Pure Graces with arms like roses

come here, daughters of Zeus

-Sappho

There was chaos in the section of the ship relegated to fleet quarters, and it did not surprise Laura in the slightest that her daughter was at least in part behind it. Specifically, the chaos involved several buckets of soapy water, five pilots fresh from weight training, and three sheepish looking little girls. One of them, a blonde who stood a head over her companions, bore a worried expression that immediately increased into utter panic the moment she saw the former president of the colonies surveying the scene with a look of grim displeasure. Her shoulders hunched inward, slightly, as if trying to decrease her height, while the other two girls- one of whom was roughly two years older than her cohorts- unthinkingly sidestepped to cover her.

"Mama," one of those two said in acknowledgment, a puff of soap bubbles dotting the end of her nose. Her blue eyes were beseeching as she pulled the tip of an auburn braid into her mouth, a bad habit Laura had yet to break her from. "It was an accident."

The five pilots involved all looked amused; one of them patted the girl on the head fondly. "We needed baths, anyway."

Laura considered the situation silently; wondering what in Hades the new president would have to say about this little escapade. Tory, who had won the public with Laura's support, had made comments in the past about Clotho's… rambunctiousness. It was not a matter technically within the presidential jurisdiction, but with both Laura and Bill being as close to the throne as they were, there was certain decorum expected of both them and their family.

Decorum that Clotho rather lacked. But then, she was barely six. She made up for her lack of decorum in other aspects of her personality; namely, in what was almost delusional bravery.

Six, Laura reminded herself as Clotho opened her mouth to begin her defense. Six.

"You told Daddy last night that the cleaner left," Clotho said clearly, having abandoned sucking on her braid in favor of clarity. "And he said that it was a big mess. So we came to clean it."

The pilots, as well as the gathering crowd, unsuccessfully tried to muffle their chuckles. Laura hid a small smile. The "cleaner" that Clotho referred to had actually been a lieutenant suspected of passing intelligence to a covert group of rebels on another ship; his death- and Tory had sworn up and down that it had been accidental- had sent more than a few shockwaves amongst other members of the fleet. In fact, this was the first time Laura had seen any of the pilots or crew smile in days.

Still, she couldn't exactly let an incident like this go. She crooked a finger at the short threesome in a silent command, and with resigned expressions (excepting Ismene, who looked miserable) they followed her like inmates to an executioner. It wasn't Laura's way to punish wrongdoing by public humiliation. Not only was that often more cruel than the crime itself, it often resulted in a major downswing in public approval (and that particular incident had been, shall we say, quite blown out of proportion by gossipmongers).

A small hand crept into her own; she looked down to see Bill's eyes staring at her from a face much like her own. Really, it was uncanny how Clotho managed to give her a Bill expression at odd moments like this. "Mama," Clotho whispered, the braid tip back in her mouth, "we were just trying to help."

They had reached the door to their quarters. "I know," Laura sighed, shepherding the three in ahead of her, "but what is the most important rule of the fleet?"

"Don't do anything you wouldn't do in front of the president," Hera piped up. "But is cleaning illegal?"

Ismene had curled up on one end of the couch, and Laura smoothed back a loose lock from the girl's forehead. The small gesture served to make most of the misery disappear from Ismene's face. Death, apparently, was not imminent.

"Cleaning isn't illegal," Laura confirmed, sitting next to Ismene as the other two squirmed on her other side. "It is, in fact, encouraged. What is the second most important rule of the fleet?"

"Don't be wasteful," Clotho mumbled around her hair. "Sorry, mama."

"Sorry, Aunt Laura," Ismene whispered, and was shortly echoed by Hera.

"Thank you." She examined them for a moment, gently pulling the braid from Clotho's mouth with a look of warning. "Let's find some dry clothing, then. Clotho, go and change quickly so that we can go down to Hera and Ismene's quarters."

As her daughter scurried off, grateful to have gotten off as lightly as she did, Laura considered shipping the threesome off to stay with Lee for a week. It would serve him right for always saying that he didn't see his sister enough. And wouldn't the girls just adore the change of scenery?

