from her body.

“We need to start an IV.”

“Madam President? Can you hear me? Can you tell us what’s wrong?”

She tried to speak but managed little more than a gurgle. She was cold. So cold. The last thing she heard was, “Galactica, Search and Rescue One. Prophet is aboard. Repeat, Prophet is aboard. Negative on Jupiter and the Moons.”

***

Kara reluctantly turned from the slowly spinning form of the President of the Twelve Colonies. She was in the Gods hands. The only way to help her now was to make sure her captor got his due.

Armed men turned the corner and raced down the hallway. She ducked behind the cover of the laundry bin, stared down at her bare feet and tried not to breathe. A door opened.

“Where the frak is she?” She heard gasps and more swearing. “What happened?”

Kara couldn’t hear the response.

“Where’d they go?”

A muffled answer.

“What? Frak, Karl, this is a frakkin’ mess. You made it, you can lie in it.” A pause. “I’ve got a bullet for that bitch they call the President. If we can’t find her, it’ll be for you.”

Then they were back in the hallway. They cursed, slammed doors.

Judging by the still distant and muffled sound of gunfire, the marines’ progress was slow.

When the terrorists entered a room further down the corridor, Kara made her move. She slipped quietly back into the medical bay. The blond haired man, Karl, was on the floor near a supply trolley. He feverishly rubbed the tape securing his wrists on one of its thin metal legs. He saw her and swore.

The man she’d shot by Roslin’s bed had bled all over the floor. Kara skirted the red pool and brought her gun to Karl’s neck. She pulled her pocket knife with her free hand and sliced through the tape securing his legs.

“Get up.”

He scanned the room as she hauled him to his feet. She winced.

“Where’s the President?” He asked.

Kara ignored him.

“Walk.” She forced him toward a row of storage cabinets at the back of the room and opened the nearest one. She got in with him, their bodies pressed tightly in the small space. His back to her front. She adjusted her grip on him and positioned the mouth of the gun under his chin. Closing the doors from inside, she focussed on the limited view provided by the slight space between them.

“What are we doing?” He hissed.

“Waiting.”

It was a long wait. Terrorists had entered the room several times looking for the President. They removed the bodies of their fallen comrades. By the time the marines breached the room, Kara was drenched in sweat. Her legs and arms shook with fatigue. Karl, who seemed resigned to his fate, had not struggled. She couldn’t help thinking that if she’d holed up here with Roslin; the President would probably have died in her arms. She shook her head sharply to clear the thought and opened the cabinet doors.

They didn’t shoot.

“Drop it,” ordered the nearest marine. Kara thumbed the safety on and tossed the gun towards them, glad when they pulled Karl off of her. An intimately familiar marine helped her stand.

“What took you so long?” Her grin was unsteady.

Lee, his face pale and his eyes haunted, told her what a “frakking nightmare” the op had become. Blind corners. Ambushes. Terrorists shooting amid crowds of civilians. She was silent as he updated Galactica.

“SAR one recovered the President.” He gave her a grateful nod. “Report.”

“The President’s security officers are all dead. My raptor is scrap. And the Admiral‘s going to want that one.” She pointed at Edom.

Lee relayed the information and put a hand on her shoulder. “We gotta move … it’s going to be a helluva trip back to the Raptor.”

***

"It's hard to say.” Adama actually detected a hint of gentleness in Cottle’s voice. It was unnerving; the doctor’s unusual attempt at empathy meant only one thing. The news was bad. “Blood loss was considerable. I’ve stabilized her for now but there’s a complication. Her body is used to the hybrid red blood cells; in fact it may have become dependent on them. The concentration is so low right now that infection has set in. Her first in a very long time. I‘m -”

“Bottom line.” Adama cut him off, raw emotion in his voice. As hard as he tried, he could not focus on Cottle’s words. He had no patience for a long winded medical explanation of Laura’s condition. Not now. He felt Cottle watching him as he reached down and swept a lock of damp auburn hair from her forehead. His fingers brushed her soft, heat saturated skin.

The doctor didn’t respond until Adama brought his eyes back to the man’s face.

“I’ve done what I can. The next few hours will be telling. Either she’ll improve or she won’t.”

The Admiral’s only response was the slight vibration of his hand where it was still threaded in her hair. He felt Cottle’s hand on his shoulder briefly before the doctor turned to leave.

“She’s burning up.” Adama said finally. “Shouldn’t you do something about the fever?”

Cottle looked about to say something sarcastic. Instead he said simply, “The fever is productive for now.”

“Lee’s back. I can’t stay.” Adama, couldn’t, didn’t look up.

