Books had always been an important facet of Laura and Bill's relationship. In their opinion, there was nothing more romantic than sharing literature. The written world created a gateway to both heart and soul.

There were a few hours before the decommissioning. Laura reclined on the familiar leather couch, curled her legs underneath her, and balanced a book on her lap. It felt strange but good to be back; these quarters were where she'd learned about the surprisingly warm man underneath the uniform, and where she'd felt safe enough to slowly let down the barriers around her own heart. There was a warmth suffused through this space that felt timeless, and she relaxed while reading, unaware of her husband watching her.

I have a weakness for mysteries, she'd confessed to him in this very space after a moment of shy hesitation. It was the first intimate detail Bill learned about Laura Roslin. Through books, Bill started to see the woman behind the President, and he found her fierce, infuriating, intriguing, and surprisingly vulnerable.

They'd exchanged books during Bill's deployments to help bridge the millions of miles between them. Many of those gifts were scattered around his quarters now, tucked in between the family pictures Laura and Liam were now in. The newest photo, given to Bill by his deck gang, stood proudly on his desk, this time showing three sons and two smiling parents.

"What are you reading?" Bill asked, moving from his desk and trying to get a good look at the front of his wife's book. Laura pulled it further into her lap, effectively hiding it from his view. "Trashy romance novel?" he teased at her strange evasiveness.

"I do like other genres besides mysteries," she retorted with an indignant huff. "I once enjoyed a romance novel from time to time. Even added one to the public-school system's curriculum."

"But, what's the appeal?" he asked, trying not to scoff, knowing that would irritate his wife. His survival tactics dictated that he not deliberately provoke Roslin. She had a devious streak and a penchant for retaliation that had left him in more than one uncomfortable situation.

"The appeal is reading about people falling in love, while they come more fully into themselves. The characters are discovering their strength and independence while learning to be proud of who they are. It's nice to read a story where, despite the suffering, there will be a happy ending," Laura explained, giving him a look over her glasses. They knew better than most the value of a happy ending after pain and suffering. She gestured at the red mark on her neck from Adar's unwanted advances. "It's also refreshing to read a genre where a woman's wants and desires are at least respected," Laura said, her tone dry.

"You should have been romanced," Bill said sadly. He looked sharply over at Laura when she snorted.

"You did one of the most foolish and romantic things in the entire history of the Twelve Colonies by waiting for me alone in a raptor," Laura replied. Hell, she'd confessed her love for him there on the spot when he'd stepped off the craft. Her heart still fluttered thinking about his crazy stunt. He'd given up everything on the slim chance he'd find her, a dying woman, again because he couldn't live without her. It was better than any novel she'd read, and Laura felt a surge of love for her stubborn but wonderful husband at the memories. "You've always been perfect for me. What I need," she assured, reaching over and taking his hand. "You've made me happy."

I make her happy, he repeated silently to himself. They shared a look, and Bill felt his heart reassured.

Remembering the doctor's dire words, Laura couldn't hold her husband's gaze. Instead, her eyes swept through the room again. She didn't feel this the time to talk about it. While she was distracted, Bill tugged the tome away from her. He looked down and saw that it wasn't a romance.

"This is your old journal. You wrote about everything that happened after the attacks in it."

"You know, I can barely remember some of those times now. Sixteen years is a long time," she breathed. "I've looked through it all…I think we've done all we can."

"Yes," he said, setting the book on the coffee table before leaning back and putting an arm around her. "What would the title of our book be?" Bill suddenly asked, gesturing at her journal. Laura thought for a moment.

"Sine Qua Non," she replied. She smiled and knew what the first line of their book should say. "On the day the world ended, a new journey began with nothing more than a secret and a handshake."

...

Standing on Galactica, moments away from the beginning of the Peace Accords, Saul couldn't help but compare the two timelines in his mind. Trying to keep his flirtatious wife quiet in a dark corner of the museum, he decided he much preferred this timeline. This time, Ellen had willing come to the decommissioning ceremony at his invitation, stepping off the transport with a grin on her face and a bottle of ambrosia hidden in her purse. She'd flatly refused to come last time.

Earlier in the evening, instead of watching the beginning of the Peace Accords, Saul showed his wife through the exhibits of the museum. The moment she saw an opportunity, Ellen had dragged him to a dark corner of the museum in order to have her wicked way with him. She'd always be his Ellen; petty, pretty, and petulant. He loved her. It felt good knowing he'd done well enough by his Ellen in this timeline.

Straightening their clothes, the Tighs made their way to the raised dais. Bill and Laura were already there, speaking with other VIPS who were assembling. Saul noticed the same priestess from all those years ago but couldn't think of her name. He couldn't be sure, but by the expression on Laura's face, the woman didn't remember.

