"For thirty-nine years, the guns have been silent. A great tragedy was ended, but neither side knew victory."

President Adar swallowed. This was the most important speech he'd delivered in his entire career. He stood on the raised dais, overlooking the crowd with his hands lightly resting on the podium. His speech, vetted by too many people to count, lay beneath his sweaty palms.

The President of the Twelve Colonies stood tall and proud like a lion addressing his pride. Cameras pointed at him and broadcast his words and image to each of the twelve planets. His voice carried the gravitas of this moment over the gathered crowd in the banquet hall of the presidential manor and then further out to each one of his citizens.

His cabinet held their breath and watched him, the anticipation in the air around them almost tangible. Richard Adar's heart hammered in his chest as he looked over them. He glanced at his side where his longtime best friend, Gaius Baltar, stood with his attractive date. The woman, dressed in red, happened to be the representative of the Cylon people. Then he caught Laura's eyes in the crowd, and his blood ran cold. But the President pushed the foreboding feeling to the side, raised his chin, and continued speaking.

"Our worlds have known peace."

If life had a melody, a proper sequence of notes meant to be played out in a musical way, then someone had shredded the music and let a monkey conduct the chorus. Laura's mind searched for order and rhythm in this reality; she knew she was awake and not living in one of her nightmares. The ground was too solid under her feet, and the pungent odor of too many people crammed in a banquet hall accosted her nose. This was real. The President was announcing peace with the Cylons. But was the Holocaust avoided?

The President had personally introduced Laura to Gaius Baltar earlier in the evening. Every nerve in Laura's body tingled while the noise around her faded into a dull buzz when Baltar met her gaze and extended his hand. Laura wanted to be done with anger, but for a moment she smiled and remembered yelling for Colonel Tigh to throw the man out an airlock. She had to set those memories to the side in order to grasp Baltar's hand and pray he wasn't leading humanity down a dark hole again. There was no election she could steal.

He spoke to her, or at her, while she studied him. This Baltar was like the one she remembered but seeing him now forced her to admit he'd come a long way in their journey. First, he didn't seem touched in the head at all, and he wore a sneer that told the world he thought himself superior. He'd always been a man who reveled in success, but this Baltar had no trace of fear at all. He'd also always been a man who didn't overlook any erotic opportunity, and his gaze had drifted over Laura's body as if probing her sensuality and willingness; she'd quickly shifted away from him and politely excused herself. Laura would gladly live several lifetimes without ever willingly seeing the shifty scientist and womanizing playboy again.

Together, Laura and Bill had tried to avert the attacks. Years ago, they'd told Richard Adar everything he needed to know to avoid how the Cylons almost wiped out humanity in their time. To his credit, the President had followed through with almost all their suggestions and had used their information well. Ever pragmatic, they'd prepared for if the attacks weren't averted. Supplies. Ammunition. Stockpiles. Secret shipments. Still, this peace was a whole new chapter in their story, and neither knew what to make of it.

As Richard addressed his people Laura stood over to the side watching the circus. Her hand was nestled in the crook of her husband's arm. She hadn't realized she was clutching him as hard as she'd been until Bill's other hand came up to cover her grip. I'm here, he said without words. She felt a rush of love for her strong, stoic, calm warrior in that moment. Her partner.

"We remember the dead, voices forever silenced while fighting among the stars. We'll never forget the courageous soldiers who took up the challenge of the future which they salvaged from the brink of disaster."

There was power at being the calm in the center of the storm, and he was proud of how controlled he and his wife both appeared. People often assumed their minds didn't acknowledge fear, anger, or even despair. Instead of fighting what his mind felt, Bill Adama learned long ago to accept those emotions and put them in their proper place. Acknowledge their existence but refuse to be controlled.

Rage. Fear. Anger. Despair. He'd deeply felt each of those emotions throughout his life. The memories couldn't be forgotten. Not the Centurions who'd boarded Battlestars and left a trail of fear, blood, and bodies in their wake. Not the raiders he'd shot down in his viper while listening with rage as his brothers- and sisters-in-arms cried out over the comm as their ships exploded. Not the people he couldn't free from the Hybrid's ship who were then taken and experimented on after he was forced to flee in despair. The cost of war. What would this offer of peace cost them?

