Laura.

Someone was calling her name.

Laura. Wake up.

Wake up? But she was so tired. So very tired. Couldn't she just stay here? She liked it here. She wasn't sure where she was, exactly, but here everything was muted, and soft, and deliciously silent. It was like coming home, as a child again on Caprica, drifting along the sandy bottom of the lake she and her sisters had spent hours exploring. There were no decisions to make here, no wars to fight, no people to save. Not like back in the real world, where everything was loud, and painful, where even breathing had become an agony—

Everything's going to be okay, Laura.

But it already was okay. She wished she could tell the voice that. As long as she stayed here, in this place, she would be warm, and she would be safe, and nothing would ever hurt her again…

Laura. Come back to me.

Another voice this time, gruff and impatient.

She can't hear you, Bill.

Bill.

That hurt. Guilt snaked its way down her spine. Bill wouldn't want her to be here, she knew. He'd want her with to be with him, no matter how difficult it was, no matter how much it hurt—

She can hear me.

It was Bill's voice, Laura realized. He had to be close—but where?

I know she can.

Laura squinted into the murky darkness. If she could just reach a little farther...she could almost touch him…

Laura Roslin opened her eyes.

"Laura!"

Bill was bent over her, his bright blue eyes full of relief, his hand tightly gripping hers.

"There you are," he whispered, his free hand coming up to brush her face. "I've been waiting for you."

She tried to speak, but could only cough.

"Take it easy," Bill said, his rough face creased with worry.

"She's fine," a gravelly voice said from beyond Bill's shoulder. Cottle. She could smell the acrid smoke from here. "Her throat's just scratched from the ventilator."

Laura caught her breath. "What's happening?" she rasped. Her throat felt like it had been sandpapered.

"You're going to be all right," Bill tried to soothe her. "You don't have to worry about anything. You just need to rest—"

"She's been flat on her back for three days," Cottle retorted. "Any more rest and she'll get bed sores."

Bill tossed a glare over his shoulder.

"You're the one who needs rest," Cottle continued, unperturbed. "Carrying on like a teenager, hovering over her, watching her sleep—how the woman gets any peace with you, I'll never know."

Laura almost laughed, at the disgruntled look on Bill's face, but broke into a coughing fit instead. "Three days?" she managed, coughing into her hand, the one not still held firmly in Bill's.

Cottle snorted. "Now that he's no longer the Admiral, he has nothing to do but moon over you," he informed her. "My sincerest condolences."

No longer the Admiral? But what—

Laura tried to raise her head—"Easy," Bill pleaded—and glimpsed white fabric tented above her, instead of the gray bulkheads she'd grown so used to. This wasn't sickbay. This wasn't even Galactica. Where—

The memories came back, flooding in so fast she felt dizzy. Hera. The mission. The Opera House.

Earth.

Laura took deep, steadying breaths, suddenly dizzy.

But if this was Earth…wasn't she supposed to be dead? Cottle had given her two days, only two days, and that was before the mission…now, three days after that…

Come to think of it, why wasn't she in any pain? It had been months since she'd felt this good in her own body, weeks since she'd been able to breathe without feeling a sharp weight pressing down on her chest.

Laura turned her gaze back to Bill, who was watching her carefully, his expression unreadable. "What happened?" she croaked, a note of steeliness in her thin voice.

Cottle cleared his throat loudly.

Bill squeezed her fingers. "You're going to be all right," he said, smoothing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. "That's all that matters right now."

Laura pulled herself up a little straighter in the bed and fixed Bill, still gripping her hand, with a glare that had withered lesser men.

"You might as well tell her," Cottle advised, moving past Bill and out of Laura's line of sight. "She's not going to let up. And if she's going to be pissed at anyone, it's going to be you, not me."

Bill grunted irritably, but didn't argue the point.

Laura's gaze didn't waver from Bill's face. "Tell me," she commanded.

Bill shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "It's just so good to have you telling me what to do again."

Laura rolled her eyes. "Bill—"

"Your cancer's gone," he said simply.

No. This wasn't possible. Not again. Not now.

Reflexively, Laura tried to pull her hand away.

"After we brought you off of Galactica," Bill continued gently, tightening his grip on her hand, "you were in pretty bad shape. For hours, you were in and out of consciousness—and then Athena and Helo came to me."

A dying leader shall lead the people to salvation.

"They wanted to do it, Laura. After everything that's happened, after Hera, after the visions—they wanted to give you this."

