We're fighting for our Union,

We're fighting for our trust,

We're fighting for that happy land

Where sleeps our father's dust.

It cannot be dissevered,

Though it cost us bloody wars,

We can never give up the land,

Where floats the stripes and stars.

It was… well, it wasn't quite over, but all the work of these hard years was finally bearing fruit: Canadians, New Englanders, and representatives from both the Pacific States and the almost defunct American Union State sat around a table, drawing up terms.

Long's assassination was essentially the state's deathblow, and with no charismatic leader to follow him up, they were all too eager to beg for terms. America would never be the land of kings that Huey Long had promised… but it wouldn't be under the influence of the British king, either. New England would get some autonomy as she was brought back into the Union, and the country's relationship with Canada would be much closer than it had been before…

But no despot would rule over America. Open borders, shared research, but no king. No Caesar, no strongman in Louisiana. That was good, but a grim part of Lexington thought people would have accepted any one of the three if it meant peace.

She was ready for peace. The sword she wore now sat heavy in her hand, her uniform was uncomfortably itchy… perhaps they had felt this way before, but some bone-deep tiredness had crept up on her. An entire war's worth of sleep to catch up on…

Perhaps she should have felt offended about being left out of the peace proceedings, considering how the Pacific States depended on her during the war. The propaganda, the speeches… other shipgirls had won themselves renown, but she was part of a deliberate campaign, she was groomed for (and gladly helped to make) propaganda almost as soon as MacArthur threw his coup.

It was funny how fate interfered with your plans. Before the war, she hadn't wanted to do much more than sing and spend her free time with her sister, but she had been denied such a life.

In part, she had done it to herself. She knew that. She could have stayed some crooner, could have sung to the boys before they went off to fight, but she stepped up. The way it was looking, she had earned her place in history with that, earned herself renown far beyond what she could have received as a singer. She was a war hero, she was being asked for her opinions on policies and elections before the guns fell silent.

Where had Saratoga's older sister gone? That old dream of bringing smiles to everyone? The dream, at least, had joined countless others during the war– it was torn away. To anyone who disagreed with the new American government, Lexington's name would never bring a smile.

But it was her work that ensured children would grow up in an America not torn into ribbons by war, at least in part. Smiles were nice, being alive was better.

She knew things weren't over. The Weltkrieg raged across the sea, and the Canadians were pleading for America to join them in the fight, considering the government's stance on hardline syndicalism… it was possible. More American boys would die, and more of her fellow ships would die.

Maybe she simply wasn't made for those things. Peace, understanding, a brotherhood forged outside of the battlefield… those were things for humans, not weapons. Her livelihood depended on fighting, or the distinct possibility of it. The peace all her fellow Kansen strived for would make them obsolete, as swords were beaten into plowshares.

The more optimistic part of her thought that might be her chance. Perhaps she would live on past her hull, perhaps she could sing like she had dreamt of doing, in those bygone days.

Lexington was more of a cynic than she had been back then.

There was a knocking on the door. She had been put aside in this room so that she could be there when the photos were taken without interrupting the diplomats during their talk. She got up and adjusted her clothes a bit, considering she had gone into a bit of a slouch as she waited.

Medals jangled as she smoothed out her uniform, and she quickly slipped on her heels. Opening the door, she saw one of the officers who handled her schedule, and behind him, the President, the Canadian Minister, and… the President of New England, if such a title meant anything now.

(For a moment, she had the absurd idea of him holding all the states of New England in personal union as governor, but she figured someone had hammered out a reasonable solution.)

They smiled at her as she approached, and let her take a position a little behind them. If anyone deserved fame today, it was them, for getting the deal worked out; Lexington had a feeling she would end up catching some media attention anyway. If not for her looks, then for her upcoming meeting.

To the government, she was particularly valuable as a leader of her own sort. An agreeable Kansen to lead the Kansen, well versed in their own strange ways. So Lexington was left to figure out what would become of the shipgirls from the rebel factions… well, the ones who still existed.

The doors swung open, and cameras flashed brilliantly. It really was a good photo op, standing on the front steps of the White House. The nation was finally back together, under one president… Unless the man from New England got uppity, she supposed.

(Urgh, she shouldn't even think of bad jokes like that. The thought of fighting Montpellier came to mind and her stomach churned.)