"Aunt Laura," Ismene said suddenly, still sounding a bit timid (Laura still found it rather unnerving that Kara Thrace's natural daughter was more often than not quiet and reticent. It almost defied universal order). "Mama told me to tell you my dream." She scooted a bit closer, twisting her fingers in her hair. "A woman told me she was six. But she was awful big to be six."

Laura's heart rate jumped, and she tried to take in a few deep breaths. "What did she look like?" she asked, turning toward Ismene.

"Blonde," Ismene answered immediately, meeting Laura's eyes. She was more comfortable with stable, steady facts than fluid and uncertain confrontations. "Her hair was curly, and she was naked with clothes on."

Laura stifled a nervous laugh. Trust a child to come up with that kind of observation. "What did she say to you?"

"That she was six." Ismene pulled her fingers out of her hair, leaving a tangle behind. "She asked me if my name was Clotho, and I said no, that I was Mene, and my mommy was a pilot. And then she said I was the nevable."

"Nevable?" Laura repeated, her mind running through a list of possible interpretations.

"And when I woke up and told mama, she got all mad and said words I'm not supposed to say," Ismene dutifully reported. On Laura's other side, Hera giggled.

"It was funny," Hera added.

Laura was still stuck on 'nevable', but the mention of Starbuck sparked a particular memory.

"What I do know is that your daughter is the inevitable."

Six, again. Laura was really, really tired of Six. Seven years of dreams had yielded only a handful of useful information; the rest was monotonous and frustrating. Kara felt much the same, although her dreams, at least, had garnered some very interesting information about engine conformation and alternate fuel resources that had saved the fleet more than once.

"If you see her again," Laura began, praying fervently that it would not be the case, "then tell her that she needs to talk to me or your mother, not you." As if she'll listen. Even after years of nearly nightly visits, Six was still… Six. Teasing, frustrating, and occasionally downright childish, she, at least, had not changed.

Then again, Six didn't have any children. That might account for some of her stasis.

Ismene nodded seriously, still young enough to believe that whatever her mother or aunt said was directly from the gods, and would be obeyed by everyone as such. Clotho ran back to the couch, now in dry (if somewhat mismatched) clothing, her braids still damp and bedraggled.

Once they were in Kara's quarters and Ismene and Hera had been dispatched to change, Laura pulled Clotho into her lap and unwound her two long braids, a brush and elastics at her side. "Have you been having strange dreams lately?" she asked in a murmur, running her fingers fondly through the rippling auburn locks before picking up the brush.

Clotho tried to twist to meet her mother's eyes, but settled back when Laura pushed gently on her shoulders. "I dreamed I had a pink pony," she offered. "It had long whiskers."

Laura worked her way through a tangle, wondering if her daughter would ever actually see a pony. They had pictures left, to be sure, but what kind of childhood was one without pony rides? "What else?"

"Water. It tasted salty." Clotho let her legs swing slightly, barely thumping Laura's shins with her heels. "And weird ground. Scratchy."

"Sand," Laura whispered, remembering trips to the ocean. "Did you see the dolphins?" One braid grew half twined from between her fingers.

"What's a dolphin?" Clotho asked innocently, drawing a lock of unbraided hair into her mouth.

"It's a fish as big as me," Laura explained, "curved like the moon."

"As big as Daddy?"

"Bigger, sometimes." She secured the end of one braid with an elastic, and gently reclaimed the lock Clotho had snatched. "They jump out of the water, and talk to each other. Scientists used to say they were smarter than we knew."

"What did they talk about?" Knowing her hair was off limits, Clotho settled for twisting her fingers together.

Laura chuckled quietly. "How pretty the water was," she guessed. "Art, and dolphin books-"

Clotho giggled. "Dolphin books?"

"Yes. And they would teach the baby dolphins about plants and other fish and-"

"Battlestars?" Clotho interjected.

"Exactly." Laura secured the second braid, and pulled Clotho into a hug. "How smart you are."

"Lee says I'm the smartest person he knows," Clotho informed her matter-of-factly, and Laura laughed.

"Well," she said, wondering if Bill had heard this yet, "I suppose he would know."

