The planed boards are rough and full of the threat of splinters, jagged edges and bird excrement here and there. He finds a place free of anything but wet and dead leaves and sits, leaning back against the branch, looking down at a changed world.

Lee was going to be a lawyer. He wanted to be like his grandfather, imposing in suits and demanding respect in silent ways. He wanted to be the man who went home to his family every night and told stories over the dinner table of wars fought without weapons, and wanted to bounce his grandchildren on his knee. He wanted to own a long gold chained pocket watch and a vest with pinstripes and every suit he owned was going to be any color but blue.

The only thing Zak wanted to be was his big brother.

Lee knows the moment his dreams changed. His father walked out on them one too many times and Lee knew that he was going to show the bastard that you could be a military man and a family man. Was going to show him that family didn't have to come last, didn't have to be sacrificed.

Except Lee had meant his own family - his unborn children and his unknown wife - not Zak, now buried somewhere in the distance. Zak trying to be his brother, Lee, who was only trying to be anything but his father.

And failing. Both of them failing.

Lee reaches into the knothole of the tree and finds what he came here for. A small box he and Zak had hidden years ago, playing games with Cylons and court rooms and outer space and Gods and Goddesses. He opens the box and stares down at the contents. His grandfather's pocket watch. A set of his father's wings. Lee's old pocketknife and the small sun that had hung from the leather strap Zak had worn around his neck.

He fingers the gold and stares up at the sun through the canopy of leaves, the light filtering down around him. Stolen and sacrificed treasures, the futures and fantasies of the Adama men locked up and hidden away.

And now buried six feet under.