Apollo set the lump of clay carefully aside when the door announced a visitor. "Come in," he called, reaching for a towel to wipe his hands. Somehow he hadn't realized quite how messy sculpting in clay could be, but he was enjoying this new experiment despite the slippery goo.

"Apollo? Where are you?" Great. It was his father. He tossed the towel onto his workbench and joined his father in the main living area.

"Hello, Father. What brings you here?"

"I've brought good news, son," Commander Adama said. As usual, he appeared ill at ease in his son's personal domain. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he stood in the middle of the floor, as far away as possible from anything. Apollo's mouth twitched with a wry little twist. The Commander was only truly at home on a warship. The austere decor of a battlestar involved nothing unnecessary, nothing that was there simply because it was nice to look at or comfortable to sit on. Here in Apollo's home he was out of his element, surrounded by casual elegance.

"Good news for you, or for me?" Apollo asked lightly. His experience of "good news" had not always been pleasant.

"Good for both of us." Adama smiled and made a visible effort to relax. "You've been assigned to the Battlestar Galactica."

"But that's your ship!" Apollo blurted out before he could stop himself. Adama's smile grew.

"Yes, it is—isn't that wonderful? The family will all be together now."

"Yes, wonderful," Apollo agreed numbly. He sat on the arm of his couch as a twist of dread settled firmly into his lower abdominal area. The whole family, save Siress Ila, together again—trapped in the confines of a battlestar and under Adama's watchful eye. Lovely. For a brief moment, he wondered if Athena had ever matured enough to pull her own weight on a warship, or was she still the silly flitterhead he remembered? And Zac—lords help him, he loved his brother, but would he survive another one of his practical jokes? "How did that come about? I thought the waiting list for a commission on the Galactica was yahrens long."

"It is," Adama replied smugly. He settled carefully on a deeply cushioned chair, eyebrows rising with faint alarm as he continued to sink into the embrace of the cushions. Apollo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "But based on your exemplary service record, I recommended that you be considered for the position of Strike Captain. High command reviewed your record and agreed."

"Well. What can I say." Actually, he could think of plenty to say, but nothing his father wanted to hear.

"You could start with 'thank you,'" Adama said, a hint of a frown clouding his features.

"Yes. Thank you, Father. I'm sure it will be... wonderful." As usual, the irony in his voice was lost on Adama.

"What is wrong with you, son?" Adama struggled out of the deep chair to pace the room. "You never show any sign of ambition. Any normal Captain would be overjoyed at the chance to serve on the flagship of the fleet. But not you—oh no, not you. You just sit there and say thank you, as though you really mean damn you. What is your problem?"

Apollo smiled, a bitter little smile. "Nothing, Father. Nothing at all."

Adama halted and picked up a small framed painting off an end table. He brandished it like a weapon. "It's this, isn't it. All this—this— he gestured about the room, struggling for words. "This art." He said it like a dirty word. "Art, and music... and writing. I should never have allowed you to continue wasting your time with this stuff. It's garbage, that's all it is, and what's worse it's unmanned you, made you into a sniveling sissy."

"That's enough, Father," Apollo snapped, voice gone to steel. "Put the painting down." Looking faintly surprised, Adama did so. "If you'll remember, you did not let me continue 'wasting my time,' as you put it. Or have you forgotten already, how you forced me to go through the Academy? I haven't."

"It was for your own good-"

"Don't give me that felgercarb, Father!" Apollo rose to his feet as well, consumed by an old anger and resentment. "If you gave a damn about my own good, you'd want to see me happy! But no, all you want is someone to distinguish the family name, to follow in your footsteps. Well, I'm doing like you made me, Father. I'm being a good little boy, got lots of nice medals. But damned if I'm going to go out there scrambling for power when all I want is to be left to myself!"

"Of all the ungrateful brats-"

"Knock it off, Father," Apollo said, utterly fed up with the whole mess. "I'll go serve on your ship, and I'll even do a damn good job of it, but there's nothing you can do to make me like it. Now would you please leave? I was in the middle of another useless art project."

Adama spluttered and stared at Apollo as though he'd grown horns. Apollo stared right back. He was a grown man now, there was no reason he had to let his father bully him in his own home. "Fine, then. See that you're on the shuttle at 0700 tomorrow."

Adama left, and Apollo sank onto his couch with a sigh. He rested his head on his arms for a moment, willing the pounding tension headache to go away. It didn't. So he returned to his study and picked up his clay again.

It had dried while his father had been giving him hell. He started to wet it back down, but couldn't work up any enthusiasm for the project. After the third time of destroying the shape and starting over, he squashed the clay into a formless lump and threw it back into the bin. He stared at the wall in front of him for a moment, muttering resentfully, then stood and went to wash his hands. He had a lot of packing to do, as well as a lot of work around the house to ensure that things would be alright while he was gone.

Starbuck woke from a strangling nightmare of terror with a cry, automatically reaching for the comforting warmth of Orion—even though he knew Orion would never be there again. There in the darkness and privacy of his cabin—which had once belonged to Orion, and even now held strong echoes of his presence—he felt safe in allowing his grief free reign, and curled around his pillow in abject misery. How was he supposed to survive this? He should be dead, alongside Orion as was his right and responsibility. Never leave your wingman, a principle which had been drilled into him from the very beginning of flight training. But what was one to do when his wingman was also his Captain, and ordered him to stay away? Starbuck writhed in the agony of memory, hearing Orion's voice for the last time on that private channel: You stay out of this one, Starman, I'm going in alone. Cover Risha—she's just out of the Academy, can't handle this on her own... And then, later: I'm hit! Oh frack, Starbuck, I'm hit in the guidance system and I can't pull up! But by damn, I'm taking this bitch out with me... I love you, my Starman... And then nothing. Nothing but a vast silence over channel 18, and all other channels—nothing but a great expanding ball of gas and debris which had once been a Cylon baseship and a single Colonial Viper.

Frack. He knew what the counselors would say—had said, in fact. But the whole "remember him as he lived, not as he died" song and dance was just a load of felgercarb. None of them understood; none of them wanted to understand. And if he told them why he was so devastated, that Orion had not just been friend and wingman, but lover as well, then he would be a true outcast. Wasn't it bad enough that some of his pilots thought he'd let the Captain die on purpose, so he could slide into the command? The very idea tore through his guts with a blade of red hot agony. They just didn't understand.

But soon it would be better. He'd put in for a transfer, for the first available opening on any battlestar. His Commander had been understanding, and promised to speed the request through the usual felgercarb and get it to where it would do some good. Perhaps it would come through soon, with his new assignment. There was nothing for him here, anymore... every aspect of the Columbia reminded him of Orion.

"Permission to come aboard, sir," Apollo said, following the ancient formula without showing even a hint of his displeasure.

"Permission granted, Captain," Adama said, pride gleaming in his eyes. Apollo stepped over the symbolic white line marking the boundary of the Galactica off from the shuttle and sighed. Well, at least it looked like his father wasn't mad anymore. Probably too impressed by the sight of another of his offspring all done up in dress uniform, with medals gleaming on his chest.

Apollo took refuge in military protocol, allowing it to sweep him along and install him in his new command without any need for personal interaction with his family. As soon as he reached his new quarters and unpacked, he made his way to his ready room and began reading up on his new pilots. As Strike Captain, he was in overall command of the six fighter squadrons of the Galactica—Red, Blue, Yellow, Black, Green, and White. Each squadron contained twenty men. That was a lot of personnel files to read...

That evening, Apollo was unable to avoid the formal welcoming dinner. It was standard procedure, for higher ranked officers, and a royal pain in his behind. Apollo smiled and acted as though he was pleased to be there, while he made the acquaintance of the senior officers and their wives. He suffered endless repetitions of the ancient saying—privates don't seal, lieutenants can seal, captains must seal—until he was ready to strangle the next person who said the word "seal." And then he was expected to be polite and dance with the daughters of highly-placed officers until the night grew old... Fortunately, he was able to beg off the dancing fairly soon, on the grounds that his duty shift started early in the morning.

Apollo made his way back to his new quarters with a sense of reprieve. He'd survived the evening, and his father hadn't once caused a scene. Whew.

Apollo leaned back in his chair and stretched in an attempt to relieve his aching back. The stress of this situation was really getting to him—the command itself wasn't too bad, in fact it was kind of nice to be in charge of the strike force on a battlestar. There were few who would dare to question his decisions, a definite improvement over being a mere Captain in a sea of other Captains back on Caprica. There, he was just another officer. Here, his opinions mattered. His decisions were the ones that were listened to, rather than passed over in favor of someone older, more experienced—or more conventional. But aside from the benefits of authority, he still had to deal with the human aspect of the command. His pilots weren't too thrilled with him at all. After a few sectons of settling in and adjusting to each other, they thought of him as cold, remote, uncaring—although even the most critical of them admitted he got the job done well.