…

Laura sat ramrod straight in her chair, poised, and unmoving as if she'd been chiseled from pale Libran marble. She'd been dreading this day for years, and there was no halting these next grandiose moments. At this point, nothing could be done, and nothing could be undone.

President Adar had already opened the Peace Accords with a polite, political piece of flim-flam masquerading as a meaningful speech, but it delighted the masses. Everyone from Aerilon to Sagittarian must have clapped at the fluff he spouted. The Peace Accords proceeded until it was time for the decommissioning of Galactica - the last surviving warship of the first Cylon War. As the time drew nigh, officers and dignitaries moved to their chairs on the dais which was set up in Galactica's hangar bay. Laura's hands were clasped together in her lap, and they felt cold as if resisting any of the warmth struggling to seep into them.

The decommissioning began, and there were entirely too many people giving dull speeches. Laura spent most of the ceremony lost in thought as imaginary scenarios playing out in her mind. Would the Cylon Centurions on Armistice Station raise their arms and start shooting the members of the political cabinet gathered there? Would the Cylon Basestars launch nukes against the Colonies?

Finally, Laura heard herself being introduced by the Master of Ceremonies. She gracefully stood and glided toward the podium. Taking a deep breath, she saw Billy sitting down in the audience. Less than an hour ago, he'd begged his sisters over the phone to leave Picon, even getting them flights off world so they'd be in space for at least the next day. Just in case. Laura had heard the worry in his voice. He was scared. Hell, she was scared. Even Jack Cottle was scared. They all seemed to know that there were no do-overs this time.

"Museums are the tangible symbols of how we reacted to new and different things. We stand in them and allow ourselves to see our past and hopefully use the lessons it teaches us to avoid similar mistakes in the present and future…" her speech began. Although her body felt cold to the bone, her tone was as warm as the blazing sun. Despite the warmth, there were undercurrents of power in her voice, more than her lithe form and schoolteacher's words should suggest.

She spoke of the service Galactica and her crew had given, both in war and in peace, and how the ship would continue to remind people what the price of peace had cost the Colonies. It wasn't the speech the President had approved, but she was leaving office anyway. She received polite applause just like the other speakers, with a louder following among the Fleeters in the crowd. They appreciated her deference to their sacrifices. She took her seat and saw Billy grinning at her; a much better seal of approval than a sign-off from Adar.

"Thank you so much for those words of inspiration. And now it's my great honor to present to you a ceremonial, precision-formation flyby of the very last squadron of Galactica fighter pilots, led by none other than Captain Lee Adama." Laura smiled as she watched the vipers through the glass ceiling. Her stepson was there in front of the formation, zooming past at the tip of the arrowhead. Kara, who'd avoided the brig this time, was there on Lee's wing. There was something right about the two children flying together in the sky. The audience gasped and applauded, pleased by the spectacle.

The master of ceremonies approached the podium again.

"And now, it is my great pleasure to introduce the last commander of the Battlestar Galactica, a man who served on this ship as a young pilot during the years of the Cylon War, and later came back to command her and her Battlestar Group through years of peace—Admiral William Adama."

Laura, having resumed sitting elegantly and tensed in her chair, caught her husband's eye as he stood. It felt as if every ounce of breath was taken from her lungs and the world stopped for a moment. She remembered being struck by his intelligence and down-to-earth demeanor during the first ceremony, but it was his honesty that had caused her to be the first to clap back then. Giving her husband a smile of pride, she saw the nod he gave her in return. He turned and moved to the podium with deliberate movement. She wondered what her proud and unconventional Admiral was going to say.

And then he began, in that deep, rough, and commanding voice.

"The Cylon war is long over," he began, looking out, as though to meet the gaze of everyone in the crowd. "Yet we must not forget the reasons why so many sacrificed so much in the cause of freedom. The cost of wearing the uniform … can be high," Bill said and paused. He looked out at the crowd wondering if they could ever imagine what the price wearing a uniform could be. Was it possible for the posh VIPs to fathom how many had died? Could they imagine the Viper pilots jumping into their birds, knowing the second their hands touched the controls, they thought of themselves as already dead. It was easier that way. What about the stolen moments Fleeters took to try and be a family? The separations. The missed moments. Bill held the pause, letting the crowd feel uncomfortable. "Sometimes it's too high."

Bill could see members of the audience shifting with unease as he continued speaking. He blazed forward with his words, voicing truths most would rather leave unspoken. It wasn't a long speech, and he drew it to a close soon.

"...why are a people worth saving?" Bill drew a breath, letting the words that needed to be said break free. Deliberately, he left it open and applicable to both races. Why are the Colonials worth saving? Why had the Cylons eventually been worth saving?

