I. Warmth

Thought came before she was fully conscious. Cold. It was supposed to be cold. She could hear Kobol’s rain on the tent fabric, feel damp air against her face. So why was she so comfortably warm?

Because she was nestled against another body. Startled, Laura Roslin came completely awake to the realization that she was spooned against none other than Tom Zarek. Zarek, who she couldn’t fully classify as friend or foe. Zarek, who’d challenge her in one breath and support her in the next. Zarek, who might or might not even want her dead.

She turned slightly and his arm tightened around her waist. “What —”

“Your teeth were chattering,” he whispered in her ear. It could have been intimate, yet oddly it was not. There was just shared body warmth. Just that. Nothing else.

Still, this was Tom Zarek. She started to stiffen, to pull away. “I’m fine.”

“Laura.” He wrapped his other arm, the one she’d been using as a pillow, around her shoulders. “Go back to sleep.”

She hadn’t realized that he was physically strong enough to hold her still even if she struggled against him. A frisson of fear lanced through her. But when she stopped moving, his arms loosened. He wasn’t going to hurt her, she realized.

At least, not right now.

Oddly comforted by that thought, she closed her eyes and slept.

II. Little Things

She managed to duck away from the chest-high stack of boxes just before they collapsed onto the tent’s dirt floor with a tremendous, clattering racket. Laura sighed inwardly when she saw that several of the boxes had burst. School supplies weren’t indestructible.

She righted a mostly-intact box and picked her way over to the far side of the tent to begin retrieving spilled items. It was tedious work; pencils and erasers might be small, but they were too valuable to overlook even one.

When she returned to the aisle with her first box, she set it down and saw Tom Zarek gathering spilled supplies into another box. “Mr. Zarek. I never imagined I’d see you on your hands and knees.”

He stood and joined her in the middle of the tent to switch a filled box for another half-empty one. “I heard the crash. It seems like you could use a little help. For the children, of course.”

Her lips quirked into a sardonic smile. “Of course. Well, I’m not going to turn the help away.” She bent over to reach for another box, not realizing that her foot had come down onto a half-dozen pencils until they rolled out from underneath her weight, spoiling her balance. “Oh —”

Strong, gentle hands caught her before she could finish the nose-dive into the dirt. “Easy there.”

Flustered, she shifted her weight and eased into a kneeling position. “Oh, no.”

The pencils were broken.

He reached behind her to pick them up. “They can be salvaged. They’ll just be shorter than usual. Better the pencils than you anyway.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She took them and put them into a box, looking up to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

He returned her sardonic smile from a few moments before. “Of course.”

III. Laughter

They’d crawled out of the truck awkwardly, hampered by their bound hands. After the long ride, though, a chance to walk around was worth the discomfort. Gods only knew how long their captors would let them stretch, or how long it would be before they had the chance again.

Then she heard an all-too-familiar metallic clanking and her heart sank.

Even as she turned toward it, she felt firm hands on her arm, drawing her back toward the truck, away from the sound. “Get back, Laura. Be careful.”

Tom Zarek released her arm and stepped forward, putting himself between her and the Centurions coming into sight over the next hill. She found herself almost chuckling at the misplaced gallantry. What did he think he could prevent?

But then all hell broke loose, and without conscious thought she caught his forearms and threw him forward and down, ahead of her and underneath the line of fire. He rolled and caught her, pulling her against him until the sounds of gunfire ended.

“Are you all right?” she managed to ask as they started to brush themselves off.

“It’s been a while since I had a woman threw me to the ground,” he said, still breathing hard. “Not quite as much fun as I remembered.” She couldn’t help but to laugh at the gallows humor, but it came out short and shaky.

Then she risked a look up, and saw Galen Tyrol looking down at her. Once she recovered from the shock, she laughed again. This time, it was free and delighted.

IV. Formality

She made it out of the courtroom and to a deserted area of corridor before she let herself slump against the wall and bend forward. Since she was alone, allowed herself a soft moan as she massaged her temples.