Apollo's eye fell on the file he'd been avoiding. With a sigh, he straightened and returned to work. No sense putting off his duty any longer, it wasn't going to go away. He opened the file and began to read.

It was a personnel profile on the new Lieutenant who was transferring over from the Battlestar Columbia. Apparently, this Lieutenant Starbuck was having personal problems with the crew—something about the circumstances of his wingman's death in battle. Of course, the wingman also happened to be the Captain, which added a whole new dimension to things—no wonder the guy wanted a transfer. Apollo knew from experience that the men could make life quite uncomfortable when they wanted to.

Hmm... what was this? A history of insubordination, not following orders, barely passed through the Academy. Apollo frowned. With a record like that, how in hells had the man made Lieutenant? Ah yes, here it was. Field promotion, for exceptional valor and leadership abilities. Apollo checked the date—wasn't that...? Yes, that was the day his Captain had died. Suddenly, the reasons for requesting a transfer made even more sense. A troublemaker, probably not too well liked, lets his wingman—the Captain—get killed in action, then takes over and receives a promotion he never would have merited otherwise. Assuming the Captain had been reasonably popular, that wouldn't go over very well at all. The men would probably make life a living hell for Lieutenant Starbuck.

But what was this? A further note, appended to the official file: "Be aware that many of the problems stem from personal reasons, which cannot be part of the official record. Keep an eye on this one." It bore the signature of the Chief Personnel Officer of the Columbia.

Apollo rubbed his head. He could feel his earlier headache returning with a vengeance. His father had been riding him again about finding a wife. Couldn't he understand Apollo didn't want a wife?

There was a knock at the door. Apollo hastily closed the file and smoothed his hair down. "Come in."

The door slid open to reveal the new Lieutenant. Tall, blond hair, blue eyes—must be a great one for the ladies. But the body language indicated someone who was ill at ease, someone who would rather be anywhere else than here. And the guarded, defensive look in his eyes was enough to put Apollo on alert. This one would be trouble, no doubt about it.

"Lieutenant Starbuck," Apollo said. The man nodded. He stood, hands behind his back, in something approaching the proper manner. "I understand you've been assigned to the Galactica."

"So they tell me." His voice was tense, cautious. He expected trouble as well.

"I've been reading your file," Apollo said. There was no reaction. "I'll have you know that there will be no trouble here, understood?" He stared at the man until he nodded. "I'm placing you in command of Red Squadron. They've been leaderless for the last two sectons due to a Cylon mishap. You'll report directly to me. For the first sectar, you're on probation—just a normal procedure, to make sure all goes smoothly."

"Yes, sir," Starbuck said. His eyes focused on a point somewhere above Apollo's head.

The band of pain tightened around Apollo's temples. Just what he needed, an attitude problem... "There's a note here on your file about problems you've been having with your old squadron. Anything more you'd care to add?"

"No, sir."

"It wasn't a question, Lieutenant." Apollo felt like swearing. "Tell me why you requested a transfer."

Starbuck's calm cracked for a moment, allowing a flash of raw pain to show through. "I couldn't remain with Gold Squadron under the circumstances. Sir."

"Elaborate, Lieutenant."

"The men—blamed—me, for the death of..." Starbuck stopped, swallowed hard. Apollo didn't press him for a long moment—clearly the man was upset.

"And was it your fault?" He didn't allow his own tone to waver, didn't allow the fact that he suspected it was indeed Starbuck's fault to color his voice.

"No!" The response was immediate and emphatic. The Lieutenant actually looked directly at Apollo in his distress, with pain-filled eyes. "I would never let anything happen to Orion! He was my Captain, my wingman, my... friend. He took off on his own, told me to cover Risha since it was Risha's first battle—he went and made a try for the baseship's exhaust port while we were engaged by a flight of Raiders. They had us outnumbered three to one. He sent me a final message, just before he—" Starbuck paused for a moment, swallowed hard. "He said he'd been hit, his guidance system was out, and he couldn't pull up. Then he—impacted—with the baseship, and..."

Apollo kept his face stern, didn't allow it to show even a hint of sympathy. At least his original impression had been wrong. The man struggling to contain his emotions in front of him was not the kind of opportunistic backstabber that would climb the ranks by all means, fair or foul. "And this led to troubles among the men, when you were promoted and put in command over them?"

"Yes. They—didn't understand, thought I'd allowed Orion to go alone on purpose—" Apollo's eyebrow twitched "—and they were giving me hell." He paused for a moment, attention returned to that fascinating spot above Apollo's head. "Is that all? Can I go now?"

Apollo stared at Starbuck for a long moment. "You have nothing more to add?"

A shake of the head.

"Then you may go, with the understanding that there will be no problems here. Report for duty at the beginning of first shift tomorrow. Dismissed."

Starbuck turned and left so quickly it was nearly an insult. Apollo sighed and relaxed back into his chair, hands over his eyes. Why could life never be simple?

Shit.

That was the only word running through Starbuck's mind for a long moment after he left Captain Prick's—er, Apollo's—office. Shit. What in all hells had he gotten himself into? A situation where his new Captain had been told how awful he was, where he was going to watch every damn move Starbuck made... and worse yet, where he was actually expected to take command of a squadron and follow the rules.

Shit.

What a disaster. He paused briefly to get his bearings—while all battlestars were essentially the same, there were slight differences in each—then proceeded on towards his new quarters. He would have been better off staying on the Columbia.

Starbuck shook his head, something forcing him to be honest with himself. No, he wouldn't have been better on the Columbia, because there everyone was suspicious of him, of his motives, of everything he did. Here, at least, no one gave a fat damn about why he had left his wingman alone to die, other than Captain Prick—who had likely just been testing to see if Starbuck was an ambitious boray. He ignored the familiar ache in his chest and located his assigned room. Lucky him, officers got private quarters, a luxury he had had much need of over the past few weeks. He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had he still lived in the barracks and woken up from nightmares sobbing like a baby.

This place would be different, by damn—he would make it different. He was here for a minimum of two yahrens, according to the commission he'd accepted. He would make this place work better for him, wouldn't alienate the warriors. There could be no cries of favoritism here—one good thing about Apollo coming across as such a prick, anyway. No resentment, no accusations... it was going to work out just fine.

"Wait a minute... what did you just say?" Apollo blinked with surprise. Surely he'd misheard that last statement.

"You heard right. The Cylons are suing for peace, and the Council has decided to accept their treaty." Adama's face twisted, showing clearly how the old warrior felt about this peace with their ancient enemy.

"Peace," Apollo repeated incredulously. "With the Cylons. The folk who, a bare two sectons ago, destroyed two of our battlestars."

"It sounds suspicious to me too, son." Adama ran a hand through his hair. "That's why I'm sending you and Zac—I figure you two have the best chance of anyone to find out if there's anything going on, hidden behind this sudden call for peace."

Apollo felt a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach. "Zac? But he's never—"

"He's never flown a real mission, yes, I know." Adama brushed away Apollo's concern with irritation. "But you and he together make an effective team, and I can trust you both to discover the truth."

"Very well, Father," Apollo sighed. Looked like he was stuck with his younger brother—there was no changing his father's mind once he got a notion planted in that stubborn head of his.

"What's worst about this situation is that we were the last to know. They've already announced the peace to the press—" the unspoken words damn them were as loud as a shout "—and all of the colonies are preparing celebrations. The Council only saw fit to inform me of this decision tonight, a mere two centares before the event itself. So you need to get yourself and Zac ready. You'll need to launch within the centare, to reach the ambassadors you're supposed to escort in to the Atlantia."

"Well," Apollo said lightly, "at least now we know why they ordered us to make such a poor tactical move as to have all five remaining battlestars in one place."

"Yes. And that is why I have such grave misgivings. Go now, son."

Apollo needed no further urging. He left his father's command office and returned to the pilot's quarters through a maze of corridors and turbolifts. Zac was nowhere to be found.

"Anyone seen Zac?" he inquired of the pilots lounging at ease in the barracks.

"Think he's off with that new Lieutenant," Jolly replied.

"Thanks." Apollo left the barracks and made his way to the officer's quarters. Great, just what he needed, another run-in with Starbuck. Only on board the Galactica for three sectons, and already he was causing a fuss. He knocked on the door, which slid open to reveal Starbuck.

"Hello," Apollo said awkwardly. So far, he'd scarcely seen the new Lieutenant, except to chew his ass over some new incident. "I heard I might find my brother here?"

