INTERPOLATIONS

AUTHOR'S NOTES

in·ter'po·la'tion n. A mathematical procedure which estimates values of a
function at positions between listed or given values. -- is a series of "missing" scenes from episodes 2.7 through 2.10, and my interpretation of what happened in 2.11 and 2.12. So obviously, there are spoilers for all of those eps in the story. Also obviously, the story will make more sense if you've seen the eps. This fic is AU but has some similarities to canon.

DISCLAIMER: RDM owns Battlestar Galactica, but he said we could play. No money is being made.

This story contains homage to two favorite authors of mine. See if you can spot them. B)

CHAPTER ONE: "Beginnings" takes place near the end of "Home, part 2."
Synopsis: William Adama and Laura Roslin start over as Commander of the Fleet and President of the Twelve Colonies.

Many Thanks to emmaockham for her patient beta and wonderful comments.
And a tip of the hat to karihan for her wonderful story "Essence" which can be found here Here

CHAPTER ONE

(Takes place near the end of "Home, part 2")

Beginnings

"Beginnings are such delicate things." Frank Herbert, Dune

Commander William Adama leaned his head back against the rear bulkhead of the raptor. He let his eyes drift nearly closed. He was tired, but today it was a good tired. For the first time in two weeks he didn't care that almost every part of his body hurt in some way. He had his son back, he had Kara back, and he had Laura back. His eyebrows rose. Where did thatcome from? He hadn't even liked Laura Roslin until he realized that the remnants of the human race needed her, the Fleet needed her, and . . . he needed her. To help me keep my promise, he told himself, and proceeded to review his plan for reintegrating the "fugitives" into the Fleet.

From across the cabin, the President of the Twelve Colonies Laura Roslin watched Commander Adama doze off. How can he nap . . . She cut off the thought abruptly as she realized that like any skilled pilot and tactician he wasn't sleeping; he was reviewing the upcoming mission in his mind's eye, mapping out each move and counter. Her eyes narrowed. He's more politically savvy than he'll ever admit. The past few days on Kobol had been enlightening for Roslin. She had watched on the climb to the Tomb of Athena as the Commander reconnected with his son and his almost daughter. On the walk back to Galleon Meadow, Adama had fallen in step with her and as they slid and snaked their way down the mountain, he outlined a plan to repair the rift created by his attempt at a military coup.

"Commander," she told him, "You have got to be kidding. We can't just pretend that nothing happened."

Adama looked at her, his blue eyes holding a look she recognized. She had used it many times in her career as a teacher. It said, "Have you not been listening to what I have been saying?" with an undercurrent of "Are you really that dense?"

They walked on silently for a few minutes. "What you're saying is, we treat what happened like a rude noise someone makes at a state dinner. We don't acknowledge what happened. We don't mention it, discuss it, or refer to it in any way."

Adama stepped over a fallen tree ahead of her, turned and looked back silently. This time his eyes were smiling. He held out his hand, palm up and when she took it, helped her step over the tree.

Her eyes held his. "The press will be screaming for your head."

"If you want my resignation, Madame President, ask, and you'll have it."

The absolute seriousness of his reply caught her by surprise and she stumbled, falling forward into his arms. He caught her easily, but the impact brought forth an involuntary grunt of pain. Roslin was suddenly acutely aware that it was a very short time since his near fatal shooting.

"Bill, are you all right?" she asked as she squirmed to extricate herself from his arms. "You don't have a fever or something?"

He held her firmly and she felt rather than heard his chuckle. "Madame President, I am fine and perfectly aware of what I'm saying." He set her gently on her feet and released her.

She glared at him. Her mind reeled. "Resign? What about finding Earth? Who would command the Galactica? What about the Fleet?" Roslin drew her brows together and crossed her arms. What about me? "If you resign, where would you go? What would you do?"

He looked at her again, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You've found a map to Earth. You can find someone to command the Galactica and the Fleet." Adama turned and continued down the mountain. "As for me . . .there's always the Carialle. Captain Desmond is an old friend. I'm sure she could use some help in engineering," he said over his shoulder.

The Carialle? Engineering? She moved forward briskly and fell in step with him. "You'll do no such thing, Commander. I'll not have Col . . . command of the Galactica in anyone's hands but yours." She caught his eye and smirked, goading him. "I've worked too hard to get you just where I want you, and I'm not about to start over again."

He stopped short. She continued down the mountain. This time, he hurried to catch up with her. "Then shall we proceed as I suggest?" At her nod he continued, "Thank-you, Madame President."

"Dradis contact," Lt. Gaeta called. "Colonial transponder." He looked across the Galactica's CIC at Colonel Tigh. "It's Raptor One, sir."

Colonel Tigh turned toward the communications position. "Dee . . ."

Petty Officer Dualla flipped a switch on her console. Racetrack's voice issued from a speaker: "Galactica this is Raptor One, announcing a change in call sign. We are now Colonial One."

Dualla smiled and replied, "Copy that, Colonial One. Is Galactica Actual on board?"

"That's affirmative, Galactica. And everyone here is five-by-five," Racetrack answered.

"Sir, multiple Dradis contacts," Gaeta again called. He manipulated several controls on his console. "24 contacts. All Colonial transponders. It's the rest of the Fleet sir."

