AN: Betaed by deepforestowl and ghoulsis. This story was written during the hiatus between season 2 and season 3, and thus creates a universe all of its own.

Please note that I published this story under the pen name Olga Theodora on LJ, and Olga Luthien on Survival Instinct. They are both me!

All Sappho translations are by Anne Carson.

I simply want to be dead.

Weeping she left me

with many tears and said this:

Oh how badly things have turned out for us.

- Sappho

On the day the Cylons invaded New Caprica, several important things happened: the union went on strike, an early spring flower bloomed too soon, and Laura Roslin discovered she was pregnant.

It was- she thought grimly, shepherding a group of children to a nearby tent- a day of ill omens. Maya walked beside her, eyes fixed on the passing machines, arms clasped tightly around little Hera- Isis, now. Laura wondered how long it would be until the Cylons realized what was under their very noses, or how long this so-called "friendly takeover" would last. The first union worker to pick up a gun (and there was no pretending that they didn't have them; they were, after all, former military) would probably pull everything down around their ears. The gods only knew how long they had until that moment.

One of the smaller girls- Mimi, blonde, pigtailed, and bespectacled- lagged behind, her left hand laxly dropping from Laura's right. Her thumb crept to her mouth as she watched the Cylons, what little sun there was glinting off the lenses of her glasses. Laura swerved to pick her up, grateful for the extra warmth, but appalled at her body's own weakness and the lightness of the child's frame. Mimi fixed her with a trusting look, and popped her thumb out of her mouth.

"Miss Roslin," she said seriously, "I've never seen them before."

Not much of a surprise. Mimi had only been a toddler when Caprica was destroyed, and the only Cylons she would have seen since then would have been indistinguishable from the other adults around her. Prettier, perhaps. More enduring.

"They're Cylons," Eric announced importantly, just a few steps ahead. He looked back at her and grinned mischievously. "They eat little girls."

One look at Mimi's face told Laura that a nuclear meltdown was imminent, something that would best be avoided in the current circumstances. She ducked through the doorway of the tent, the last through, and pulled the flap shut behind her. "Eric… you know how I feel about lies," she admonished, squelching a grimace and the thousandth 'if only…' of the past hour. She placed Mimi on her feet and knelt beside her. "Cylons do not eat little girls," she stated, "or little boys, or adults. They are here-" she paused minutely, searching for an explanation, "-to help us."

They both looked at her doubtfully. Maya looked up from where she was arranging the other children in a rough circle ("Story time!" she was saying, Isis still clutched awkwardly to her chest). "Exactly," she chipped in. "They've come to help us with our governing." She shot Laura a look of mingled amusement and horror. "Should we read Delia in Spring or another chapter of our book?"

The children clamored for the latter. Mimi and Eric, sufficiently distracted with the promise of a story, joined the group while Laura fetched a pile of old blankets, having noticed Mimi's cold hands and the red noses several children sported. Once cozy and comfortable- at least as comfortable as this planet got, but children were adaptable- Maya opened a well-worn book and settled in front of the group, having finally surrendered Isis to a clutch of the admiring older girls. Laura rested against the side of a small, battered cabinet; hands tucked in pockets and knees against her chest, and let her mind drift.

This was the future the people had chosen. It had been bad enough before the Cylons had arrived, but at least then there was the comfort in being pioneers. They may be cold, they may be starving, the populace may be near anarchy, but at least they were somewhat free. Their president may be a morally corrupt despot, but there was at least the comfort that he was (hopefully) human through and through. It was a thin line to walk, and she seemed to be the only one on the planetary surface who stood to one side, watching the others cling to their last threads of hope. Gods knew that she had lost her hope months ago.

She resisted the urge to slip one of her hands over her stomach. Her pregnancy was the most badly timed joke fate could play on her at this moment. How could she have gotten pregnant in the first place? She was old- not ancient, by any means, but for all intents and purposes past child bearing. Her one thought was that her cure (Baltar's one good deed) had been more encompassing than anyone had thought.