"Yeah." Starbuck stepped aside, revealing Zac seated at the table with an interrupted game of pyramid in progress.

"Hey, Apollo!" Zac said cheerfully. "Shall we deal you in?"

"I'm afraid not, Zac," Apollo said. "I need you now, for a mission. Father says there's to be peace with the Cylons—" Starbuck's disbelieving gasp was clearly audible. "Yeah, I know. But anyway, we're supposed to fly out and escort the ambassadorial party back to the Atlantia. Only Father feels that there's something not quite right, and he wants us to sniff it out."

"Excellent!" Zac's face shone with excitement. He tossed his cards to the table and rose. "Starbuck, guess we'll have to finish the game later."

"Yeah." Starbuck smiled with real affection. "Get out of here, kid—you've got a job to do."

Zac was already on his way out the door. "Coming, Apollo?"

"Right behind you."

They were on the way within the centare, as ordered. Apollo tried to ignore Zac's cheerful rambling. Really, how could the kid be so happy all the time? He kept his eyes on his instruments and only half an ear on Zac.

"Check this out," he interrupted, as Zac was going on about how excellent Lieutenant Starbuck was, and how he was learning to play pyramid, and how they were going to take next secton's pay down to the surface on their leave-days and gamble, and... "There's something odd up ahead. We need to go in closer."

"After you, brother!" Zac said, without missing a beat.

There was a tanker ahead, floating in the depths of a cloud of space dust. What the frack? Apollo couldn't get a clear reading on any of his instruments. His suspicious nature thoroughly aroused, he sent his Viper speeding for the other side of the tanker—only to encounter Cylons. "Frack! Let's get out of here, little brother!"

They turned tail and ran, Cylons in hot pursuit. Apollo and Zac destroyed a few of the Raiders, and Zac took a hit in one of his engines. Just when Apollo thought all was going well and they would escape with their lives intact, wave after wave of fighters appeared on their radar, coming free of the distortion of the space dust.

"Apollo—" Zac's voice, scared but steady, broke into Apollo's swearing as he stared at his readout. "You need to warn the fleet."

"What? Zac, I'm not leaving you."

"Someone has to do it—I can't make it back in time, not with this engine. You have to warn them. You're their only hope. I'll be okay."

"Zac—" Apollo was torn. He knew his duty, but this was his brother here, asking to be abandoned to the Cylons. Annoying though the kid could be, he was still his brother. "I can't leave you here."

"Yes, you can." Zac was calm, more calm than Apollo. "I'm telling you, I'll be alright. I'll make it back, just not in time to warn them. You have to go."

Apollo hesitated a long moment more, while more Cylon Raiders appeared on his radar. His brother's life, against the thousands in the fleet... how was he supposed to decide that? "You can fly with me anytime, little brother," he said softly, then punched his turbo.

Apollo made it back to the Galactica and raced to the bridge, pausing along the way to sound the alert. He reached the bridge and made his report, noticing but not paying attention to the unnatural silence. Then he turned to leave, and Colonel Tigh stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to go back, I have to help Zac—" Then he saw the look on his father's face. "Zac?"

Adama shook his head, started to say something—couldn't.

"Zac's ship was destroyed just short of the fleet," Tigh said quietly.

Destroyed? The world spun. His brother? Destroyed?

Apollo wasn't sure what happened next. He was vaguely aware of his father, of Athena—of the silent accusation in Adama's eyes, which matched his own guilt. I left him to die.

He tore away from his family and raced through the corridors back to the Viper bays, guilt hounding him the entire way. I left him to die. He was in his Viper and launched into the middle of the battle before he realized that was his intention. Once in space, his mind cleared. There were Cylons everywhere, the Cylons who had killed his brother. He sank gladly into the madness of battle, taking out his grief and anger on the enemy.

At some point during the battle, he became aware that the Galactica was disengaging. Part of him watched in horrified disbelief as the great ship turned majestically and left, abandoning her warriors in the field. The rest of him cackled in mad glee and returned to the business of destruction. What did it matter if the Galactica left? What of it, if he died out here? Surely he deserved no better, he who had abandoned his brother to die alone, facing overwhelming odds.

Somehow, he survived. The Galactica returned, to collect the few survivors from the horrific battle. Less than two full squadrons limped into the landing bays of a ship designed to carry six—survivors from every battlestar in the fleet, none of which had made it through the engagement. Apollo retreated into the privacy of his own quarters, abandoning his duty to others with clearer heads, although now he was not the only one suffering from a loss. Nearly everyone on the Galactica had lost a friend, a family member, a spouse—not to mention the few unfortunates who had survived the loss of their entire battlestars. Even the news of the near-complete annihilation of the colonies didn't affect Apollo, beyond adding more grief for the loss of his mother.

"Captain Apollo, sir?"

A voice broke the stillness of his office, and Apollo looked up from his reports, startled. A woman stood in his doorway, one he recognized as a reporter from the now-defunct Colonial News Service.

"Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you might be available for an interview, about the state of the fleet." The woman—he thought her name was Serina—entered the rest of the way into his office.

Apollo forced a pleasant, polite smile onto his face. Really, that was the last thing he wanted to talk about! "I'm sorry, but you need to speak with the PR officer, not me."

"Oh, him," Serina gestured dismissively. "I already talked to him, and all he had to say was 'No comment.' I need something more than that for my story."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. If the PR officer has no comment, then neither do I." Apollo shuffled the papers on his desk, hoping she'd get the hint and leave. She didn't. "If you'll excuse me...?"

"Oh! Oh, yes—you must be a very busy man." She smiled at him.

"Yes, I am," he agreed, opening a file. "I have a great deal of work to do."

"I don't suppose you ever have any free time?"

Apollo blinked. What in the world... "Of course I have free time, just not very much of it. Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering," she smiled. "Perhaps we can get together some time, when you're not so busy."

"Yes. Perhaps we can." Apollo returned his attention pointedly to his reports, and after a moment she sighed and left.

Later that evening, when Serina was back in her quarters, she commed Adama. "You were right, sir," she said, eyes shining. "He agreed to see me again!"

Adama smiled. "He's a good boy, just a little shy sometimes," he said. "You need to take the lead with him, or things will never get off the ground, no matter how much you both want them to. Good luck, my dear."

Adama signed out, leaving Serina to sigh happily at the thought of the Commander's handsome son—all hers, if she played her cards right.

Serina planned her evening very carefully. Boxey, she sent over to his new friend Adama's. The old man just loved his future grandson. Serina smiled. She intended to do everything within her power to make it so. And to that effect, the new outfit she'd purchased. Somehow or another, the merchant ship Clarion had survived the Destruction, and was now supplying the fleet with fine wares—for those with the cubits to pay for them. Adama had helped out there, too. When the old man set his heart on something, he would let nothing stand in the way of getting it.

Now for the big challenge—the son. The reluctant son, who had to be pushed and prodded into action, but who Adama swore was just shy. She punched his code into the comm.

"Hello?"

"Apollo? It's Serina."

A brief pause, and then, "Serina? Oh! Hello."

"I have a small dilemma, Captain," she smiled. Oh yes, she was going to get him good with this one...

"What's wrong?"

"I have tickets to the dramatic presentation tonight, on the Rising Star, but I have no escort."

"Oh, my. Well, that does seem to be a problem." He paused, and Serina could picture him smiling. "What is playing tonight?"

"It's the new production of 'The War of the Gods,'" she replied, with a predatory smile of her own. She knew that would get him. Adama had said that he was interested in the arts and history. Put both of them together and it should prove an irresistible lure.

"And had you anyone in mind for the other ticket?"

Yes, she had him now, for sure. That was definite longing in his voice. "Perhaps, Captain, if you have nothing better to do—"

"What time, and where shall we meet?" The eagerness in his voice made her laugh aloud with delight. Yes, this evening would go very well indeed.

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Lieutenant Starbuck asked as the shuttle left the Galactica.

"And where were you during the briefing?" Apollo snapped. Starbuck was the last person he would have wanted beside him on this mission, but he'd had very little choice in the matter.

"Right beside you, as you well know." Starbuck was equally snippy.

"Then you should damn well remember they wanted high ranking officers to go—hence, the Commander and the two warriors in direct command of the fighting force. Got that?"

"Yes, Captain." The snide tone made Apollo want to smack the man, but he didn't. "What I meant was, why are they sending military personnel at all? Wouldn't a Council member or three be a better choice, and have enough rank to be impressive?"

"On the surface, yes—but after the Destruction, the Council's authority is at an all-time low. The bloody idiots in the seats now couldn't make a decision to save their pathetic lives."

"Agreed, I suppose—but this still sucks."