"Sooner or later the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done."

With that, Bill Adama turned on his heels and returned to his seat. The crowd sat in a stunned silence, until his wife started clapping.

…

Doral strode through the corridors of Galactica, aware of the marine guard tailing him. He shook his head at the Colonials attempt at security; a few marine guards wouldn't be enough. The traitor was already in their midst, and he grinned when he saw her. Looking down at the papers in his hand, he maneuvered ever so slightly in the wrong direction. Perfectly out of place, he collided head on with his target, making it look accidental. He dropped the papers in his hand, and they scattered across the floor. Apologies were muttered on both sides as the two Cylons bent down to gather them up.

"Sharon," Doral greeted under his breath.

"Five," she replied in her own low whisper. Her current assignment was to be the raptor escort for Galactica's last viper squadron as they flew to Picon for reassignment. She was clothed in her flight suit and had been heading toward the hanger bay before being unceremoniously rammed by Model Five. She held her breath and waited for Doral to explain himself. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"I have your mission," Doral whispered so quietly that there was no hope of the marines overhearing them. Sharon swallowed hard but nodded.

"Go," Sharon said, gathering up some of the papers.

"Once the attacks begin, you are to kill the Secretary of Education," Doral murmured with no emotion in his tone at commanding the summary execution of someone. The orders now delivered; Doral began to stand.

"What?" Sharon asked, frozen and wide eyed on the ground. Her breath was coming out in increasingly shorter gasps. This wasn't like last time at all.

"All other members of their political cabinet are taken care of. Laura Roslin is the only loose end. Eliminate her as soon as the attacks begin," Doral growled. He'd do it himself if he could, but the Colonials hadn't let him carry weapons on his person. Checking his watch, he smiled. "Any second they'll begin. Carry out the orders however you wish. Shoot her ship down, use a gun, an airlock…" he suggested with a shrug.

"The attacks?" Sharon asked, her fingers spread wide as she braced herself against the floor. Horror crashed over her.

"Sleeper agents," Doral muttered, shaking his head in disdain. They asked too many questions in his opinion. "You have your mission," he said and stood. Giving her a nod and an apology for crashing into her, he continued moving through the corridors, having lingered almost too long.

Standing with shaking legs, Sharon gave him a crisp nod and moved casually in the other direction. Orders received, her movements said.

As soon as Doral was out of sight, she ran like the hounds of Hades were on her tail. Darting through the corridors of Galactica, she prepared to carry out her only mission, remembering all the demons in her life. Her choices, her demons, held her by the neck so tightly it felt as if they squeezed all the air out of her. Hadn't fate gotten tired of being so suffocating? Out of breath, she collided with Admiral Adama outside his own quarters. He was returning after seeing his wife onto the Colonial 798.

"Admiral! The attacks..." she panted, as he helped hold her upright. "They're gonna happen!" she exclaimed. This was, to her, the only mission she had; immediately pass on any intelligence on the Cylons as she received it.

She stood there gasping and clutching at her constricted feeling throat. Who knows how much time they had? She watched Adama's eyes go wide. "Doral, he ordered me to kill Roslin when the attacks happened. The rest of the government is…" she shook her head, panting and trying to catch her breath.

Bill's heart thundered in his chest. His wife and three sons were leaving soon to fly back to Caprica for the impending celebrations. Lee was probably already in his Viper, ready to escort the Secretary of Education back to the Colonies where she'd attend the forthcoming peace celebrations with the rest of the cabinet. The treaty would be signed any moment now. He looked at Boomer.

"You know what to do," he growled, racing to CIC.

…

On Armistice Station, President Adar signed his name on the Peace Treaty with a flourish. As Cylon Model One accepted the proffered pen from the outstretched hand of the smiling politician, he also grinned.

"Did you think…" Cavil asked as the station rumbled under their feet from a shockwave. "That we ever stopped hating you?"

…

Baltar sat watching the newscasts on the video screens. He had seen numerous flashes from his windows as he looked to the horizon, but somehow the newscast from his TV made it real. Surely, he had wanted to believe, this had all just been his imagination - the flashes outside. Maybe it was just…mining disasters. The newscasters forced him to admit the awful truth.

It was real. On one of his screens, the pretty newscaster who had interviewed him just days ago tried to keep a brave face for the viewers.

"We are trying to piece together unconfirmed reports of nuclear attacks. We don't have any further information yet. No actual enemy has been sighted…"

On the other screen, a man broadcasted from the streets of Caprica.

"The spaceports have been hit. There are no spacecraft left which can leave Caprica. Our best advice is to stay inside. If you must leave, head out into the country …" From the corner of his eyes, Baltar saw his Cylon lover look at him sadly.

"You have to go," she whispered.

...