And as for the other part of the "how"… well, she knew that well enough.

"Now, Peter knew that the gods had created many beautiful things," Maya was saying, "but he had never seen anything quite as beautiful as Mara's yellow submarine." The children giggled. Laura smoothed away the beginning of her own smile with a finger, and listened to the not quite muted thumps and occasional crash outside.

They were lost, she knew. Lost and- if the rumors could be trusted- abandoned by the fleet. She half believed the rumor, knowing that if faced with a Cylon fleet of this size, Bill would make a jump to save his people and save any hopes of rescuing the refugees for later. They would not be much use to those on the ground dead, after all. So Laura believed that they had left, but she did not believe it was for good.

What she was coming to believe was that any hope of rescue would be useless, anyway.

There was a scream outside, and Maya raised her voice in an attempt to cover it. The children glanced at Laura, then at Maya, and then the door, before finally turning their attention back to the story. Their backs, stiff with attentiveness, told her that they were no longer really listening.

The flap opened, and the red-visored head of a Cylon peered in, finally coming to rest on Laura. "Your presence has been requested," it informed her, in a voice not unlike the one that used to make announcements in metro stations on Caprica. She half-expected it to intone a warning to mind the gap. "Please attend."

She stood slowly, aware that the children had dropped any pretense of not being afraid, and followed the machine out the door.

As they drew farther away from the tent, the surrounding area grew quieter and quieter, and it took a moment before she realized why, with a quick look around her. Every eye- human and Cylon alike- was fixed on her as she proceeded through the camp. One brave woman, half veiled in fog, crept to her side as she walked, and clasped her hand briefly.

"They will make you a martyr," was all she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, before disappearing into the mist.

Laura rather expected that, anyway.

She passed Starbuck, who had the light of battle in her eyes, and with a glance Laura tried to enforce a single command: stand down. Starbuck bridled at the order, hands clenched, and then turned, distracted by a series of coughs inside of her dwelling. She looked back at Laura before she had completely passed, momentarily subdued, a shadow in her eyes as she viewed Laura for the second time. Laura could practically hear her thought:

Dead man walking.

* * *

He handed her a glass of some unidentifiable alcohol- green, a very uncomfortable color for a beverage- and then a book.

"I used to read it to the boys," he commented. "Let the other children get some enjoyment out of it." He was sitting on the only other flat surface beside her bed and the floor, a very rickety chair (was it wrong to hope that it might collapse?), and that ridiculous mustache on his face.

She tucked the book in a nearby bag and took a sip of the liquid. Almost like cinnamon. Not bad. "It must be very quiet on Galactica."

"Like a tomb. But then I come down here, and remember why I stay in the sky."

She considered chucking the glass at his head (he'd never get the stain out of his uniform). "The weather is a bit… off," she said in a bland tone.

"Makes my arthritis act up," he continued. "Is it ever dry, down here?"

"One day out of the year, as best we can tell," she replied, and tucked her feet beneath her. "We're hoping for an official holiday, so that we can sunbathe."

He laughed a bit at that. He ran a few fingers over his mustache, and she noticed that for the first time in their acquaintance he was not wearing his wedding ring. "I'll try and arrange a visit for that auspicious day. Not that the President will care, either way."

"I don't see why you keep visiting, if you're not being ordered to," she commented, swirling the liquid slightly in the glass.

He gave her an unreadable glance. "Oh," he said. "I have my reasons."

* * *

Baltar's office was crowded; aides, president, and Cylons were scattered around the room in apparent harmony, with a very familiar blonde perched on the edge of the desk. Baltar retained his presidential seat, eyes trained on the blonde, his expression somewhere in between devotion and dismay.

Six looked away from Baltar, smirking. "Dr. Roslin, a pleasure to see you again."