Privately, Apollo agreed with the Lieutenant. However, there was nothing he could do. They'd been assigned to this task, and there was no escaping it.

Apollo maneuvered the shuttle through the atmosphere, fighting against the persistent waves of heat. The planet below them gleamed golden over most of its land mass, with the vivid blue oceans shining in sharp contrast. He wondered again how people could survive on this barren world, much less build a great, albeit low-tech, empire. He set the shuttle down at the coordinates he'd been given, then spent a moment staring in awe at the vast monuments surrounding him.

Colossal almost beyond human comprehension, a pyramid loomed directly overhead. As far as the eye could see, lesser—although still mammoth—monuments rose, challenging the heavens for supremacy. Nearly insignificant in the shadow of the great pyramids were other structures, which would have been impressive by themselves.

Behind him, Apollo heard Adama's startled intake of breath. "By the Lords..."

"Yes, well, there's people coming to meet us, and they don't look too friendly." Starbuck was not impressed by the pyramids. The only pyramid he was ever impressed by was a perfect pyramid, in a high-stakes game. These hulks of stone held no interest for him. He unfastened his harness and made his way to the door of the shuttle. "Coming? Or do you want me to handle this diplomatic felgercarb for you?"

Apollo hastily undid his harness and rose. That was the last thing he wanted!

Outside, they were met by a welcoming committee. Apollo blinked and tried not to stare at their garb—both men and women wore nothing other than a white garment similar to a loincloth, which hung just above their knees, leaving both the sides of their legs and their entire upper bodies bare. An irreverent thought occurred to Apollo—aw, poor old dad, bet his prejudices are giving him hell right now!—but he managed to keep his face straight. Then the people in front of him split into two columns, facing inwards, and stood like statues as a man in a gauzy turquoise robe strode gracefully forward, carrying a staff taller than he was.

"Greetings," he said, in a mellifluous tenor voice. "And welcome to Bel'akor, and the court of the God-King, Pharaoh Anekhsut."

Adama stepped forward and bowed. "We are honored to be here, Pharaoh." He stumbled over the unfamiliar word. There was a faint gasp from the twenty men and women aligned behind the man in turquoise, who looked utterly shocked. Then he chuckled.

"Nay, stranger, I am not the Divine One. I am merely Anekh-sa, the herald, come to bid you travelers welcome to the Court and show you to your quarters."

Apollo and Starbuck shot puzzled glances at each other, while Adama bowed again and apologized for his mistake. Quarters?

They were led past the great pyramid and down a paved avenue lined with colossal pillars. Apollo fought the urge to stare around him like a little child, lost in the wonder of this marvelous architecture. Starbuck, true to form, was unaffected by the grandeur, although even he paused for a moment before following Anekh-sa into the building identified as the Hall of the God-Kings.

Steps of gleaming white stone contrasted with the prevailing golden color of the sands, leading up into a long, rectangular building, graced with gilded golden columns. Precious metals and gems gleamed decorously from the carvings at the lintels, and the enormous doors opened onto a fabulous world of wonders. Before leading them inside, the herald paused. His train of followers immediately froze into position as though they were human statues.

"You are about to enter the presence of divinity. You must be aware of how rare it is, that strangers are allowed to see the Pharaoh. Speak only if you are spoken to, and then do so with utmost respect. And remember as well, that staring at the Divine One is unforgivably rude. Do as I do, and you may survive this interview."

Without another word, Anekh-sa led them inside.

Survive?

Apollo kept his attention focused sharply on the herald. This was turning out to be a far more complex mission than he'd expected.

Inside, the grandeur became simply too much. Even Apollo's appreciation for beauty was simply overwhelmed by the throne room of the God-King. Everything was covered in gold. The glitter overwhelmed the eye, although there was a pleasant stream of cool air from somewhere which made the place a welcome change from the heat of the rest of the palace. At the end of a long walkway of mirror smooth black stone, a throne rose high above the floor on a pedestal. Apollo and Starbuck exchanged glances. The similarity to the command center of a Cylon baseship was striking. Atop the pedestal rested a still figure, hidden beneath ornate robes of state and an elaborate headdress. Cold eyes stared directly ahead. No expression showed on what was visible of the flawless face.

The herald strode forward to precisely twenty paces from the foot of the pedestal and halted. He bowed deeply before the Pharaoh. Instantly, his followers fell to their knees. The three Galacticans bowed as well, mindful of the earlier warning.

Anekh-sa straightened and rapped three times on the floor with his staff. "Divine One, here are the visitors You requested brought into Your presence," he announced.

The figure on the pedestal made no move of acknowledgement.

"What are your wishes?"

"They who have walked the stars shall be treated as honored guests. Tend them well, and show them utmost hospitality, for tomorrow negotiations shall begin."

"As you wish, Divine One." Anekh-sa bowed deeply again, then backed from the room, followed by the Galacticans.

"A tour," he announced. He began to lead the Galacticans through the palace, explaining the function of each room. One room was devoted entirely to thousands of hieroglyphics, from floor to ceiling, carved into the stone walls.

"This is the history of our people," Anekh-sa explained. "In here are the records of the first ten thousand yahrens, from the beginning of time."

"Why, I do believe—" Adama leaned closer to inspect the carvings in more detail. "Yes, it is! This sigil is that of the Ninth Lord of Kobol!"

Quicker than thought, the bronze man's staff lashed out. The butt caught Adama directly behind the ear with delicate precision, and the Commander folded to the ground without a sound.

"We do not mention the Unnamed Ones here," Anekh-sa commented mildly. Apollo stared at his fallen father, jaw hanging. Beside him, Starbuck began to splutter.

"Silence!" the herald barked. He grounded his staff with a sharp rap. "Do you likewise follow the teachings of the Unnamed Ones?"

"No," Apollo said faintly. Anekh-sa stood ready, with an easy confidence that spoke of long hours of drill.

"What, the Lords of Kobol?" Starbuck looked up from the still form at his feet, sliding his hand towards his concealed weapon.

"Starbuck, no!" Apollo hissed. But it was too late—the herald had already begun to move at the sound of the hated name. Starbuck dodged the staff, barely, then staggered as Apollo shoved him sideways, against the wall of the monument. "Knock it off! You want to end up on the ground too?" Then he turned to face the herald. "Neither one of us follows those teachings."

"Good." The staff lowered, although Anekh-sa still kept a wary eye on Starbuck. He made a slight gesture, and instantly four of his followers were in front of him, heads bowed and awaiting his command. "Bear our guest away to the Blue Rooms. It would seem he is rather indisposed."

Apollo fought the urge to strike out at these strangers, these bronze men who had the audacity to think they were gods. But there was nothing he could do, save watch helplessly as his father was carried away and hold Starbuck back from making a very bad mistake.

"Let go of me, Apollo!" Starbuck struggled in vain against the fierce grip. "That's your father! You can't just let them take him away like this!"

"That's enough, Lieutenant," Apollo said firmly. Please understand, his eyes begged. Please go along with me on this, for once...

"You'd better have a fracking good reason for this," Starbuck hissed.

"Trust me, just this once," Apollo hissed back.

Starbuck muttered and glared, but he also gave a grudging nod. Apollo released his arm and Starbuck backed away, rubbing it. His eyes burned with resentment.

"And now, if the unpleasantness is over?" Anekh-sa smiled with honeyed sweetness.

The tour continued. Apollo switched his attention from purely aesthetic appreciation of the surroundings to a careful assessment of strengths and weaknesses. What he saw was both encouraging and severely frustrating. The Pharaoh's people were everywhere. There were servants scurrying about everywhere, male and female. There were very few guards about, which led Apollo to wonder where the guards were.

Distracted as he was, Apollo never saw the servant until he smacked into her, causing her to drop her load of scrolls. He immediately apologized and bent to help her pick up the many rolls of paper, as did Starbuck. The Bel'akorans looked on in stunned horror—honored guests, who had seen the face of the God-King, assisting a servant?—but the girl was grateful for the assistance. Apollo thought nothing of the incident, and ignored the shocked murmurs from Anekh-sa's train.

The tour continued. Apollo made careful note of the apparent strengths and weaknesses of the structure. Obviously it was an impressively strong fortress, despite the openness of the palace. The stone was massive and impenetrable. The defenses were there, if one looked hard enough—he could see arrow slits in some apparently solid columns, there was a gallery above every large open room... he desperately wanted a chance to confer with Starbuck and get his impressions as well.

At last, the two were left alone for a brief moment, while Anekh-sa argued with the Chief Housekeeper over suitable rooms for the honored guests.

"What's your opinion of the defenses of this place, Lieutenant?" Apollo asked quietly. Beside him, Starbuck started, his unchanging glower replaced by surprise.