“There‘s nothing more you can do here.”

Adama leaned over into the waves of unsettling warmth that radiated from her skin. He found he didn’t care if Cottle watched as he placed a single, soft, kiss on her forehead.

Standing slowly, he finally turned to Cottle. “If there’s any change, anything at all, you contact CIC.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied to the Admiral’s back as he strode purposefully through the hatch.

***

Adama rarely did anything without careful thought and precise preparation. At this moment, he had done neither. He strode into the brig, his anger barely in check. The marines jumped to their feet and saluted.

“Get it open,” he ordered the captain of the guard, his hand slicing through the air like a knife, returning their salutes.

“Yes, sir.” The marines drew back the bars of Karl Edom’s cell and Adama focused his attention on the man within.

“Leave us.” He listened, never taking his eyes from his prisoner, and waited until he heard the distinctive clang of the outer hatch. In two steps, he had Karl Edom by the neck. He used his forward momentum to shove the man into the bulkhead behind him. Adama brought his face so close to Karl’s that he spat on him as he talked.

“You should be the one to die.” He tightened his grip, feeling the man’s larynx begin to compress. “No one’s gonna care. You’ve almost killed the only person in the universe that I have to answer to. And it’s ‘cause of her that I have to do this.” He changed his grip slightly, channelling his rage into his arm as he used his grip on the man’s neck to throw him with brutal force to the floor.

Karl gasped his throat spasmed painfully after being released. Clutching it with his left hand, he tried to force air back into his lungs. His vision was fogged, his brain jostled by the impact with the cell floor. He couldn’t seem to stop coughing. He realised, with a depth of feeling that shocked him, that Laura Roslin had just saved his life.

Adama stood nearby, his fists clenched painfully. He forced himself to stay rooted to the floor. He hadn’t felt fury like this since Leoben on Ragnar and if he wasn’t careful, this situation would end the same way. He was keenly aware of eyes on him as the three terrorists in the nearby cells pressed their faces against the bars.

Karl managed a crawl, pulling away from Adama until he came in contact with the furthest bulkhead. He settled there, his back against the cool metal, his head between his knees. He tried his voice, the result a wet sounding rasp.

“Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?” Adama moved only his head, the full intensity of his gaze now on Karl’s lowered head. He watched as Karl slowly met his eyes. “If it meant saving Zak? Or Lee? I didn’t want to hurt her. Honestly, I didn’t.” Tears of pain mixed with tears of regret. “This war’s cost me everything. My wife. My family. Friends. But the Gods left me Henry.” He exhaled sharply, the sound muffled as he wiped at his face and nose. “He’s everything to me … everything. Then Cottle tells me he’s going to die. I couldn’t accept it. I won’t.” He extended an open hand to Adama. “You’re a father. Wouldn’t you trade her for your son?”

Adama didn’t move, the sharp tang of bile in the back of his throat. A small repeating spasm in his cheek the only sign that he had heard what was said. His voice was deathly quiet. “Three security officers, shot in cold blood. One unarmed man executed. Seven of your terrorist friends dead.” His voice broke under the weight of the people lost. “Fifteen … fifteen civilians gone. Somebody’s wife. Somebody’s family. Somebody’s friends. Gone.”

Karl squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming freely now. “It wasn’t supposed to be that way. They told me no one would be hurt.” He indicated the terrorists in the other cells. “But the bodies started piling up and they didn‘t care. They got what they wanted and then decided to kill her. To make room for Zarek.“ The terrorists suddenly became fascinated by the inside of their cells. Karl looked up at the watery blur that was the Admiral. “Your pilot didn’t surrender. Your President wouldn’t come out of hiding to save her own man. You boarded my ship; your marines shot some of those people. I’ll take responsibility for the pain I caused. Don’t blame me for things I couldn’t control.”

Adama was across the room in seconds. His hand gripped Karl under the chin, his fingers slid through the thick moisture soaking his skin. He brought his face inches from Karl’s and yelled, “And none of it happens, you deluded son of a bitch, if you didn’t lure the President onto your ship.” He threw the man back to the floor and paused to gain control of his voice. “If you had just accepted that it was Henry’s time …you speak of the Gods like you’re a religious man. Why didn’t you act like one?”

Karl rolled, sat up and spat back: “And when it was Laura Roslin’s time? What did you do, Admiral?” He stood, faced Adama eye to eye and lowered his voice. “You didn’t accept it. You let Gaius Baltar shoot her up with the blood of a frakking Cylon. And it saved her. Just like it saved Henry.” He paused and searched Adama‘s face. “Are we so different, you and me?”