A cheer rolled through CIC. Tigh smiled. "He did it," he said softly. Louder he called, "Dee, clear Colonial One for landing. Mr. Gaeta you have the deck."

Colonel Tigh headed out of CIC for the flight deck, even though he knew that Roslin would be on board the raptor, and she would not be happy to see him. He needed to see Commander Adama and assure himself that the Commander was well. His old friend had been out of Sickbay for only three days when he took off for Kobol on a mission to retrieve the ex-President and her separatist fleet. Damn fool thing to do if you ask me. Which he did and then didn't listen, Tigh mused as he arrived on the flight deck. He stood and waited for the deck crew to finish tying down the raptor. He moved to stand opposite the hatch as it opened.

Adama felt the familiar dislocation of an FTL jump and listened as Racetrack announced the change in their call sign. He lifted his head, opening his eyes to glance around the cabin. His eyes settled on Laura. President Roslin. He corrected himself. She looks exhausted. First thing Madame President, you're going to Sickbay to see Major Cottle. He released his restraints and stood, as Racetrack set the raptor down gently on Galactica's flight deck.

Roslin watched Adama. He stiffly rose from the rear of the raptor and moved to stand opposite the hatch. She saw him grimace and place a hand against his chest. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath. He must be exhausted. First thing Commander, you're getting checked by Doctor Cottle. Then Roslin noted how the Commander's posture straightened, how the lines of fatigue and wear on his face smoothed, as he opened his eyes and turned to face the slowly opening hatch.

She stood and moved to stand beside him. Placing a hand on his arm, she said, "Commander, I would appreciate it if you would personally escort me to see Doctor Cottle. After my last visit to the Galactica, you can understand that I am concerned as to where I might end up otherwise."

Adama stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "You are in no danger aboard this ship. I assure you, Madame President. I need to attend to the final details of your return."

Oh no you don't, Bill. She gave him a small smile, and pushed a little harder. "I don't want any of your people to think that I've escaped from the brig and should be taken back there. Also we need to present a united front; to your crew, to the press, and to the Quorum. Being seen together is essential."

Adama studied her face, and grunted. "As you wish Madame President." He took her right arm with his left and turned to face the now fully opened hatch. He addressed Colonel Tigh.

"Permission to board, sir."

"Permission granted," was Tigh's terse reply. Tigh could see that Adama's boots were muddy and although dry, his fatigues showed evidence of several days wear in the rain. He could also tell that his old friend was tired and in pain, even though Adama stood expressionless and ramrod straight. Damn it, Bill. You just got out of Sickbay. Various arguments to convince Adama to let Doctor Cottle check him flitted through Tigh's head. He rejected each of them in turn.

Roslin saw worry and fear flicker across Tigh's face as he studied Adama. Then she saw mistrust as he looked at her. Roslin gripped Adama's arm. Adama helped her step over the threshold and onto the ramp. They moved down the ramp and walked over to Tigh. Roslin listened as Adama received an update on the condition of the Fleet. She was also busy noting the reactions of the deck crew. There were smiles tinged with concern on their faces when they looked at her and the Commander. When Tigh finished speaking, Roslin turned her full attention to the two men beside her. "Shall we proceed Commander?" she said.

"As you wish Madame President," Adama grunted. She watched as a look first of surprise then gratitude came to Tigh's face as Adama continued, "I'll be escorting the President to Sickbay, Colonel. Please carry on with the preparations for the ceremony as we've discussed."

Major Cottle, the Chief Medical Officer of the Galactica, was astounded to see President Roslin and Commander Adama arrive in Sickbay together. He hurried over to intercept the couple as they crossed the bay toward the treatment area.

"Madame President, I'll leave you here, in the care of Major Cottle," Adama said. "When the Major's finished with you, I'll return to escort you to the ceremony." He released Roslin's arm and turned to leave.

Cottle blocked Adama's path toward the hatch. "Where do you think, you're going?" Cottle demanded. "You've missed your last three appointments."

"To attend to my ship, Doctor." Adama nodded at Roslin. "Madame President." He stepped around Cottle and strode toward the hatch.

"You leave now, without letting me examine you, and I'll declare you medically unfit for duty," Cottle turned and grumbled at Adama's retreating back.

The Commander stopped, and stiffened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He rounded on Cottle, and stalked back to come to a standstill in the CMO's personal space, his expression dark.

The two men locked eyes and glared at each other. A silent argument ensued.

Wanna try it? I'm fine.

Like Hades, you are.

I have duties to attend to.

So do I. And one of them is making sure the Commander isn't going to collapse in the middle of CIC.

That's not going to happen.

Wanna bet?

"You know I will," the Doctor said calmly.

"Doctor. Commander. Please." Roslin, who had watched the silent argument, stepped up to them. She said to Adama, "I think you should listen to the Doctor, Bill."

Adama glowered at Cottle, then looked at Roslin, seeing her concern. When she laid a hand on his shoulder, he blinked and sighed, "As you wish Madame President." Adama turned to Cottle. "All right, Major. Let's get it over with."

Cottle looked from Adama to Roslin and back again. What the frak happened on Kobol?