"They have a very strong position," he replied, blinking. "They know the layout, they are armed—there are some strange things going on here."

"Like the technology—" Apollo glanced around. The herald was still absorbed in his discussion. His train of followers stood still as statues, arrayed behind him like a row of pieces on a game board. "They claim to have strict rules about the use of mechanical technology, but I've seen some things that were certainly more advanced than your typical primitive tools."

"The air cooler, for one," Starbuck agreed. He lowered his voice. "Have you got a plan?"

"Not much of one yet," Apollo admitted. Anekh-sa turned away from the housekeeper and started towards the two warriors. "Tonight," he said, in both promise and warning.

"Quarters have been arranged for you," Anekh-sa announced. "We will go to them now."

"Herald," Apollo began, "we must contact our ship to let them know of our change in plans."

Anekh-sa paused in his progress down the corridor. He favored Apollo with a long cool look. "That will not be possible, I'm afraid," he said. "You have been informed of the ban upon technology in this place. Do not break it, or the consequences will be dire."

"But they expect us to return within a certain time frame, and will be concerned—we have no wish to provoke negative feelings between our peoples."

"If that is so, then I suggest you honor our wishes in this manner. Your people have been contacted."

The herald turned forward, his stiff back offering no hope of compromise. Apollo sighed. Well, at least the Galacticans would know not to come blasting out of the sky to save their missing leaders...

The quarters were vast and sumptuous, calculated—as was the rest of the palace—to impress upon the visitor how prosperous the Pharaoh was, and how insignificant a mere mortal was beside the grandeur of the God-King. Apollo was left alone in an enormous bedchamber, which had one entire wall open to the pleasure garden, spread out two levels beneath him. He sighed, looking over the lovely combination of sculptures, decorative rock, and carefully cultivated plantlife.

A whisper of sound at the door made him turn. Several servants entered.

"We have come to prepare you for the evening banquet, Honored Guest," one of them said.

"Banquet?"

"Yes, to be held in your honor. Now if you will allow us?"

Apollo submitted tamely to their ministrations, reasoning that it wouldn't hurt to go along with the customs of this place, however strange. He saw again in memory his father going down in a heap from the sharp blow of Anekh-sa's staff. Yes, going along with their customs was definitely less painful.

However, Apollo did insist on keeping his own clothing. His dress uniform would just have to be good enough for them, because he really didn't want to don the filmy robe the servants offered. All discomfort about wearing such a garment aside, where the hell could he put his laser pistol?

Starbuck was brought to Apollo's rooms as the servants were leaving. Apollo smiled when he saw that the other man had also managed to retain his uniform.

"Got a plan yet?" The hostility was still there, as well. Apollo sighed. Damn. He hoped that Starbuck would be willing to work with him, when the time came.

"Working on one. It all depends on tonight. Will you be ready to work with me?"

"Of course." Another icy blue glare.

"I certainly hope so."

Then Anekh-sa entered the room, to lead them off to the banquet hall.

After the meal, there was a performance by a bard. Anekh-sa explained that the tale would be the true history of the Bel'akoran people, and hinted for them to pay close attention. Apollo settled back into his chair and listened intently.

Once, long ago, so long that the shifting sands of time have erased all but the memory of the time, there was a world known as Kobol. And on this world, a great and mighty civilization arose. These people were wise and crafty, and skilled beyond the means of ordinary mortals. This was because the Gods came to Kobol in fleshly form and mingled with the most worthy of the humans. The result of this mingling was the line of the God-Kings. There were originally thirteen God-Kings, which was the Holy Number of the Gods. The God-Kings were exceptional rulers of men. Under their divine guidance, the civilization of Kobol grew ever greater, until it reached the splendor and magnificence of today. When this occurred, the Gods returned to Kobol and made their intentions plain—the world was to remain in this state, pristine and unchanging, forever. The God-Kings were charged with keeping this covenant, with the knowledge that they would suffer the same fate as Kobol should they allow harm to come to the planet.
The God-Kings and their people prospered for generations. But a feeling of discontent grew among many of the tribes. They wanted more—they wanted something beyond what they had now. They wanted to seek out and develop new technology, and even more, they wanted to walk among the stars. There was a great battle, which lasted for many generations. The line of Anekh alone stood firm and held to the old traditions. The other twelve tribes developed forbidden technology. After a prolonged battle, the twelve tribes departed upon their forbidden starship, leaving the line of Anekh in sole possession of the planet once known as Kobol. The Gods were displeased with this. The True God Anekh, founder of the line of God-Kings, appeared and decreed that those who had left, the self-styled Lords of Kobol, were anathema. To speak of them was to invite severe punishment or death. To emulate them was to guarantee death.
Anekh commanded that his line continue to live on the planet once known as Kobol according to the ancient ways. He also commanded that the planet henceforth be known as Bel'akor, after his sacred serpent and symbol of eternal life. No reference was to be made of Kobol, save by historians and tellers of tales.
The line of Anekh resumed life upon the surface of Bel'akor in the traditional way. All that you see here today is sanctified by the Gods and preserved by the God-Kings. Over the millenia, Pharaohs have risen and fallen, but always the line of Anekh has held firm and kept the traditions.

After the banquet, Apollo found himself alone in his room, severely frustrated. There seemed to be no opportunity for Adama's rescue, and Anekh-sa had refused to answer any questions on the subject.

"Hello?"

A shy female voice startled him. He turned towards the door, to find a lovely young lady in a sheer robe. "Who are you?"

"I am Karisa, and have been sent to see to your comfort." She smiled and glided towards him. His eyebrows rose as he realized exactly what she meant. Oh, my...

"That's really not necessary—" he began, but she wrapped her arms around him and silenced him with a kiss.

"Hush, now," she murmured. "We must talk."

"Huh?"

"You have made quite an impression on the servants. They wish to help you release the heretic tonight, before he is punished."

"Heretic? Punished? My father?" Apollo's head spun. The feel of the slender girl in his arms, the delicate perfume she wore, the way she pressed against him—all contrasted sharply with what she was saying.

"Your father? Oh, dear." She snuggled closer still, avoiding his attempt to pull away.

"Yes, he's my father. Now what did you say about the servants?" Apollo organized his thoughts with an effort.

"When you helped Keeley, it impressed them. The want to help you, now, and told me to pass the word along to you. I will take you to the Blue Room and they will let you in. But you must be swift and silent, lest the guards become suspicious."

"Thank you," Apollo breathed. His mind cleared at last. "Can you get me to Starbuck, so we can do this?"

"Yes. Follow me."

Karisa slipped away from him and pressed on a particular carving on the wall. A section of it fell smoothly and silently away, to reveal a passage.

"Good lords. What is that doing there?"

"The servants must have access to all places, without being obtrusive," Karisa replied. "Now come with me."

Swiftly, she led Apollo through the narrow passage until they emerged into Starbuck's room. The other warrior was only surprised for a moment when they emerged into his suite.

"Ready to go for the Commander?" Apollo asked. He felt like laughing, but didn't—the disbelief on Starbuck's face was comical.

"Whenever you are."

"Then lead on, Karisa."

Back into the passageway they went. Apollo tried to keep track of the turnings, so he'd have some idea of where they were, but soon gave it up as hopeless.

At last, Karisa stopped. "In here," she said quietly. "When you get him out, you must return to the inner ways. Go straight from here until you reach the first fork, then take three left turnings. This will put you in the garden. After that, you're on your own."

"Thank you, Karisa," Apollo said, equally quietly.

"Luck go with you."

And then she disappeared, leaving Apollo alone with Starbuck.

"Ready for this?"

"Yeah." Starbuck tried the catch on the door in front of them. It opened silently into a corridor. A servant was scrubbing the floor outside by the light of one of the ubiquitous tiny lanterns. He glanced around casually, then jumped up and scurried to unlock a large blue door. Apollo and Starbuck went through the door, with a word of thanks to the servant.

Inside, the room was painted entirely blue. Like that's a big surprise there, Apollo thought. Adama sat against a wall. He rose to his feet when the two warriors appeared. "It's about time," he snapped.

"Glad to see you, too, Father," Apollo said. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

The escape was accomplished in tense silence. It wasn't until they were free of the palace and returning to their shuttlecraft that their absence was noticed, but by then it was too late. They reached the shuttle in time to launch, before half a dozen fighter craft were launched from concealed underground hangars.

"Holy frack!" Starbuck gaped at the readout. "So much for their ban on technology."

"Yeah—think we can make the Galactica before they catch us?"

"No problem. We're much faster than them."

And so it proved. Once safely aboard the Galactica, Adama gave orders to the entire fleet to make all possible speed away from the planet Bel'akor.