"He says I get it from you." Clotho twisted and grinned up at her innocently.

"And what does that say about Lee?" Laura murmured in amusement, pressing a kiss to Clotho's hair. Clotho gave her a confused look.

"What?"

"Never mind," Laura soothed. "Mama's just being silly."

* * *

"He's a frakking terrorist, Mr. Zarek, and this administration does not negotiate with terrorists."

"Madam President, he isn't a terrorist, he's simply frustrated."

"Pegasus was nearly blown up because of frustration?"

"Extreme frustration. Also, your daughter is stripping in public."

"Yes." Beat. "She's the only terrorist this administration is willing to work with."

* * *

"You told Clotho she was the smartest person you knew?" Laura asked dryly, startling Lee from the paperwork he was examining at Bill's desk.

"You'll admit, she has a certain… something," he replied, as soon as he had replaced the scattered papers. "Where is she, anyway?"

"With Bill," Laura answered, taking a seat across from him. "Last time I saw her, she was asking Colonel Tigh why the machine he was at was beeping."

"Did you hear his answer?"

"No, but neither did she." Laura laughed. "By the time he turned to respond, she was already asking Bill if she could go to the observation deck."

"See?" Lee stressed. "She's a natural at multitasking."

"Or something," Laura agreed. "Thank the gods Kara reclaimed Hera and Ismene; otherwise CIC wouldn't survive. As it is, they've become pretty good at ignoring her."

"Survival tactics." Lee signed the last paper, and stood. "So, is Starbuck down in her quarters?"

She smirked. "Actually, I think she was taking the girls to visit the hangar bay."

"Only Starbuck…" Apollo muttered, and kissed her cheek before moving to the door. "I'm going to go and make sure she doesn't let them take off in a viper. I'll be staying for dinner."

"Good," she replied, flipping through her own latest batch of red tape. "We're having fresh vegetables."

"Really?"

"No." She dropped the stack. "On second thought, I'll go with you partway. I have someone to visit."

He eyed the book she slipped off a nearby shelf. "You're still visiting Sharon."

"Don't sound so surprised, Lee," she scolded gently, fingering the small envelope in her pocket. "As if you didn't already know."

"Is that really safe?" he asked, watching as she placed the envelope between the pages.

"Very few things are," she responded with a shrug, her hand resting on the door, yet unopened. "Now, guard your tongue- we're about to enter enemy territory."

"I thought this was enemy territory," he muttered with a grin, and she hit him lightly with the book in her hand.

Halfway down the corridor, she turned back. "Go ahead, I need to grab a sweater," she informed him, and didn't wait for his answer. He would have only told her to go see Cottle, anyway.

* * *

Somehow- gods only knew how- Clotho had managed to find her way into Baltar's "quarters" shortly after her fifth birthday. He was housed near the infirmary, under what was supposedly constant guard. Apparently, after five years of good behavior (good behavior, in this case, meant mild ranting, constant pacing or rocking, and the occasional request for new supplies to work his Cylon detection machine), guard duty had fallen off somewhat. It was still rather perplexing, however, that nobody noticed a five year old girl making her way into the former president's quarters.

Clotho, of course, had been brimming over with confidence, and had faced the stranger with no thought to her own safety. This was despite every lecture her parents had ever given her on not trusting strangers; from Clotho's view, if someone was on Galactica, then they were not classified as 'stranger.' "Who are you?" she asked pertly, twisting a curl around her fingers.

Baltar's hair had been chopped to around his ears a few weeks before, and he bore a few days worth of scruff. "I'm the President," he said. "Have you seen the stars, lately? They're waiting for their time."

Clotho had giggled. "You're not the president. My mommy used to be, though."

"You're a pretty little girl," he responded, instead. "I was supposed to have a daughter, but she left the stars with her mother." He reached out and fingered an auburn curl. "Have you seen the prophet?"

"I dunno." Clotho popped her thumb in her mouth. "What's your name?"

"The stars stopped falling a long time ago," he sighed, the curl twined in his fingers. "What are they waiting for?"

