A/N:This saga began as a series of drabbles and grew into a longer work.

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The mechanic was a shaggy, rugged-looking man with a white smile under his mustache.

Cut-off denim sleeves showed thick biceps and varicolored ink. He had been a Viper pilot, a Cylon War Vet. Had two sons.

He'd pulled some time, by the crude bluish ink along his knuckles.

He went by "'Dama", or "the Old Man" these days. He hadn't been "Bill" in years. He was just an old biker in a motorcycle club, the Tauron Outlaws Motorcycle Club, Original Caprica, president of men like himself.

He held back 10% of every deal. A handful knew where the second cache was: Tigh-man, Doc, and Lee, his son and TOMCOC's V.P. Scattered cynical men across Caprica, on the edge of the law and certain that the Cylons weren't done with humanity any more than humanity was done with over-confidence.

Carolanne split while he was inside—he should have listened to his grandmother, he thought. Carolanne never did have the chops to be an MC Old Lady.

The long-legged cool redhead exiting the smoking sedan, now…rueful grin with a hard-ass edge, meeting his eyes with aplomb…she had Old Lady potential, if memory served.

"Hey, Laura. Your ride need work?"

She smiled.

"Yeah."