A leader who suffered a wasting disease…

"Athena's pregnant," Bill told her softly.

…and would not live to enter the new land.

"They asked…if we wanted their help."

Laura was already shaking her head. "Bill," she whispered. "You didn't—"

He bent low over her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Cottle took a blood sample from the fetus, and injected it into you…and your cancer disappeared. Just like before."

"Just like before," Laura echoed dully. "And no one wanted to ask me what I thought about all this?"

"Well, you were unconscious at the time," Bill said reasonably. "And as your husband, the decision fell to me."

"As my what?" Laura demanded.

Bill lifted her hand, and Laura glimpsed a gold band loosely encircling one of her fingers. Bill's hand, she saw, was now bare.

Laura closed her eyes.

"It was already yours, Laura," he said, his thumb gently brushing a tear away from her cheek. "I married you months ago. You just didn't notice."

Laura opened her eyes, willing the tears back. "It won't last," she told him, as gently as she could. "The cancer will come back. A few months, a few weeks from now, maybe—"

"You don't know that," Bill retorted gently. "The cancer might be gone for good this time."

She shook her head, unable to even entertain the suggestion. "It's not. I know it's not."

"And if it's not…" Bill's hand cupped her face. "Then I'll take the few months or the few weeks, and consider it a gift from your gods."

"Bill…" She was so tired. "I can't let you watch me die all over again. It'll kill you."

Bill looked away. A silence stretched between them. She was right, and they both knew it. Her eyes slipped shut. She was so tired…

She was startled out of her half-sleep by Bill slipping his arms around her body and lifting her out of the bed. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice muffled, her face pressed into the warmth of his chest.

She felt, rather than saw, Bill carry her out of the tent. His laughter rumbled in his chest, close to her ear. "It's too late for you to decide not to trust me now, Laura," he told her.

It was a fair point, Laura figured. Already, she felt like she could breathe better, out of that bed and that hospital tent, with Bill's arms wrapped securely around her. Laura let her eyes drift shut, lulled by the beating of his heart against her ear.

She woke up as Bill was settling them down onto the ground, her body still held tight in his arms, her head nestled against his chest.

"Laura." Bill's voice was close to her ear. "Wake up. I want you to see something."

Laura opened her eyes—and gasped.

The sun was setting, spreading rich crimsons across the sky as the sun spread liquid gold over the horizon. The clouds had turned to copper, on fire with the last of the sun's light. Laura hadn't seen a sunset in months and months, not since that hell on New Caprica, with its weak sun and biting cold. But this…even the Caprican sunsets of her childhood paled in comparison with this.

Laura had never seen a sunset like this.

"Bill," she whispered, reverently.

He pulled her closer, kissing the top of her scarf-covered head. He did not speak. He didn't have to. He knew what this sight meant to her, just as she knew what it meant to him.

Together, they watched the last of the sun's rays slip over the horizon, until the light was gone, and darkness covered them. Tears fell from Laura's eyes and soaked into the rough fabric of Bill's shirt.

"I laid out the plans for the cabin today," he said at last. "While you were asleep. Just as soon as you're a little stronger, we'll go and pick out the perfect spot."

Laura swallowed, her throat aching. She wanted it so very badly, and yet…

"I don't know how much time we have," Bill continued, his voice soft. "But we found Earth, Laura. Twice, now. We made peace with the Cylons. Maybe we'll manage one more miracle."

Laura looked up, watching the sky darken overhead. The stars were coming out, she saw. Not the stars they had seen together on Kobol, the star pattern they had searched the galaxy for, believing, hoping, that those stars would lead them home.

These were different stars. This was a different Earth. And yet…they were home.

It had been so very long in coming.

Laura reached out, running her fingers through the grass beneath them, letting the sweet smell of it fill her lungs.

Earth was a graveyard. She was supposed to be dead. And yet here was Earth, beautiful and fragrant and full of life. And here she was, alive and awake and lying beneath the stars.

Suddenly giddy, laughter bubbling up from within her, Laura leaned up and pressed her lips to Bill's, drawing the kiss out achingly slowly, luxuriating in the feel of his mouth on hers and her body against his. There was no need to rush. Not anymore. They had time.

They broke apart, and she settled back onto the ground, stretching out, wanting to feel the life beneath her with every inch of her body.

"Tomorrow," Laura decided, nestling into Bill's shoulder and turning her gaze back up to the stars. "We'll find our home tomorrow."