Author's note: The next chapter is here! Review! I always love hearing what you think!

Now that the creative writing muscles don't feel so rusty, I looked back at this piece. The previous chapters got a bit of spit and polish. The plot is unchanged, but if you are a re-reader (like me) it's a much better work now. (Example; their actions to prevent the attacks are more pronounced. Also, my cat and I accidentally deleted chapter 2 instead of downloading it, so I added combined the deleted chapter into chapter 1 - hence the 'update'). I also got a beta who is fixing some grammar. Yeay! I mostly just wanted to be happy with what I wrote.

Special kudos to JustACrazy-Man who inspired part of this chapter.

Twelve Months Before The Human–Cylon Peace Accords

Kenneth Hector, Secretary of Defense for the Twelve Colonies, walked along the promenade of the Scorpion Fleet Shipyards. Crowds were drawn to the shops and stations facilities housed in the station, but everyone knew to stay away from Secretary Hector who in turn had very little interest in the people. His gaze was drawn to the tall viewports spaced evenly through the promenade which offered a spectacular view of the surrounding space. He puffed with pride at the dozen ships docked, and he nodded to himself approvingly at the work being done.

The Fleet, he could now boast, was in the best shape in which it had ever been. The structural survey his colleague, Secretary Roslin, had ordered for the Galactica (she'd claimed to be ensuring the safety of future visiting children) revealed glaring problems and oversights in ship construction. Tipped off to the hidden problem, he'd ordered random ships to have a complete inspection and, to his horror, several had failed. It was unacceptable and completely irresponsible. There were probably a few people whose ears were still ringing from the tongue lashing he'd given them for allowing Fleet Ships to be put into service that were not up to code. Nope. Nope. Nope. A Fleet ship would either be brought up to code or scrapped. Hector's fleet would be razor-sharp and battle-ready.

Looking up from the report in his hand, Hector took a deep breath and gazed at the Battlestar Yashuman from the viewport. It was done. According to the paper he clutched, the whole Fleet passed inspection. The Yashuman had been the last ship needing to undergo repairs and retrofits. Now she stood in the skies, proud and fierce. Every Battlestar in the Fleet, as he'd demanded, could now go toe to toe with a Cylon Basestar. Most of the escort class ships could give the Cylons a run for their money as well. Let them come, Hector thought. Richard Adar could waste time playing at peace, the Defense Ministry would keep preparing the Fleet.

And prepare the Fleet Hector had. Sparks flew on each side of the Yashuman as work continued on the new behemoths. There was a gleam in his eyes as he regarded the new ships. The knuckledraggers would get a few of these new Mercury MkII ships out before the peace talks. He'd been forced to scrap all the Jupiter class Battlestars as old relics; only the Galactica was spared. It was impressive how much of the material they were able to upcycle into newer, better ships. And better, they were. Armored. Dangerous. Deadly. Beautiful. The sight of them would send a clear message to the Cylons that the Colonies were willing and able to defend themselves.

Hector slid another folder on top of the pile he held in his hands. The Fleet Roster. Just over one hundred Mercury I and II, Valkyrie, and Orion class Battlestars. There were hundreds of support ships: Loki heavy Cruisers, Berzerk escorts, Defender support vessels, Celestra type ships, and more. There were thousands of ships in total. Hector looked over the names of the ships again, something he'd taken to doing ever since the peace with the Cylons had been announced. It made him feel good knowing they were prepared.

…

Ten Months Before the Human–Cylon Peace Accords

"Bill, do you know where you're going?" Laura asked from the passenger seat of the car after checking her watch. They were heading to a smaller city on Caprica, where they both had meetings to attend.

"Yes," Bill snapped, causing his wife to give him her warning look: raised eyebrow, slightly pursed lips, and a slow nod. Watch it Adama, she might as well have said. His own brows furrowed as he glared at the road, peering at each of the signs they passed.

"Maybe we should look at a map," Laura suggested.

"No," Bill grumbled, making a turn. Laura kept quiet for a moment, looking down at the papers she had on her lap. Most of them were requisition orders for the museum which would be on Galactica. Luckily, no one had asked her exactly why her museum needed enough emergency rations to feed a small planet. One person on the education committee asked about the viper flight simulators she'd ordered (Kara's request – she'd rather train nuggets in simulators if possible), and Laura looked him in the eye and said it would be good fun for the children who would visit. It was impressive how much of their work had flown under the radar over the years.