Peace. Gods, he wanted peace. He was tired of fighting. But he couldn't forget the future he'd seen, the future he'd tried to avoid. It trapped them in its claws and promised its inevitability no matter how much he didn't want that timeline to happen again. The timeline where he'd seen the Twelve Colonies fall. The timeline where the Cylons had taken over New Caprica. The timeline where his own wife had been tortured and her cancer had come back.

Laura stood next to him with a polite politician's smile on her face. Strong and serene, although he noted her grip on his arm, the one concession to how she felt internally. She must have noticed the far-away look in his eyes that betrayed how he felt because she linked her fingers in his and gave them a light squeeze. I'm here too, she said wordlessly. His partner.

"A new era upon us. An era to be marked by a newfound security and prosperity."

Zak had been following Dr. Cottle around sickbay like a good bright-eyed and bushy-tailed intern should. They'd stopped moving to listen when the radio began broadcasting the President's speech. Huffing at the pretty polished words that sounded so right which poured from their leader's mouth, Cottle pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Cottle looked over his sickbay as he took a long drag of his drug of choice. There had been too many patients he'd lost in these very beds while covered in their blood and doing his damnedest to save each and every one of them. This peace teased him. It was a combat medic's dream—to hear that the bullets would stop raining.

Kids. To him the soldiers he'd patched up had all practically been children. Young soldiers dead before their time. Their ends in no way fair or right, each patient he lost weighed on his heart. No wonder he was grumpy and calloused; what does so much death and suffering do to a caring heart? Professional distance, his old mentor had warned him. So Dr. Cottle pretended to be a bastard, and it kept the children at arm's length. Most of them. Some of them. Not all of them. Laura. Sharon. Caprica. Felix. Cally.

Zak looked at him with big blue eyes and a tilted head. The kid had his father's heart, that much was clear. Adama just had to pseudo adopt every stray that came across his path, and Zak had the same care and compassion in him. Cottle sighed. His protege should live in peace. How could the sweet boy even imagine the future his parents had lived through and what a sickbay at war could be like?

"Peace is one of our greatest goals. What we search and strive for."

Saul knew for what he strove toward: to be a good man. There were still 2,000 years he'd lived as a Cylon that he couldn't remember, and he wondered if there ever was a moment during all those years where he looked in the mirror and saw a good man. A good Cylon. Whatever he was. Maybe that's why he'd become best friends with Bill Adama. In his friend he saw someone he could respect, who had integrity. Someone he wanted to be like. For his part, Bill had always pushed him to be a better man while accepting the less savory aspects of who Saul was.

Looking at the glass of water in his hand, Saul knew he'd reached a point where he could call himself a good man and believe it himself. It had been a rough road, and he still wasn't a nice man. But there was a code of honor he'd found in himself and he'd kept it in this timeline. Protect his people. Love his woman. Support his friend.

Ellen stirred and looked over at him with contented eyes. He'd snuck her aboard Galactica partially for the thrill of it, and partially because he wanted to see her. Ellen loved an adventure and had been delighted at his attention. He grinned at her. Neither of them were perfect, but he didn't love her because she didn't have flaws. They'd always enjoyed hurting each other far too much. Mocking each other had almost been a hobby. In this timeline, they'd tempered that side of themselves, and Saul made sure Ellen knew how much she meant to him.

Peace. Peace and retirement. They'd talked about taking a whirlwind tour of the Colonies after Saul retired. He'd promised to lavish attention on his beloved wife at each stop they made. It would be just the two of them just being together. Ellen loved the sound of that.

"We have a chance for peace and if we do not take it, Armageddon will be at our door."

The other pilots teased Lee about how often he listened to political broadcasts. But between having a stepmother in the highest echelons of the government and his own inclinations toward a political career once he finished his time in the service, he found himself tuning in more and more.

The radio crackled with static from the shelf in his bunk but he could make out the President's voice speaking. Armageddon. His parents had described snippets of the Armageddon they lived through. There were gaps in their stories, things they wouldn't tell him. Kara filled in some of those gaps.

He'd gotten her to go out with him on a date. Finally. His charm and persuasion had earned him dinner and a trip to the movies. While walking back to Kara's apartment, the two of them talked about her memories. Whatever Kara's past, it was part of her, and he wanted to accept it. Then, like an idiot, he'd ruined the mood and asked her what it had been like. Let it be known that conversing about the apocalypse was not the key to having a successful first date. Although, it had been successful.