“Headache?”

She straightened so suddenly the world spun, but she ignored that as she turned to face Tom Zarek. “You’d have one too, after that.”

He raised his hands in a peace gesture. “I’m sure I would. But you’re the one who insisted on Baltar’s trial in the first place. I tried to handle it less formally.”

Her eyes narrowed at the reminder. “Yes, you did, Mr. Zarek. I remember it quite well.”

“‘Mr. Zarek’?” His tone was light. “I thought we were on a first name basis, Madam President.”

Not interested in continuing, she pushed off from the wall to stand up completely straight. But the world spun around her again and she was forced to grab for balance. Closing her eyes, she fought for equilibrium.

His hand was at her waist. “Catch your breath.”

She would have nodded, but was afraid it would make the dizziness worse. She just opened her eyes instead. “Thank you, I’m fine.”

“Let me get you to the doctor —”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “And I’m going back to that courtroom. I’m not fleeing in defeat.”

He searched her face and then offered his arm for support. “All right. Let’s go, then.”

He guided her gently toward the door to the courtroom, but didn’t object when she stepped away as she turned and un-latched the door.

She turned back just before she pushed it open. “Thank you, Tom.”

“Anytime, Laura.”

V. Hope

Sickbay was in chaos, full of despondent people who’d sought various physical means to expiate the pain. She was able to find ointment, bandages and a sink almost unnoticed.

Almost. A pair of hands wrapped around hers as she gingerly dried them. Tom Zarek went still when he saw the angry red skin on her palms, the blisters on her fingertips. “Who did this to you?”

She pulled her hands free. “Nobody.” She hadn’t realized it until it was over. While burning the Pythian prophecies, she’d burned herself.

“You did this to yourself?”

“It wasn’t intentional.” Not looking up, she picked up the ointment, but avoiding use of her fingertips made it difficult. The tube clattered onto the countertop in front of her and she reached for it again.

He beat her to it. “Let me.” Quietly and efficiently, he dressed the burns and wrapped them in bandages. “That’s going to hurt for a while.”

“I know.” Her voice was dull, lifeless, echoing the way she’d felt since her first view of Earth.

Above her, she heard him sigh. “The people will survive this. They’ve survived a lot worse already. Dreams don’t die this easily.”

“Dreams.” She laughed without humor.

He touched her shoulder the way he might have touched her hands. “They don’t. That’s what keeps a people fighting on, even when they think they’re defeated.”

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his again. “I suppose a former…insurgent…would know?”

He accepted her description gracefully. “Give it a few weeks. You’ll see.”

“I might not be here in a few weeks.”

He looked her up and down, appraising. “You’ll be here to see this.”

Coda: Survival

She walked with Bill and the marines to the brig. Tom Zarek stood as they came into the room, exhibiting a remarkable composure given the circumstances. “I suppose it’s time.”

Bill didn’t respond to that. He nodded to the guard and the marines. “Put him in restraints and take him to the airlock.”

He offered no resistance, but he looked up and met Laura’s eyes. She didn’t bother to hide her own anger, but in the midst of that she understood what she saw. He knew there was no way he could avoid this. It didn’t matter whether he fought or not; he was going to stand before that firing squad either way. Better to leave himself some dignity.

“Wait,” she said.

They all stopped to look at her.

“No restraints,” she told them quietly.

Several of the marines looked at Bill, who looked at her.

“There’s nowhere he can run,” she continued, as calmly as before. “Guarding him is enough. Let him walk. It isn’t that far.”

“Are you sure?” asked Bill.

She exchanged a long, wordless look with the prisoner. He was a traitor, a terrorist, a threat to society. But there was more than that too. She’d seen it before, and she saw it again now.

“I’m sure,” she said. “Let him walk.” This much, she could give.

They surrounded him, three deep, with weapons drawn and ready, and he did not speak loudly. But she could still hear him as he passed her. “Thank you.”

Later, Bill tells her those were his last words.