"Maybe we should stop and ask for directions," Laura offered after they sat for a particularly long pause at an intersection.

"No," Bill said, and Laura sighed, flipping her folder closed.

"Why do you kick up your heels at the idea of pulling over and getting directions. And maps?! What is your issue with maps?!" she exclaimed, pulling out her phone.

"Laura what are you doing?" Bill asked, looking over at her.

"Pulling a map up myself because you are too stubborn for your own good. Again," Laura said, with no small amount of exasperation in her tone.

"Are you making a crack about Kobol?" Bill growled in a low voice.

"I wasn't going for subtlety, dear," Laura replied, looking at him over the rim of her glasses.

"You know what, Laura," he said, abruptly pulling over to the side of the road and flicking the hazards on despite the area appearing deserted. "Maps are fine!" he snapped, reaching over to the glovebox to retrieve a map. In fact, he, like every command level officer and above in the Fleet, needed a respectable handle on stellar cartography. His own skills were good enough that he'd been able to draw up maps with planets marked down like Kobol and New Caprica and many of the tactical and strategic locations they'd discovered during their journey. He'd even shared those maps with Adar and with members of the Fleet. Laura knew this. She knew he could read maps. Maps are great, he thought. "My issue is with redheads who always think they know…"

"You're going the wrong way," Laura said, pointing to the screen of her phone. "It's a good thing you had Saul and Kara double check those maps of yours," she teased as if she'd known what he'd been thinking. Deciding he wasn't going to respond; he turned the car around and began driving in the opposite direction. He did glance over to Laura who was stifling a yawn. His irritation melted.

"Laura, lay back and close your eyes. I'll get us there," he said gently. She'd been working harder and harder as the date of the decommissioning drew nearer. They all had. As an Admiral, he had his work cut out for him, coordinating the missions of his Battlestar group. Still, he hated seeing Laura exhausted. He noticed her opening her mouth to protest. "I'll take a look at that map of yours if you try and catch a quick nap." She narrowed her eyes at him but handed over the phone with her directions pulled up.

He felt a hand on his forearm and glanced back over at her.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a small smile.

…

Eight Months Before the Human–Cylon Peace Accords

A representative of each Cylon model gathered in the Central Command Center. Cavil observed them seated around the table. Personality, he scoffed internally, looking at the so-called machines. Six's pronounced cleavage drew his attention first, and he cursed the stupidly predictable human programming he'd been designed with. He didn't want to be so human. He'd rather be ruled by equations than instinct. Doral sat in a lime green suit and Three sneered at anyone who met her eyes. They were all becoming… distinctive. He huffed and folded his arms, leaning his chair back and tallying up his observations of his brothers and sisters.

"They outnumber us by almost five to one," Leoben reported from the table. "Any direct attack would be suicide."

Cavil frowned at this. Even with his urging, Cylon production hadn't been able to keep up with the human's own ship production and, well, their messy, yet effective, biological reproduction. He shuddered. No thank you, he thought. Six and Simon could pursue that line of 'research' to their heart's… their programming's content.

"Almost all our attempts to infiltrate the Colonies have failed. We have no operatives in place," Doral said, holding himself stiffly upright in his chair while the corners of his mouth twitched. Cavil nearly laughed at him, and his attempt an impassivity. Doral had been humiliated when the humans rejected his application for the most basic security clearance so he could move up higher in his work with public relations in the government. Humans, Cavil mused, were terribly useful at keeping the Cylon models united. The people of the Twelve Colonies gave them something to rally against, and Cavil wondered what would happen when they were gone. He'd seen bits and pieces of memories he'd accessed from Future Cavil, but the story was incomplete. He shrugged. One thing at a time. Thinking of Future Cavil had him humming in thought.

"Maybe they knew what we look like," he wondered. Not that it mattered now. All the models, except Eight (although she'd started calling herself Sharon...another mark of individuality) had been revealed to President Adar during their peace talks. When they hadn't been able to place any operatives in useful positions of power, anonymity became useless. Although, Adar remembering him from years ago had been fun. Cavil explained that he'd been 'researching human religion'. Gullible human.

"Impossible," D'Anna scoffed at him.

"And yet, there are no Cylons on Battlestars. No Cylons in the government. No Cylons in any sensitive position," Leoben countered, and Cavil wondered if he'd go try speaking to the Hybrid after the meeting. Maybe he'd try to talk to her about streams and visions.