"I can't say that I feel quite the same," Laura replied. "Gaius, yet another success for your presidency," she added dryly. Great frakking job, Gaius.

"Charming as always," he said, finally breaking his gaze away from Six. "And how are the children?"

"Thriving," she replied coldly. "Now, how can I … help?"

Six leaned forward, propping her forearms on her thighs. "By accepting us." There was no evidence of her smirk left on her face; rather, she looked intensely serious. "Despite losing the presidency- or because of it- you still command the respect of most of the populace. The transition will go much smoother if you were to, say, lend your support."

They will make you a martyr.

"I cannot support your regime," she said quietly, thinking of spiraling DNA and its components. How different was she than the woman talking with her?

Six nodded. "It is difficult for you, I know. You're a strong woman; I admire your principles. But know, Dr. Roslin, we have not come to be your tyrannical overlords, but your caretakers. We come in peace… with force." She offered a smile, a let's-be-friends smile, winsome and charming. "You want the best for the children, after all."

Laura took a seat that she hadn't been offered. "They won't believe me. My influence is not as vast as you seem to think."

"But the appearance of cooperation would soften the blow," Six demurred, sliding off the desk. Baltar's eyes followed her hips. "I suggest you seriously consider this." Her glance flicked so quickly to Laura's midriff and back to her face that Laura couldn't be sure it had even happened at all. "It would be better for you all."

* * *

Sometime around winter solstice he stopped visiting on a regular basis. She sat alone solstice night, staring at the clouded sky, thick with snow, and wondering just what, exactly, had held him up. It wasn't that they had made plans- not exactly- but she almost expected a message, at least. A few words, even.

This was why Laura had tired so early in life of dating. Not that she was sure they were "dating," as the term was commonly used. But she understood that he had certain intentions, and she wasn't averse to those intentions, and really, that's where their understanding of the matter seemed to come to a grinding halt. He- as she understood- still hadn't completely forgiven her for the attempt to steal the election. She- as she understood herself- didn't quite blame him for that, but with every child she saw that bore the same look of mild starvation she felt a sharp burst of anger directed at both him and herself. At least aboard a ship they would have been warm.

But when he didn't turn up the month after that, or the month after that, she tracked down Starbuck and asked her to send an inquiry after his health.

Just in case.

* * *

"You know as well as I do that the materials simply aren't available," Doc Cottle groused. "Laura, I know that this is a less than perfect time to bring a child into the world, and I am aware that your pregnancy is, to be frank, completely unexpected- completely-"

Thank you, she thought wryly.

"-but the bottom line is that if I tried to perform an abortion, you would stand a high chance of bleeding out on my barely sterilized operating table."

Laura perched on the nearest chair, and nodded. "I know. I just wanted to… check. You know that I am watched very closely."

He nodded, allowing himself a brief chuckle. "At least half of their spies must be tagged on you alone. '12:15- Roslin looks at the sky; tells children clouds look like bunnies on swing-set. Code?'" he mocked, pulling a battered cigarette out of his pocket. "'Please advise.'"

She smiled wanly. "I have no desire to allow a child of mine to be raised as a pawn in the Cylon regime," she continued carefully, trying to hide the fact that the possibility scared her more than anything else in the galaxy at the moment (Bill was best not worried about, lest she decide to make a desperate dash for the mountains out of sheer anxiety). "And now that I have been recruited to 'help' with the transition in governments-"

"Recruited?"

"With lightly veiled threats."

"Ah." He shrugged. "There isn't anything I can do." He eyed her frame. "Except scrounge up some bulky sweaters- I have a few you can borrow, though you'll look like a Yeti- and look for another close-lipped woman like Maya to take the baby afterwards. And pray, for whatever that's worth."

She looked bleakly at the floor. "Sweaters," she agreed. "It's cold enough, anyway."

* * *

Starbuck gave her a single message:

"There is a theory that we have become too close."

She didn't see him again for another two months.