Kara explained that the air had reeked with the smell of smoke and rotting things. The sky had gone hazy, she described, and the sun looked blood red through the atmosphere. Worst of all was how quiet Caprica had become, she told him. There were no birds that sang and no squirrels scampering across the ground in the Colony she'd seen. Lee offered to go find a squirrel to cheer her up, and she'd looked at him like he was an idiot, but laughed.

Taking a break from the letter he was writing to Kara (which he made sure did not mention Armageddon), he fingered the rank insignia at his collar. They were his father's old pins from the Cylon War. His dad sometimes accidentally referred to it as the First Cylon War, and that always struck Lee as wrong. "First" implied a second war following. He didn't want war. He wanted to leave the service when his time was done. He wanted to go to law school or join his stepmother in the world of politics. Kara's future sounded awful. Peace sounded good.

"I stand here today to announce the beginning of peace talks toward a permanent peace treaty with the Cylons. Armistice will give way to peace and friendship."

Liam fidgeted on the couch and watched the broadcast. He knew his parents were in the glittering crowd, and he looked around and tried to spot them on the television. His own little game. Then he heard the President mention the word Cylon and his game stopped while he stared at the man for whom he knew his father had a particular dislike.

He'd heard the word Cylon used around the house. After all, his father was a hero of the Cylon War and an Admiral who commanded the last Battlestar from that era. His mother was overseeing the creation of a museum about the Cylon War. It was part of their history and taught in school. He'd seen pictures of Centurions in his textbooks. If they stayed in pictures and in memory or history, that would be one thing, but Liam remembered.

The sound of mechanical men and metal clanking through the house years ago still gave him nightmares. He recalled his mother hiding him from the intruders but screaming when she'd been taken. Later, the news had claimed it was Ha'la'tha terrorists who'd kidnapped his mom. At school, Liam had stared at the pictures of Cylons in his textbook. Mechanical whirling and metal clanking. They'd taken his mother. Did this peace mean they'd all be safe now?

"Today I report to you that next year on Armistice Day, forty years after the Great War, both sides will meet and sign a treaty of peace."

Starbuck and Boomer sat in the pilot rec room playing cards with their fellow flyers. Drinks. Cards. Stogies. Each sip of alcohol seemed like a better and better idea to the pilots. The smell of booze and cigarettes hung in the air, but their jokes got funnier. Or they laughed more. There were a few viper jocks staggering around teasing the raptor pilots. Boomer rolled her eyes and gave Starbuck a look that said, don't even start.

The boisterous room fell silent when the President began his speech. It seemed that even the Fleet's hot-headed pilots knew what a profound moment this was.

As the words made their way into tipsy minds, the two misfits looked at each other, one kindred spirit reaching it to another. A Cylon and a human bonding over a game of triad like they had so many years ago. This time there was a recognition between the two that remained powerful yet unvoiced; whatever we might think, Adama believes in us and we won't let him down.

Boomer learned they'd given sketches of the Cylon models to President Adar. No wonder the Cylon models had trouble getting into important positions. Gina couldn't get her job updating defense mainframes. Doral remained a minor reporter. Simon couldn't even work for the C-Bucks. But her? She'd gotten a position in the Fleet. After some thought it dawned on her. A sketch of her hadn't been submitted. They'd protected the future Athena. Starbuck called her a fool for thinking they'd only thought of Sharon Agathon and not her too. Boomer was a lost sheep, and Adama wanted her to come back to the fold, too. She'd cried and made a promise.

Whatever would come to pass, Boomer and Starbuck would care for this family and protect them. They'd lived through hell with these comrades-in-arms and seen many of them wounded and some of them dead. Boomer took a drink to numb the feeling in her heart as she listened to the promise of peace. She lived with this strange pain everyday: the knowledge that she could have helped her comrades, but her choices had gotten many of them killed. This new timeline and this potential peace would never allow her to forget that. War, peace, victory, defeat: it all carried a price tag.

"Our strength and courage have brought us to this point and now comes the time to make our future."

…..

Author's note: Vaguely inspired by Gen. McArthur's speech given at end of WWII. A no - dialogue introspective chapter as we come close to Galactica's decommissioning. I know it's getting long. I hope ya'll still like it.