"In any case, we have adapted," Cavil proclaimed, standing up and looking over the gathered models.

"Is it enough?"

Cavil grinned.

…

Six Months Before Human–Cylon Peace Accords

Saul and Bill rarely took leave together planeside anymore. After Bill's promotion to Admiral, and subsequent responsibilities over an entire Battlestar Group, one of them usually needed to be aboard Galactica to mind the farm.

So, they were both thoroughly enjoying themselves at one of the more questionable bars on Caprica. Behind the bartender, muted colors of the bottles glistened, their glass catching bits of light. Saul had gazed lovingly at the selection before settling on the ice-cold beer in front of him. He hummed happily as he took another sip.

"I should make sure there's an entire case of this swill tucked away in my quarters… just in case," Saul muttered, nodding at the bartender to give him another. Bill shook his head at his friend, torn between amusement and chagrin, but that seemed to be the default state Saul Tigh left many people in.

"Get a chance to read Bulldog's report?" Bill asked.

"Caught up with him in person before he jumped out again. But no shoptalk tonight, Bill," Saul grumbled, not in the mood to discuss the Fleet, the attacks, the peace, secret missions, or anything else that had dominated their conversations ever increasingly. He just wanted a good beer with his buddy.

"We're here on business," Bill pointed out. Saul huffed but was used to meeting up with old pilot friends and fleeters over the years.

"Tab is on you then," he said with a shrug.

"If Husker's payin', I'll take one of what he's having," a new voice broke into the conversation. The metal hinges of a chair squeaked as the newcomer joined them at the bar. The smell of cigarettes rolled off him, joining the smell of booze in the bar. He grinned at Bill and Saul, who leaned forward to shake his hand.

"Good to see you, Coker," Bill said, nodding at the bartender who set a drink down for the newcomer.

"Well look at you! You're all grown up, Husker. Even got yourself some manners over the years," Coker said, sighing in pleasure at his drink and nodding approvingly. Bill grunted in a half chuckle. Coker Fasjovik, a veteran Lieutenant of the First Cylon War, had been Bill's cranky ECO during his time as a raptor pilot. One disastrously successful first mission had solidified their friendship, but the two men hadn't seen each other since then, only exchanging a few letters over the years.

The men exchanged pleasantries and caught up over their drinks. Their conversation melted into the hum of dozens of others happening in the dim bar. Coker immediately took to Saul, and the two acted like salty old sea dogs who'd known each other for years. They swapped some jokes at Bill's expense, and Coker hooted with laughter when he heard the 'little ensign' he'd known had made Admiral. Tigh and Coker compared stories about their wives, who had similar… vivacious spirits. Coker eyed Bill over his beer.

"You got yourself a woman, Husker?" Coker asked. "Hope your taste in women has improved." It was with no small amount of pride Bill sat up straighter and reached for one of two small pictures he usually kept in a pocket. He handed the photo of his wife to Coker who whistled approvingly before looking at the next image of three smiling boys. He nodded and smiled. "You did all right."

Someone hushed the crowd as the bartender turned up the TV over the bar.

"...half a year away from the signing of the peace treaty with the Cylons. Preparations continue…" Coker snorted loudly and downed his drink, motioning for another. "President Adar has enjoyed an enormous surge in popularity with the people at the possibility of a sustained peace with our one-time enemy," Bill huffed loudly at that and shook his head. "...agreement will see a new era of peace and prosperity…" Saul grunted and shook his head at the words pouring out of the reporter's mouth.

"Can you believe that bullshit?" Coker asked, nodding up toward the news.

"Actually, it's what I wanted to talk to you about," Bill said, looking over at his old colleague who frowned.

"Adama… I know that tone. I know I don't like that tone. Last time I heard that tone, I ended up getting shot," Coker said, looking between Bill and Saul with widening eyes.

"It might be nothing, it might not," Saul began.

"There might be a problem in six months, and there's some of us who are… preparing," Adama said, and began explaining the same story he and Saul had ironed out over the years to the contacts they'd maintained. A network of prepared people.

…

Four Months Before Human–Cylon Peace Accord

The hybrid's voice filled the plain, empty chamber. Despite the lack of an audience, her words echoed through the space.