Neutral ground. This truly was a prime example of that phrase—completely neutral. A cargo bay had been emptied on a tradeship which served both the people of Bel'akor and of Cylon. A pair of raised chairs, equal in height and splendor, provided the only furnishings. The lighting was dim, out of deference for the Imperious Leader, and there were equal numbers of guards, Cylon and human. The two leaders faced each other across the empty space of the cargo bay, equally wary.

"You have an offer for us?"

The Cylon Leader's voice broke the silence. There was no reaction from any present. The human guards stood as still as their metallic counterparts, somehow managing to convey a certain contempt and disgust for these purely technological beings.

"Indeed." No expression marred the smooth face of the Pharaoh. "You wish to defeat the fleet of humans?"

"The humans must be destroyed."

"This goal, you will never achieve... unless you have assistance. Here is what I propose..."

Serina watched the unwelcome sight of Apollo's departing back yet again. What was wrong with the man? No matter what she did, no matter what she said, he continued to keep her at arm's length. True, they spent a lot of time together, but not the kind of time she was after. Every time she tried to make a move, he backed away. Sometimes, like tonight, he got this utterly panicked look and ran like a scalded daggit. Well, maybe it had been a bit much to sit in his lap and try to kiss him... but damn! They'd been seeing each other for sectons now, and she had yet to get anything from him other than a little friendly kiss now and again. How in all hells was she supposed to get him out of his shell? Adama kept insisting that Apollo was only shy, that he'd come around eventually. But would she survive until he did?

Apollo had to laugh at himself. He had really done it this time... It seemed that Serina was after something he just wasn't ready to give. What in hells was wrong with the woman, anyway? They had a perfectly good friendship. Why did she want to ruin it with sex? Ick. He shuddered. She just wasn't that attractive to him. Sure, she was pretty, but she just wasn't his type.

And so here he was, sneaking through the corridors of the Galactica, with his comm off the hook so no one could get through. Very amusing.

How did he get himself into these situations, anyways? Or better yet, how was he supposed to get out of this situation?

Damn.

Starbuck walked away from the evening debriefing, shaking from the aftermath of the interview. He wasn't too sure when he'd first realized that Apollo was so attractive, but he was aware of it now, and that was causing a whole lot of problems. As if it weren't enough that the entire bloody fleet and all the colonies had been destroyed... as if it weren't enough that the entire motley crew of refugees was experiencing an acute food shortage and ongoing Cylon attacks... as if it weren't enough that he was having to face all this in a position of authority, without Orion's willing support... His throat tightened with the tears he refused to shed. No, none of that was enough—he had to go and discover just how lovely Captain Apollo was.

He started towards his quarters, then paused in the corridor. What was there to do in there? Nothing, that was what. He changed direction and made for the Officer's Club instead. At least there he was welcome and among friends—he really didn't want to spend the night alone with his thoughts. His traitorous thoughts, leading him to consider betrayal of Orion's memory... no. Better to stay among people tonight, perhaps play a game or two and have a bit to drink. That was one of the nicer things about being an officer: the quality of alcohol available was much higher. The ordinary rank and file rarely got anything more sophisticated than a good beer, while the OC stocked a fine supply of ambrosa.

He slipped up to the bar at the OC for a drink and found himself next to a dark haired lady who looked vaguely familiar. "Excuse me," he said, when the nagging feeling got to be too much for him. "Have we met before?"

"Oh come now, fly boy—surely you can do better than that?"

The sharp tone of her voice, the way her eyes flashed—she looked even more familiar than ever. "Believe it or not, that wasn't a pickup line," he smiled. "You really do look familiar, like I've met you before."

"Well." She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. "In that case, the answer's no. I'm sure I'd remember meeting you." The coy smile she turned on him now was an obvious invitation. "You're the new Lieutenant, right?"

Starbuck shrugged mentally. Ah, what the hell—might as well go for it, not like it means anything and she might be kind of fun. "Starbuck's the name, flying's the game," he said, turning on the patented Starbuck charm. She blushed prettily.

"My name's Athena. Nice to meet you."

"It can be rather more than nice," Starbuck murmured, leaning a bit closer and provoking a giggle.

"Why, Starbuck—you're improving."

"Oh, am I now?"

"And so are your chances." The look she turned on him was unmistakable—Orion used to call it "fuck me eyes." He spared a fleeting thought to wish it was Orion sitting here flirting with him, then gave himself over to the pleasures of the moment.

"Apollo," Serina breathed into his ear.

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you move in with us?"

Apollo shot bolt upright. He had been relaxing with Serina in her quarters, leaning back on the couch and watching vids on the new IFB. Those simple words destroyed his fragile serenity in less than a heartbeat. "Excuse me?"

Serina smiled at him. "I said, why don't you move in with us? You know Boxey and I would be glad to have you."

"Yeah, Apollo," Boxey chimed in from the corner, where he'd been brushing Muffit's synthetic fur. "Why dontcha move in with us? Then you can be my Daddy."

Apollo struggled with a rising sense of panic. "I—I'll think about it," he managed to say, through the constriction of his dry throat.

"What's to think about?" Serina purred, tracing her fingers lightly up his arm. He jerked away.

"I—it's, well, it's a big step," he said lamely, then rose and made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Serina followed him.

"I have to go now," he said, and made his escape.

Out in the corridor, he walked rapidly, listening for any signs of pursuit. There were none. The only sound was the rapid tapping of his bootheels as he worked his way from the civilian quarters to the sanctuary of officer's territory.

What in all hells was wrong with him? he wondered as he reached the safety of his room. Why had such a simple and logical offer panicked him so badly? For that was the proper term to describe his response—panicked. All he wanted was to get away from her, from the trap she had set with such attractive bait: security, normality, a ready-made family to make his father happy. Any ordinary man would have sealed with Serina long ago, not panicked and run like spooked prey in front of a hunter at such a simple invitation. Lords, any ordinary man would have had her in bed long ago—pretty little thing that she was, and obviously willing—what was stopping him from giving her what she wanted?

Ordinary. That was it, right there—the key word. Apollo wasn't ordinary. He flung himself on his bed and stared up into the darkness, searching for answers. What was it he was looking for? He could tell already that Serina wasn't it. One of these days he was just going to have to harden his heart and tell her so.

Happiness? Well, sure—that was the obvious answer. But what exactly would give him happiness? What was it he looked for in a potential partner? What invisible standard was he measuring all these hopeful women against, that they were failing to meet up to?

Eventually, the whirling thoughts slowed, and Apollo fell asleep.

Apollo strode through the corridor, not really watching where he was going. It had been another rough day—thanks to Starbuck, as usual. The independent little bastard had completely ignored the standing orders for engagement, which clearly stated that if a patrol was encountered, first priority was to warn the Galactica. They had been striking hard and at random recently, in a truly uncharacteristic style. Starbuck and Bojay had spotted an attacking group of Raiders—three of them, targeting the main agroship—and had eliminated the Raiders before sounding the alarm. It had worked out well, but still... it was damn annoying, the way the man just blew off most orders and yet pulled amazing feats out of his hat left and right. And worse yet, he was becoming very popular with his men, to the point of affecting morale in Apollo's squadron. Some of his men were quite displeased with being stuck in Blue, when Red had such a cool leader... Apollo sighed.

"Apollo?" A small voice made him look up.

"Oh, hello, Boxey." Apollo stopped and looked around. No sign of Serina. Whew.

"Why haven't you been around lately?" Boxey looked at him with big accusing eyes.

"I've been busy, Boxey. You know that." Apollo felt a pang of guilt. He kind of liked the kid.

"You never used to be too busy to come play with me and mom." Uh-oh... there it went, the quivering lower lip.

"Boxey, try to understand, okay?" Apollo sighed. "The Cylons are attacking us all the time. I have to be ready to fly at any time, and I can't do that if I'm visiting you and your mother. Can you understand that?"

"I guess so." Boxey heaved a huge sigh. "I have to go home now and do my homework. I know I'll need help, but mom can't help me because it's math and she just doesn't get math." He sighed again, and snuck a peek at Apollo to see if it was working.

"You'd better get home, then," Apollo replied. He recognized the attempt at manipulation for what it was—a childish ploy to get more attention. But it wasn't going to work, at least not until Serina got her mind away from the concept of living together.

Maybe not even then, either. Apollo resumed his interrupted journey, which ended when he reached the sanctuary of his quarters. There, he felt secure enough to relax a bit, let go of some of the day's tensions. Serina had been bothering him. He hadn't been deliberately avoiding her—not until she cornered him in his office and accused him of doing just that. Apparently, she just couldn't tell that the fleet was under a constant yellow alert status, despite the fact that Apollo knew she knew this. In fact, he'd seen her on the IFB broadcast, reporting the alert and detailing the recent Cylon attacks. But maybe she thought alert status didn't apply to him...? He sighed. That was one thing he was going to have to look for—someone who understood the duty of a colonial warrior. Someone who knew that alerts had to be answered, no matter what—who could handle the stress of not knowing whether this would be the last flight a certain Strike Captain would ever make.

