When Anastasia—Dee to everyone alive, now—found out she was three months pregnant, her first reaction was panic.
It was funny. After all this time running for the Cylons, Dee hadn't thought she had any panic left in her. Guess she was wrong about that. But really, it was the Cylons that were the problem: what person could bring a child into this? Roslin—and Billy, too, the ache and guilt from his death were probably never going to go away—were so focused on the need to reproduce, the need to perpetuate the species, but if this hell were all the human race had to look forward to, better it end sooner than later. To create a child in a world of fear and pain and loss, that was just cruel.
The doc gave her a list of dos and don'ts. It was a lot shorter than it would have been back in the colonies; there weren't any prenatal vitamins left, their food choices were severely limited, and lightening her stress-load wasn't possible. About the only thing he could do was tell her to cut out alcohol, and she'd never been much of a drinker anyway.
"Thanks," she said ironically. "Anything else?"
The doc shook her head. "I'll see you in a couple weeks, let me know if anything strange happens. We weren't equipped to be an OB clinic even before we sent half our equipment and meds down to the surface."
"Right," she said. "Two weeks." She nodded goodbye, and headed out the hatch. She'd gone a few corridors lost in thought before realizing that she was on her way to the bridge. All that time hovering there during their escape had drilled it into her. It was the middle of her sleep cycle, but she'd been feeling weird for a while and hadn't wanted to take time from her bridge shifts to go. And she was so keyed up waiting for the Cylons to find them and attack that she hadn't felt like sleeping, anyway.
What the hell. She was halfway there, anyway. She walked through the glass doors to the shiny, efficient space, missing Galactica's grime and character. "Anything interesting, Lieutenant Hoshi?" she asked.
"No, Sir," he said, face carefully neutral. He didn't say her rank because no one, herself included, was quite sure what that was at the moment. "No Cylon contacts. Two Vipers in Galactica's CAP almost collided with one another."
There were muffled snickers around the bridge, and Dee shot a glare around. It wasn't anyone's fault Galactica's pilots were having problems; too many of them were nuggets and there weren't many experienced officers left to provide guidance and leadership. Pegasus had relatively few holes; most of the crew had chosen not to go down to New Caprica. "Anything else?"
Hoshi shrugged. "Not unless you want to go over the numbers for ordnance manufacturing."
"Not right now, Mister Hoshi," Dee said. She looked around, at all the crewmembers carefully not looking at her, and realized she'd become what she'd hated as a bridge bunny: senior officers who interrupted and got in the way just because they were bored. "Carry on."
She had to at least try to sleep, so she headed back to her quarters and stripped for bed. Once under the covers she closed her eyes and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm her mind.
If it had been any other time, Dee would have thought about ending it. Well. Thought more seriously, at any rate. With the prohibition of abortion, Cottle wouldn't do it, but there were others in the Fleet who would. But the Cylons had found New Caprica the week before, and the Fleet jumped away and abandoned the people on the ground, and Lee had been on the surface to deliver meds for Kara Thrace's husband. Dee wanted to believe he was alive, but only the gods knew. It was about the worst possible time to have a child, but.
Dee didn't want to limit her options. Maybe later. She still had a month or two before it started getting noticeable.
That was the thing: if anyone suspected, if the Admiral found out … she could imagine killing Bill Adama's only chance at a grandchild, but she couldn't imagine him knowing about it. He had strong feelings about family. Dee came from Sagittaron. She understood.