There was no warning. Adama‘s fist spun Edom and drove him to the ground. He got to hands and knees; blood streamed from his nose. Adama walked slowly towards him, each footfall echoing in the small space. He slowly squatted down, his forearms settled on his upper thighs and he leaned towards Karl’s ear. “You’re going to rot here. If the President dies, so will you.” He stood. “I’ll do it myself.”

Karl squeezed the bridge of his nose with his good hand and tried to staunch the flow of blood. “I don’t care. My son is alive, nothing else matters.” He heard Adama cross the floor, flinched at the clang as the bars slammed shut. When the Admiral had taken a few steps he offered: “They took more blood than I needed, than you recovered. It’s perishable. Whatever they’re planning, it’ll happen soon.”

Adama turned back and added “Captain Thrace will be in to see you soon. You can tell her everything you know, including the names of everyone involved.“

He clutched the wrapping on the broken fingers of his right hand. “That’s not necessary; I’ve told you everything I know. Please.”

His only answer was the clang of the hatch.

***

Kara hated Life Station. Everything about it reminded her of the unparalleled frustration of her time spent there. And today it reminded her of failure. True, she had managed to get Laura off of the Bounty but the damage was already done.

She saw the surprise on Cottle’s face as she approached the President’s isolation unit. “Never thought I’d see the day. Kara Thrace in Life Station. Voluntarily.” He was shaking his head, cigarette balanced precariously on his lower lip. It took all of her will power not to knock it off his face.

“Nice,” she replied sarcastically. “Can I see her?” She crossed her arms under her chest and indicated Laura’s prone form with her chin.

“I suppose it won’t hurt though if she wakes up I doubt you’ll find her very coherent. Sanitize your hands and keep it short.”

“I’m not planning on waking her up.”

Starbuck looked to him like she was mentally trying to will him away from her. “Good,” he said turning away. “Sometimes I think this is the only place she gets any rest at all.” He shuffled away towards his office and thought he heard Starbuck exhale in relief.

Her hands cleansed, she gave a nod to Laura’s security as she parted the heavy transparent curtains that isolated the President from the rest of the patients. She took a few steps towards the bed, even more nervous and awkward than with Cottle. Laura appeared asleep. There was a chair near the bed, likely left by the Admiral. She didn’t sit.

Kara took a deep breath, reached out and slid her fingers under Laura’s. Her skin radiated warmth. Kara couldn’t keep herself from noting the puncture wounds that dotted the skin of her arm. Blood had seeped into the surrounding tissue marring her arm with an angry patch of mottled bruising that reminded Kara of the mess she’d made of a simple assignment. She forced her eyes to Laura’s face.

“Um …” she started. Why was her throat so thick? “Listen, I’m sorry … I screwed up. You … uh …you deserved better than this.” Some frakkin’ rescue. Unconsciously she started to fidget with Laura’s fingers. There was something else she had to say. Something that she couldn’t get past. It didn’t matter that Laura probably wouldn’t hear it. “What you did … stepping in front of that guy … that was stupid. I’m not -”

Why was it so Gods damned hard to say? She coughed nervously and pushed out “One day I’m gonna be to slow … or too drunk and it’ll be game over. People like me don’t make it to the happy ending.” She considered that for a moment, considered what Laura had told her about Pythia and her role in the search for Earth and squeezed Laura’s hand gently. “Well, maybe we have that in common.” She blinked. She looked at the older woman’s hand in hers and wondered if this was what it would have been like to sit by her mother when she died. No. No failure of Kara’s had led to her mother’s cancer. And Laura was definitely not Socrata. The last thought made her smile. “And, yeah, sorry about the airlock. Not one of my better ideas. When you get better, you can come kick my ass.”

Kara stood, gently letting go of Laura’s hand. When she turned she was taken aback by the familiar form of the Fleet Admiral standing just inside the curtain. How long has he been there? How much did he hear? She recovered quickly, snapping easily to attention.

“As you were,” he said warmly. “How’s she doing?” She watched his face soften as his gaze settled on Laura.

“Fever’s pretty bad but she looks comfortable enough. She snores.” Though you probably already know that. Kara flashed a quick smile. “Cottle can tell you more than I can.”

“I’m sure. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Her shift had started half an hour ago. “Damn, sorry, sir.”

“I’ll take your apology under advisement.” As she went to leave, Adama felt her grab his forearm. She looked at him, more serious that he thought possible for Kara Thrace. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You did good, Kara.”

“Take care of her,” she said simply.

“Always,” he found himself saying. Kara smiled and left them alone.

***

Continued in part 6.