"...on the wrong path they run and at their feet negative energy springs… adjust atmosphere in launch bays… what do we leave behind? Sister to sister, docking complete… raider production up by 15 percent. Cold logic brings cruel choices. End of the line. Carbon composite analysis complete… in the absence of love the greatest logic is useless…

Millions of miles away Laura Roslin awoke with a gasp and covered in sweat. She'd seen it again. The names of the twelve gods. The six who remembered. The glowing orb.

Two Months Before Human–Cylon Peace Accord

"That's the plan for Galactica's decommissioning. She'll be part of this frakkin' peace accords ceremony as the last Battlestar from the Cylon War," Laura explained over the phone. She hadn't made a business call to her husband in a very long time, and she sat in her office in Caprica City with the phone pressed to her ear.

"All part of this circus act," Bill grumbled over the phone, and Laura laughed. The final details for the various ceremonies surrounding the peace accords were being ironed out, and Galactica's decommissioning would now be part of the 'circus act' despite Bill's objections. Normally, an aide would have relayed the details to Galactica, but Laura gladly took the job instead. Once she finished giving her husband the relevant details, they chatted for a few moments. He told little anecdotes that made her laugh like how Kara was immensely grateful for the viper simulators now aboard Galactica and had already written new training programs to train nuggets.

"How was your doctor's appointment?" Bill asked, unbuttoning his uniform top as he reclined in his chair. He frowned at the lack of an immediate reply and felt his heart rate increase. "Laura?"

"I… missed the appointment," Laura admitted, fiddling with her pen on the desk while holding her breath. Her usual paperwork was scattered across the surface.

"Damn it, Laura," he said, his frustration evident in his tone.

"It's been really busy, Bill!" she sighed, rubbing her forehead. She closed her eyes and could hear her husband's heavy breathing. It was a tell-tale sign of his irritation.

"It's the third appointment you've missed," he growled, his hand forming into a tight fist on his desk. The damn woman had to have something against taking care of herself, he thundered internally. "You'll reschedule!" he ordered.

"Calm down, Bill," she retorted, recoiling at his bossiness. He knew she was busy. They were both busy. The weight of the future was a heavy burden they were forced to bear. "When I catch a break, I'll call the doctor."

"Are you planning on going?" he groused.

"You're overreacting," Laura sighed.

"'Scuse me?" he asked, and his voice was so low it sent a shiver up Laura's spine. She frowned and leaned back, closing her eyes, and listened. "I've tried my damndest to be a good husband. I've never asked for much. Going to the doctor and taking care of yourself was the one thing, the one thing, I did ask."

"I am," she promised.

"You missed three appointments," Bill replied and waited for a reaction. Silence hung in the air suspending the moment between them. He waited for Laura to make her typical sigh and apologize. He waited for her to hum before making more excuses. She did none of those things, and he waited in silence, feeling the heat rise in his veins. "Do you understand?" The question burst from him.

"Understand?"

"How much I love you?" he asked, and Laura felt her eyes instantly fill with tears. He still didn't say the words very often and she knew that was just his way. The absence of the words was not due to a lack of feeling on his part and she had never felt that something was missing; he showed his love in so many ways. Still, hearing the words, along with an exceptionally uncharacteristic amount of emotion in his tone, gave her pause. She remained rooted to her chair, and for a moment even forgot to breath. A knot in her stomach formed and she began realizing the mistake she'd made when he spoke again. "I want all the time we can have."

"Bill, I'm fine," she assured.

"You promised you'd go," he sighed, knowing she couldn't make such promises. Another silence stretched.

"Are you mad at me?" Laura sighed.

"Yes."

"I'll go. I will."

…

Day of the Human–Cylon Peace Accord

Laura Roslin tried to calm her racing heart while sitting silently and facing the currently unoccupied desk. Her face was impassive, not betraying any of the fear coursing through her body. Her hands gripped the leather armrests, her nails digging into the soft material. Waiting was the worst.

She looked out the large window at the dozens of ships flying by. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. What was the doctor going to tell her? The doctor's office had called her in for this follow-up appointment, explaining her physician needed to run some extra tests. The results would be in soon, she knew. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

The door behind her banged open, and she jumped in her chair. The doctor's footsteps echoed through the sparsely decorated room. Who in the world needed an office so big? It was practically a small gymnasium. Each step caused the tension in her stomach to grow, and she felt increasingly nauseous. She tried to calm her breathing, as the doctor sat down behind the desk, a folder with her name clasped in his hand.

His expression was serious. Carefully, he folded his hands on the desk in front of him and met her eyes.

"The tests are positive."