That was when the soldiers finally burst into the room and separated the two. Clotho was escorted to CIC, where both of her parents were debating with President Foster over the merits of yet again decreasing the water ration, or sending out another search squadron to find water (they eventually decided on the latter, thanks in no little part to the mutual effort of both Bill and Laura). Upon hearing their daughter's little adventure, several things happened at once: five soldiers were thrown in the brig for neglecting their duties, several officers in CIC- namely, Bill and Starbuck- began cursing extravagantly, and the newest babysitter was dismissed.

Later, they watched the security feed, and Laura considered tossing Baltar out the airlock. And while Bill agreed in principle- not just anybody was allowed to touch his little girl, after all- the president was not exactly sympathetic.

They never hired another babysitter, after that.

* * *

"New Caprica was always cold," Sharon said, leaning against the wall as she held the phone. "I wasn't there, but sometimes I dream about it."

It struck Laura, as she watched the Cylon through the glass, that Sharon had stayed fresh, young and beautiful despite almost nine straight years in Galactica's brig. Cylon genetics really were amazing. Laura handed the book to the guard, who slid it through the slot generally only used to deliver meals.

"Do you have enough blankets?" Laura asked. "I could arrange for you to have another."

Sharon shrugged. As far as Laura could tell, they had struck up a kind of superficial friendship- she wouldn't turn her back on the girl, but talking was easy enough. If anything, the few pictures she managed to slip Sharon smoothed the way. "I have enough. You should be careful of your health. New Caprica wasn't good to you."

"It wasn't good for anybody," Laura replied dryly, folding an arm across her chest. "Can you tell me anything?"

"Sometimes dreams are only dreams," Sharon offered. "Use your best judgment."

Laura sighed. "Like visiting a frakking seer," she muttered, and placed a hand against the glass. "Stay well."

Sharon smiled slightly, enigmatically. "You too."

Before Laura left, she looked back a final time. Sharon had the picture in her hand, and this time, the smile was real.

* * *

"What's that, Mommy?"

"It's your dinner."

"No it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Try it, you'll like it."

"No. No, Mommy. I won't."

"Bill, if you don't stop laughing-"

"Daddy, I don't have to eat it. No."

"Yes, you do. Laura, you do know that she learned the art of steamrolling over her opponents from you, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Bill. Clotho, try a bite."

"I don't have to eat it. No. Popsicle? Good, good."

"At least she's more cheerful about it than you ever were."

"Bill…"

"Yes yes yes yes yes. Mommy?"

"What, Clotho?"

"I'm an alligator."

"That, I can agree with."

"Clotho, alligators eat their dinners."

"Yes, Daddy. That is why I am eating this."

"She said that like I violated her own personal scripture."

"Bill… I think you did."

"Grrrr."

* * *

Lee was buried beneath three small children, and nobody else in the room made any effort to help. For one, it was a relatively common sight- the girls loved to wrestle with their Uncle Lee- and for another, it was amusing, and Starbuck, Laura, and Bill were all about getting their amusements while they could.

"Why do family dinners always end with me being bruised?" Lee asked from the floor, trying to pin down Ismene while Clotho and Hera did their best to obstruct him. "Why am I the designated punching bag, instead of, say, Starbuck?"

Hera shot him an indignant look. "I can't hit Mama."

"Did she tell you that?" Lee asked, trying to loosen Clotho's grip around his neck. "Because she might have been lying."

"Aunt Kara doesn't lie, Lee," Clotho informed him, and plopped down into his lap. Hera and Ismene followed suit, much to Lee's relief, though discomfort.

"Yeah, Lee," Starbuck followed up, grinning. "I don't lie. Listen to the kids."

Laura contented herself with watching from across the room, one cleared and empty plate still in her hand. Bill slipped up from behind her and relieved her of the burden, placing it with the others before returning to her and slipping an arm around her waist. "How about sending Clotho to stay with Lee for a few days?" he whispered in her ear. "It's almost our anniversary…"

"Tempting," she whispered back, "but do you think he could keep up with her?"