Ranger looked different. The red hair that used to hang wild and free was now in a tight braid, the informal garb replaced with a snug grey shirt and blood-red tie. Her coat had been haphazardly tossed on a chair, and her eyes were so miserably tired…

Well, Lexington could sympathize with that. She nodded at Ranger and took off her own coat before taking a seat across from the Union State's infamous carrier. Lexington would admit someone in the Union State had been very bold, to forgo the scouting role with Ranger.

Some harebrained scheme involving cargo ship conversions– Allegheny and Cimarron, if Lexington remembered correctly– had given the AUS fleet an air arm. Not the greatest in the world, but a clever tactician could use it well… and Ranger rose absolute hell in the Caribbean. The teacher taught the world that the carrier was to be feared.

She was smart. She was cunning. She had sent Saratoga to the dock for repairs twice. And now Lexington had the edge on her. She was finally close enough to touch, as close as Lexington had wanted her to be when her fury burned red hot.

(An enemy out of visual range was incredibly frustrating, as a battlecruiser.)

And for the life of her, Lexington couldn't make herself mad. Anger… anger was too exhausting. They sat at the same table and tried to find words while ignoring the photographer who had crept inside behind them.

"You look just like you did in the papers." Ranger sighed.

"I didn't know I was that popular."

"Oh, the Union State would have never printed a picture of you," Ranger shook her head, "But they gave me photographs. For analysis."

"Analysis." Lexington drawled. "Did any of the boys engage in analysis?"

She wasn't quite sure if it was going to work, but sure enough, Ranger chuckled. Her ear for innuendo certainly hadn't gone away. "I don't think they ever caught anyone using one of your photos…"

"They caught someone?" Lexington asked. That sounded like one hell of a story…

"Someone had gotten their hands on a photograph of Penny. You could hear the officer's shouting from the other side of the base." They both laughed a bit. "Speaking of, how is…?"

"The scuttling wasn't as bad as we thought, and she made it through fine…"

"I'm glad to hear it. Will she… face consequences?"

"She took the same deal I'm about to give you," Lexington said, grabbing a sheaf of paperwork. "Preferably, you confess your treason and swear to serve the true United States Navy until the end of your days. Otherwise, you serve a prison term and help Kansen research as part of your penal labor."

"Those are the only two options?"

Lexington sighed. "There is a third…" She trailed off. A few of the more zealous girls had already taken that option… or their crews had done the job for them.

"The prison sentence means no fighting?"

"Cube research, helping with repair work, but no fighting."

Ranger gulped. "It's a better deal than we deserve, isn't it?" She reached for a pen.

Admittedly, the paperwork wasn't quite as important, considering the funny sort of status of shipgirls, but high command understood that they had their own way of doing things. Fleet cohesion depended on their relationships, and it was best if they reached their peace without meddling.

Eventually, they reached a satisfying conclusion. Ranger had an address she could give to her comrades that she was satisfied with, and Lexington had accepted a few of her more reasonable demands. A handshake, some photographs…

Soon enough, they were putting their coats back on and heading for the door. "Would you like to get dinner somewhere? I've heard the restaurants have gotten back into the swing of things."

Ranger chuckled. "On your dime, I'd hope? I'm afraid the Union dollars in my wallet are worthless."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find some way to repay me." Lexington grinned.

She flushed. "I owe you already."

And when this war is over,

We'll each resume our home,

And treat you still as brothers,

Wherever you may roam.

We'll pledge the hand of friendship,

And think no more of war,

But dwell in peace beneath the flag

That bears the stripes and stars.

Tennessee could hear someone's heels. Click, click, click. She supposed it was time, then. She figured she wouldn't be given the courtesy of goodbyes now.

A prison cell…. If it was at sea, she could handle that. She had made her peace with it just about as soon as she sailed out to fight. But dying in a prison or at the gallows? It didn't feel like a warrior's way to go.

Someone opened the door, and Tennessee looked up to see Lexington herself staring down at her. A sword was still at her hip and she was still in uniform, although her hair was down from that infamous bun. Tennessee wasn't sure why she was focusing on fashion when the sword was right there.

"Good evening, Tennessee."

"Evenin', Lexington. Is it time?" She stood up, little bits of dried blood on her fingers shaking themselves loose.