In the cabin of the transport, a weary Laura Roslin collapsed in her seat, eyes closed. Billy sat beside her in the window seat, tired but energized, as they fastened their seatbelts and prepared to take off.

Taking her glasses off her face, Laura rubbed her forehead. Her stomach clenched, and she tasted bile in her throat. What's happening? she asked herself.

"Is everything alright Madame Secretary?" Bill asked, frowning with concern at the expression on Laura's face. Laura was able to give him a weak smile, and after a moment's hesitation nodded. It felt like something ugly was coming.

...

"Don't let the heavy-liner leave," Adama ordered as he marched into CIC. His XO's eyes snapped up to meet his. One look shared between them was enough. Bill heard Saul's muttered swearing. Nodding his understanding, the Colonel grabbed the XO's headset and started issuing orders into it.

"Get me through to Armistice Station," Bill ordered Dualla. In the few moments he waited for the connection to be made, Bill felt like electricity was surging through him. Every nerve was ignited. His muscles tensed, ready to act. Blood surged through his veins at the impending catastrophe. Outwardly, he remained stoic and calm, bracing his hands on the Tactical Table while he waited.

"No response, sir, just static," Dualla reported, puzzled. With all the people who were supposed to be currently on the station, why was there no response at all? She wondered. Bill let out the breath he'd been holding. Their President's peace had already failed.

"Get me Secretary Hector," Bill growled. Dualla nodded and began trying to place the call. After a few moments, the line connected through to Fleet Headquarters. Bill put the comm unit to his ear, but there was too much static on the line for him to understand what was happening there. Bill was about to speak when Hector beat him to the punch.

"Admiral," Hector began. "It's too late. The bombs are already falling. Cylon's aren't showing up on DRADIS." Bill heard shouting in the background. "Adama, save as many as you..." the line went dead.

Dualla looked up at him, fear in her brown eyes.

…

Stealth technology allowed Cylon raiders to park themselves alongside each Battlestar gathered at the armistice line completely unseen. Before their Commanders even had time to respond to blaring radiation alarms, the Cylons nukes were armed and detonated. Most of the Colonial Fleet fell in just a few frantic seconds. Perhaps, if the admirals and commanders had their CAPs flying, a lucky pilot could have seen the darkly plated enemy ships pushed into their space, but President Adar ordered them to stand down, not wanting to antagonize the Cylons. In the end, it was over in less than a minute.

Deeper, in the heart of Colonial space, high over the Twelve Colonies, the dark ships circled. The Cylon stealth raiders fired nuclear warheads down onto the twelve planets - a rain of death. In the void of space, the Cylons couldn't hear the screams of their human enemies. From their orbits, they eradicated humanity in a soundless ease. Flash. Flash. Flash. High in the skies, each nuclear blast could be seen.

On the planets, humanity heard the booms and felt the rush of wind before being slammed with a blaze of radiation. The air was heavy with the smell of burnt flesh, and smoke hung in a haze which turned the air orange. Their cities became skeletons and wastelands. Streams ran into the oceans, turning all water into one large pool of corruption and death. An oppressive heat rained down like the breath of Thanatos.

Terrified at the sight of the mushroom clouds and hearing their great cities fall around them, humanity ran. The fleeing multitudes of humans, their hearts failing at sight of Armageddon, were tossed and flung like rag dolls, to be entombed or engulfed. Billions of imperfect but beautiful lives came to an end.

The Fleet was powerless. The enemy didn't appear in DRADIS, and the defense grid couldn't offer any protection. Lucky viper pilots were able to get visual ID on the enemy and shoot them down, but they were quickly overwhelmed. Humanity, despite their technology and their numbers, found themselves hopelessly, hopelessly outmatched. It was over quickly for most of them.

The stealth raiders hunted and killed each traced of humanity they could find.

...

In her chamber, the Hybrid spoke.

"Seized by God, they cry in the dark of the light. Mists of dreams dribble on the nascent echo and love no more. Their ships cannot see us. Blind in the night they don't see danger until it is too late. Love outlasts death. Two leaders will rise.

Progress reports arriving. The farms of Aerilon are burning. The beaches of Canceron are burning. The plains of Leonis are burning. The jungles of Scorpia are burning. The pastures of Tauron are burning. The harbors of Picon are burning. The cities of Caprica are burning. The oceans of Aquaria are burning. The courthouses of Libran are burning. The forests of Virgon are burning. The Colonies of Man lie trampled at our feet."

…

Author's note: I'm sorry I haven't replied to reviews! It's been busy. Thank you so much for the kind words; it is reassuring to hear that people are enjoying my first fanfic.

Some dialogue taken from BSG the series and the Plan.

I'd love to hear what ya'll thought of the chapter! *Evil grin*