There he went again... Apollo threw himself into a chair. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just be content with Serina?

The problem was definitely with him. Serina fit the mold of the "perfect partner" as defined by his father—intelligent, pretty, devoted, willing to do anything for her family, and so on. But she was driving him up the wall, as she was also clingy and demanding. Not to mention the thought of jumping in bed with her did absolutely nothing for him. Not that he was all pure and virginal like most people—including his father—assumed, but he preferred his companions to be more... exciting. More challenging. Not the type to just fall over on her back with legs spread.

He thought for a moment. When was the last time he'd had a girlfriend? Hmm... back on Caprica, that much was certain. It had been a few yahrens. Her name had been Callista, and she'd dumped him because—good lords, how could he forget that? She'd dumped him because she thought he was more interested in her brother than in her!

A vivid memory rose before his mind's eye, of Jason in the sunlit park at the center of the Fleet base. He'd been laughing, probably at something Apollo had said, and Callista had been glaring at both of them. Jealous. Humph. Jealous because he'd enjoyed spending time with Jason, who was a real artist and understood the need to try to create something...

Apollo's thoughts ground to a halt. Jason had understood. He'd understood everything, even down to the commitment to duty—Apollo may have been forced into the service, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't do the best job possible. Jason was fine with that.

"Too bad he wasn't a woman," Apollo muttered. But if he'd been a woman, that would have... ruined...everything...

"Frack!" Apollo rose and prowled his rooms restlessly. His thoughts were going in a direction he just didn't want them to go.

Life would be so much easier if he could just share it with a man.

The wait was from hell.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things, anyway?" Apollo groused.

"Oh, hush—you enjoy it as much as I do, and you know it!" Serina smiled at him. "Wait here. I have to visit the little girls' room."

"Don't worry—doesn't look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

Apollo hunched down on the bench, back against the wall. What in all hells was he doing here, anyways? Just because there was supposed to be a damn fine musician playing at this particular eatery didn't mean he had to be here with Serina. Then his ear caught something that completely distracted him from his internal bitching.

"—has got some of the hottest guys in the fleet," the man on the bench beside him was saying. "You really ought to check it out—I haven't had so much fun since the last time I went to Centaurus."

"Do they have dancing?"

"You'd better believe it! Wait till you see the cage boys—simply delicious!"

Apollo blinked. Was he really hearing right? Was that really a man, sounding totally enthusiastic about dancing boys? Hmm...

"Excuse me," he said, before he could lose his nerve. His neighbor turned to face him. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing—you were talking about a club?"

The man, a slender fellow with sandy reddish hair, smiled. "Yes, the Rainbow Room. Have you heard of it?"

Apollo's face felt warm. He hoped he wasn't blushing. "Well, no. I never- no, I didn't know there was anywhere like that."

The man laughed. "Of course there's places like that! We need to have some fun, after all!"

"'We—' you mean, you're—?" Now Apollo knew he was blushing.

The man's companion tried to muffle a laugh, but didn't succeed very well. He leaned forward and whispered into the sandy haired man's ear. Apollo heard something about "closet cases."

"Why yes, yes we are," the man said. He waved his friend silent.

"Don't you worry about what people say or think?" Apollo had to ask. It was something that had been bothering him for a while now, the social implications of what some saw as utter perversion.

The man laughed. "Honey, it doesn't matter what people think. There's nothing anyone could do or say to get me in bed with a woman. It's just not going to happen."

"Really..."

"You should visit sometime, check it out."

"The... Rainbow Room, you said?"

"That's right. But come alone—that's one place you just don't want to bring your lady." The man nodded significantly towards a small figure pushing through the crowded lobby. Apollo swore.

"Thanks—" was all he had time to say before Serina was back. Hmm. The Rainbow Room, where one could find hot men and cage dancers. Hmm. And some people could deal with the public prejudice against same-sex relationships. Hmm.

Well. Here he was. Actually here, in the Rainbow Room. He'd slipped free of Serina for the night and snuck off the Galactica to come here.

And his eyes were in danger of falling out of his head.

Oh, dear lords.

People were everywhere. No, not just people—make that men. Lots and lots of men. Hoo, boy. And most of them weren't wearing much in the way of clothing. The music was loud and compelling, the dancers were—well, some of them were dancing, and some of them were having as much fun as was possible with one's clothes on. Or—mostly on. Wow.

Apollo grabbed his drink from the bar and found himself a quiet corner table. He thought it might be wise to just sit and watch for a while. Well, okay—be honest. It was more like sit and stare, with mouth hanging open, and occasional hormonal surges that made his head spin and forget that he'd ever even considered being straight as the only option.

The music worked its way into his blood and bones, providing a pounding backdrop for his thoughts. All these men—probably at least a couple hundred of them—had somehow found a way to solve the problems inherent with going against normality. He'd pretty much come to terms with the fact that the old "unnatural" argument was just a load of felgercarb. As far as he was concerned, there were a lot worse kinks than being intimate with another human of the same gender. He'd been checking into things, exploring the databases on human sexuality. There were a whole lot of bizarre practices out there... ugh.

Abstract thoughts got shoved aside for a moment as a really impressive man emerged from the mob on the dance floor for a moment. Apollo groped for his drink and nearly knocked it over before he got hold of it. He took a quick swallow to ease his suddenly dry throat. Holy shit. Leather pants, no shirt—very well made. Moved like a dream. Like one of Apollo's dreams, in fact.

Whoa. Wait a minute. Back up there.

Okay, maybe he wasn't ready to face the thought of those dreams when he was fully conscious.

But, hell—did it matter? Did it really matter, one way or the other, who was featured in his private dreams? Who was going to take a look inside his head and discover that he dreamed not of Serina, but of a certain blue-eyed Lieutenant?

Um, wait a minute here—was that man coming closer?

Yes, as a matter of fact, he was. The man Apollo had previously noticed dancing was coming towards the table, glass in hand.

"Is this seat taken?" He practically had to shout to be heard over the music. Apollo shook his head and smiled.

"It's all yours," he said. He wasn't sure if the man heard him or not, but he sat down anyway.

"I haven't seen you here before." Closer now, he was much easier to hear. He was also much better looking.

"Never been here before."

"Good reason, then." The man was looking at him in a way that said predator. He raised his glass and drank, then set it down and licked a drop of liquid from the corner of his mouth. Apollo swallowed hard.

"You come here often, then?" Apollo's voice came out rather high and strained. "It's a really cool place, never seen anything like it before—"

His companion smiled. "I can tell. I'm here most nights, looking for some... entertainment."

A slow smile spread across Apollo's face. "I'll bet you are. And do you find your... entertainment?"

"Yes." He reached for Apollo's hand and folded it in his own. Apollo gulped. "Are you having a good time?" His fingers traced tingling patterns over the back of Apollo's hand.

"Good, and getting better by the moment." Apollo couldn't tear his eyes off the man's face. He wasn't as, well, cute as Starbuck, but he was definitely very good looking. And he was exerting a steady pressure on Apollo's hand, and moving closer, and...

The world lit on fire when his lips touched Apollo's.

What—oh shit—frack, I don't know him—fuck it, this feels too good! Apollo returned the kiss hungrily. It was nothing like kissing Serina. With her, it might as well be that damn artificial daggit. But this—this was incredible. Pinwheels of sensation raced along his nerve endings, and he nearly forgot to breathe.

"Come with me," the man whispered in his ear, after the kiss ended.

Apollo shivered at the tickle of his warm breath. "But—I can't—I don't even know your name," he protested, heart pounding.

"Names aren't important," the man whispered around another steamy kiss. He stood, and Apollo followed in a daze. The man paused at the edge of the dance floor and pulled Apollo close for another kiss.

Apollo melted into his arms, pressed as close as possible to the other man's body. Then the man's hand slipped down between Apollo's legs and he pulled back with a gasp.

"Oh, frack—oh, gods—" He backed away. "Look, sorry, but—I'm just not ready for that—"

And he turned and fled the Rainbow Room.

As he made his way to the shuttle, still flushed and trembling, there was only one thought in his mind-—Lords. That should have been Starbuck.

Which was a completely unwelcome and terrifying thought.

The line outside the club was long. Starbuck was bored, but he wanted to get in. There was a big game on tonight, and he had ditched Athena for the entire evening just so he could attend. She didn't approve of him gambling.