"Sit." She ordered.

"What?"

"Sit."

"Frankly, I don't see a point in beatin' around the bush–"

"You're not dying tonight unless you do something very stupid, Tennessee."

"As stupid as punching one of your navy's officers?"

"... About that stupid, yes." Lexington took a look at Tennessees' hands and sighed, pulling out a handkerchief from her breast pocket. After dabbing it in a cup of water– courtesy of Tennessee's magnanimous guards– she reached out towards Tennessee. "Your hand?"

"What?"

"Your hand. The part below your wrist?"

After a moment, Tennessee held out her right hand, and Lexington cleaned the dried blood away. The damp towel was chilly, and as she worked it was smudged pink.

"Thanks."

"Well, we can't have you eating with dirty hands, can we?"

And then they were having dinner. They were still on the base where she had been imprisoned, but Lexington had pulled her to an out-of-the-way little spot, and an officer brought food. Good-looking food, even. The problem was that there were portions for one with just a glass in front of Lexington.

Tennessee shot her a look and didn't touch her food.

"Do you really think we'd stoop to something like poison, Tennessee? We do have some respect for you."

"Then where's your food?"

"I already ate with Ranger earlier."

"Ranger?" Tennessee asked.

"Yes. The paperwork's been signed. The Union State no longer exists, and Ranger is a carrier of the United States Navy."

It was… over, then. Of course, Tennessee knew that, but hearing it confirmed, knowing that the politicians who had made such tremendous promises had signed the state away, was an entirely different matter. She took a sip of the wine. Napa Valley vintage. Californian.

"Tennessee?"

"Damn it. Damn it!"

Lexington stared at her from across the table. "I'm sorry."

"Damn you…"

This felt more cruel than the prison cell. Despite years of rationing and an almost instinctual hatred of waste, she couldn't bring herself to eat the food on a plate before her.

The silence stretched on a bit longer. "Ranger jumped ship, huh?"

"Realizing when you've lost the fight is a good trait in a leader."

"You sound impressed."

"I am. She's brilliant," Lexington smiled. "She's going to advise me about carrier tactics."

Another flunky for Lexington's retinue, huh? Tennessee had heard hints of it all the way in the Union State, the specific members of Lexington's own fleet… Tennessee realized where she was, exactly. Alone, eating and drinking with Lexington. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I've heard about how you talk to the girls in your fleet–"

Lexington laughed. "I am not allowed to talk to women now? I'll have to inform my secretary."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't, Tennessee. If you think there's some fault in my character, I'd like to know. The papers are very interested in me, you know. I need to show the public my best face."

Pink was a pretty strange eye color, really. Tennessee noticed this because of the stare that Lexington was giving her. The Pacific's Pride… she had the means to keep things hidden. Sway, to protect her carefully cultivated image.

Tennessee gulped and decided she probably wanted to sober. "Can I have some water?"

"Of course." Lexington smiled and stood up from her chair. "You really shouldn't take stock in rumors, by the way."

"You aren't…?"

"Oh, I am. I just don't have the capacity for a whole fleet, you know?" She grinned roguishly. "Would you like ice?"

"Yeah."

While Lexington was gone, Tennessee did some thinking. A martyr's death was romantic, but it wouldn't get anything done now, other than sowing a bit more resentment. Oh, fighting would absolutely cause the same resentment, but she'd be working. Doing something.

She had made up her mind by the time Lexington had returned. "So what are the specifics of the deal?"

"You do cube research as a prisoner, or you confess your treason against the United States and then join the navy and fight."

The thought of saying everything she had fought and bled for these past few years was just… treason… it was galling. It made her want to lunge across the table. Though the drying ink on whatever treaty those suits signed confirmed it. She sighed.

"Alright. You've got me. Is it a blanket pardon?"

"Assuming you didn't commit some war crime we're unaware of, yes," Lexington said. "But you understand that a pardon is no guarantee of forgiveness?"

"Of course I do."

"Just so you're aware, the rapprochement policies apply to the dead. Proper military burials for all of them."

"Thank you."

The fearful struggle's ended now, and peace smiles on our land,

And though we've yielded, we've proved ourselves a faithful band.

We fought them well, we fought them hard, we fought them night and day…