Once upon a time a lovely Final Five cylon with big brown eyes and a deceptively sweet smile stepped aboard a cylon basestar for the first time. She met a ruggedly handsome known-seven cylon. They eye-frakked; when she swooned he caught her in his strong arms. Then they frakked a lot, passionately and with much enthusiasm, and lived happily ever after...

...which lasted about seventy-two hours. Long enough to:

1) have a standoff with the humans in the Colonial Fleet
2) make an alliance with them
3) find Earth
4) retreat from its irradiated surface
and 5) for Leoben to use just one more stream analogy about destiny when Tory had warned him not to.

It ended with Leoben in a basestar launching tube and Tory about to give the order request to the centurion to send him into space.

The other remaining Two saved his duplicate from a quick airless death at the last moment.

The End.

Except that it wasn't. Two weeks later Tory was losing her algae breakfast on a regular basis. Four weeks later, during a visit to Galactica, Hera Agathon patted Tory's stomach and smiled. Four weeks and one pregnancy test later Leoben was back in the airlock. This time D'Anna intervened and made it quite clear to Tory that just because she was a Final Five cylon did not mean that she was allowed to airlock her brothers and sisters.

Nor was she allowed to get rid of the unwanted-by-her miracle baby--the cylons had agreed to abide by Colonial Fleet law a couple of weeks earlier, when it became obvious that they were going to have to stay together if they wanted to survive. D'Anna also made sure that Tory wasn't left alone; wherever she went a mostly-silent posse of Sixes and Eights followed (which had the added benefit of keeping them from trying to seduce Sam Anders and Galen Tyrol in hopes of conceiving their own miracle babies).

Tory finally resigned herself to being the mother of a special child and started plotting ways for this to work for her benefit--when she wasn't kneeling in front of a toilet.

Leoben was ecstatic but kept a safe distance from the mother of his unborn child. He observed her gradual changes--from quick steps to slow waddle, from tiny waist to stomach jutting in front. He did his best to find special treats for her and had the Sixes and Eights deliver them. Sometimes they were flung back at him, but other times not. As she approached the end of the second trimester (and her reaction time was slowed by the unaccustomed bulk she was carrying), he came close enough to talk to her with one purpose in mind--to feel the baby's movement.

He was like water dripping on a stone--persistent and slowly eroding her resistance over time. Finally she agreed to let him touch her stomach, but only if he promised not to say a single word.

When the baby was active Tory had Leoben come in to her sleeping quarters and sit on the edge of her bed. She guided his hand to the spot where she could feel the tiny flutters. As his hand moved across her stomach he looked awed and reverent. Eyes glistening, he glanced at her, took her hand and kissed it.

Tory smiled that deceptive smile of hers and said, "If you ever get that look on your face again I may have to vomit on you. Now get out." As he left she muttered, "Ends at the first trimester, my ass."