He planted a kiss against her neck. Having Clotho in close quarters had not further increased his- well, she hesitated at calling it modesty; perhaps decorum was a better word- rather, it had given him an opportunity to become more comfortable with showing affection toward Laura even in semi-public situations. "We probably underestimate him."

Laura could tell that Kara was keeping tabs on this conversation as well, even from the other side of the room. "Obviously, I was underestimating your desperation to get laid," she replied teasingly, at an even lower volume than before. Perhaps Starbuck could read lips, because she tilted her head back in a loud laugh.

"I miss being alone with you," he mumbled against her hairline. "The last time we were alone… we had twenty minutes, and a desk. I'm thinking of your comfort, here."

"Generous to a fault," she muttered. "If you want to risk Pegasus being incapacitated…"

Starbuck proved Laura's lip-reading theory in the next minute. "Laura," she called across the room, "What if I took the girls over to Pegasus for a few days, maybe next week? Act as a chaperone while they wear out Lee?"

Lee looked about ready to protest, but a meaningful look from Kara kept him from opening his mouth. The girls, however, were ecstatic, and one particular bounce of joy from Clotho had Lee wincing.

"Well," Laura said with almost a sigh, "I guess I can't stop you."

Your funeral, she refrained from saying.

You owe me, Starbuck told her silently, and Laura shrugged, slightly. So she owed the card shark of the fleet. Really, what else was new?

Besides, she reflected, feeling Bill's hand curve around her hip. A few nights alone would be lovely, indeed. And this time, she'd pay Bill back for the set of fading bruises that she still had on her backside.

* * *

From her spot on the couch, Laura could just hear the conversation between Clotho and Bill as he tucked her in for the night. The book in her hand was abandoned as she continued to listen to their exchange; eavesdropping on them was as much Laura's nighttime ritual as tucking Clotho in was Bill's.

"Tell me a story," Clotho demanded, most likely tugging on one of Bill's sleeves. "Please."

"Do you want to hear about the time when I threw your mother in the brig?" he asked teasingly, knowing full well that Laura was listening.

"No. Tell me about Kobol," Clotho insisted, sounding muffled. Either a thumb or a braid tip was back in her mouth.

Clotho liked to hear about Kobol. Whether it was the adventure it entailed, or just the fact that it took place outdoors, amidst a world so unlike her own, she asked for it at least once a week; twice, if she could get away with it.

"Well," Bill began, and Laura put the book aside to settle in for a better story, "when your mother and I were still getting to know each other, she decided to go with your brother and Aunt Kara on a dangerous trip. She took her very good friend Elosha with her-"

"Because Elosha had a map," Clotho interjected.

"Exactly. And after they left, I was sad."

Laura wondered just how long it would be until Clotho learned that the proper word was not 'sad', but 'betrayed'.

"I would have wanted to go, too," Clotho said knowingly, and her father chuckled. "But then you went too, because you missed mommy."

"That's right," he answered. "I did miss her."

Liar, Laura thought fondly.

"And you saw the stars, right?"

"Yes. Your mother was beautiful in the starlight."

She giggled. "Mommy's always pretty."

"Yes." There was a rustle as he adjusted her blankets. "Yes, she is."

Laura pulled her sweater a bit tighter around herself, and wondered what in Hades she would have done with herself if she had actually stolen the frakking election.

When he joined her a few minutes later, she prodded him on the arm and teasingly whispered, "You came to Kobol because you missed me? I'm touched."

"Of course I missed you," he whispered in return, both of them knowing that Clotho could decide to join the conversation at any second. "You were infuriating. I liked that." He pulled her into his lap and ran a hand over the material covering her thighs. "I missed your legs, too."

"If only I had known," she muttered dryly. "Were my legs the reason you reinstated me?"

"No." He sighed. "I really did miss you."

"Good," she said, tucking her head under his chin. "Otherwise I would have spent all that time in cold storage for nothing."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

"Something like that." She was silent for a moment, listening to his heartbeat, and finally said, "I prayed for you, when I heard you had been shot. Seeing you on Kobol was a sort of miracle."

"I'm glad we found each other," was all he said in reply, but his arms tightened around her, and it was enough.