His face twisted with a wry grin. He still wasn't sure how he'd ended up dating Apollo's sister. Somehow, one night of meaningless sex had turned into Athena thinking he was hers, utterly and completely. And wasn't that improving relations with his Captain... oh, yeah. Now in addition to getting his ass chewed for breaking rules whenever he chose, he had Big Brother breathing down his neck, making sure he didn't hurt Athena in any possible manner. Ah, well—what did it matter, anyway? Starbuck would have some fun with Athena for a while, then let her down easy. He just wasn't the commitment type, especially not with a woman—not anymore, anyway.

"Hey, Starbuck," Boomer's voice sounded over the general noise of the crowd. He turned and waved at the other pilot, who shoved his way through the people. "How's it going?"

"Oh, it's going, Boomer, it's going. You trying to get into the club too?"

"Yeah, I didn't have anything better to do. Where's Athena?"

"She doesn't approve of gambling," he said, with a conspiratorial wink.

"Oh, really? But she sure does love you." Was that a bit of envy there in those dark eyes?

"Yeah, right," Starbuck chuckled. "Sure she loves me, Boomer—loves me so much she'll spread her legs for anyone or anything that catches her fancy!"

Apollo appeared out of nowhere and slammed him up against the wall. Starbuck's breath rushed out of him in a startled grunt.

"If I ever," Apollo said, in a voice laced with murderous intent, "hear you talk like that about my sister again..."

He left the threat open, dangling like a visible entity between them. Starbuck gulped and struggled free of the strong grip. Those green eyes which so troubled his nights were anything but cold now. They burned with a fire of protective rage. Starbuck was dimly aware of a crowd making excited noises around them. While fights on the Rising Star weren't unusual, it was sure to attract notice when the opponents were two of the people directly responsible for the defense of the entire fleet.

"Lay off, Captain, or I'll have you on report for abusing a fellow officer," he said lightly, attempting to take refuge in wit.

"This is personal, not official—we're both off the clock, out of uniform, and you're going to pay for badmouthing my sister like that!" And then Apollo was on him again. Quicker than thought, Starbuck found himself in a most uncomfortable position. One arm was twisted painfully up around behind his back, held in a firm grip, and he was unable to break free. His nose was making acquaintance with the wall, with Apollo pressed up close behind him. Damn. Too bad the circumstances were so awful. "Now, what have you got to say for yourself?"

Starbuck panted and tried again to get away. It was no use, unless he wanted to somehow tear his arm off. "How... do you know... I was talking about... Athena?" He struggled like an avian in a cage.

"Because, idiot, I was right behind you!" Apollo growled into his ear. "I heard the whole damn thing—Boomer complimenting you on getting the best catch in the fleet, and your sweet little response. Now have you anything to say for yourself, or should I just haul you off to apologize to Athena's face right now?"

"What's going on here?" A new voice interrupted the tense scene. Apollo glanced up for a moment, in time to see Security shoving a way through the crowd. He tensed, bringing a gasp from Starbuck when the slight movement shifted the imprisoned arm, then released his hold. Starbuck shot as far away as the crowd would allow and glared at Apollo, rubbing his arm to restore circulation.

"Nothing," Apollo replied to the Security officer. "Just a little disagreement, and none of your concern."

"And who exactly are you?" The hostile gaze of the black clad man never wavered from Apollo's face.

Apollo sighed and extracted his ID from his pocket. "Strike Captain Apollo, of the Battlestar Galactica," he said, in a tone which implied the Security man was exceedingly dense for not knowing that already.

The officer inspected the ID, then handed it back without comment. "And is the dispute resolved?"

Apollo smiled pleasantly and shot a meaningful glance at Starbuck. "I don't know... is it?"

Starbuck shuffled his feet and continued to glare, but he also nodded. "Yeah."

"Very well then. You can both be on your way, but I won't have any further disturbances. The Rising Star is a pleasure craft, not an arena for brawling."

"Don't worry, friend," Apollo's tone made the word an insult. "There will be no further trouble here." Head high, he strode past the Security man, with only a slight pause to collect Serina from the crowd before he left the room.

What the frack am I thinking? Apollo thought, as he settled down beside Serina on the shuttle back to the Galactica. He had finally identified the emotion which sent him into a rage whenever Starbuck was around—jealousy. As in, jealousy of Athena, for her close relationship with this troublemaking bastard. This troublemaking, damnably good looking bastard, who'd just ruined a perfectly good evening. What a pisser. Just when he'd finally decided there was nothing wrong with him and damn social conventions, just when he'd finally begun to come to terms with the fact that he'd rather be intimate with a man than a woman—he had to go and discover that the man who was the biggest problem in the whole damn fleet was the one he wanted to experiment with outside of dreams.

Beside him, Serina shifted and poked at his arm. "What?" he said, startled.

"I said, Apollo, you're not listening to me," she pouted. Her big eyes blinked up at him and her lower lip trembled slightly. He felt a reaction of faint disgust at her blatant attempt to manipulate him. At least now he knew where Boxey had learned it from.

"I'm sorry, Serina," he said, smiling with false sincerity. "What did you say?"

"I said, you really should do something about that Starbuck. He's always causing trouble."

"That's none of your concern," he said absently, and returned to his private thoughts.

She was right, after all—he really should do something about that Starbuck. Trouble aside, the turmoil of feelings the unconventional Lieutenant stirred up within him was simply unacceptable. Starbuck was the last person he should be feeling an interest in. Good lords, the man was in his office at least once a secton for an ass-chewing! And besides that, his sister had made her claim plain. She intended to seal to Starbuck before the yahren was out. And then there was Serina... Apollo sighed and returned his attention to the small woman beside him, making polite noises at the appropriate breaks in her running dialogue.

Starbuck slipped quietly through the corridors of the Galactica, a package tucked securely under his arm. Tonight he was intent on avoiding people at all costs. Most especially, he wanted to avoid Athena—and worse yet, her ever-so-lovely brother. Bloody hell. Bloody, flaming hell. Bloody, flaming hell with that fucking Pharaoh in charge. How was he supposed to cope with this felgercarb? He caressed the package fondly. This should help. Fine whiskey always helped, when one's goal was blessed oblivion. Almost there—

Frack. There was Athena, waving at him. He ducked his head and made a dash for his door, shutting it practically in her face. He set the lock and ignored her fussing on the other side. No company tonight. Not even for meaningless sex to take his mind off things.

Starbuck arranged everything just right. He got a glass. He brought a pillow from his bed. He dimmed the lights. He even removed his pressure suit, a blessed relief after so long on duty, and slipped into a pair of ancient and shapeless workout pants.

And then he sat down to do some serious drinking.

What is it, he thought, what is it about Apollo that's driving me insane? Maybe he could track it down, figure out why he was overreacting so strongly to the man. Unbidden, the image of Orion rose before his mind's eye, an Orion happy and smiling, the day they'd slipped free of the Columbia long enough to steal some time on a pleasure-planet where no one looked twice at two men who were in love. His heart clenched. Orion, Orion—how can I betray your memory like this? And over a cold, unfeeling prick, who's as straight as they come. Why can't you be here? Why did you have to blow yourself up and not let me go with you?

The silent ghost of memory had no answer for him.

"I just don't get it, anyway," Starbuck grumbled to himself as he poured more of the whiskey. Apollo was not even the type of person he was usually attracted to. He was certainly nothing like Orion had been. Gone were the sense of adventure and fun, the pure joy in life which made every moment one to be cherished and lived to its fullest extent. Gone also was the love of what they did, the burning desire to make a difference and keep the colonists safe.

And what did he have in place of the love he'd lost? Nothing, that was what. A cold, distant Captain who was always riding him about the rules—a Captain whose green eyes were beginning to take over his dreams, whose quiet strength promised a shelter from the recent emotional turmoil—and who couldn't give less of a damn about him. A Captain who was utterly straight and always busy with his new girlfriend and her son.

He couldn't even take comfort in the knowledge that Athena was there for him. He knew, even if he would never have the courage to tell her, that Athena was just a diversion, a placeholder—a poor substitute for the one he really wanted at his side.

Starbuck sighed gustily and sank lower into the couch. What was he supposed to do?

The next day, he made a point of catching the Captain in private.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Apollo's eyes bored into him, hard as stone.

"I must apologize, Captain," he said. "I was out of line last night, and I'm sorry."

"Good."

That was all. Apollo returned his attention back to his work. Starbuck waited a moment, but there was no further reaction, so he left. What a letdown. He'd been prepared for the Captain to make a big deal about proper treatment of his sister. Starbuck shook his head, with a laugh for his paranoia. He decided to go to the Rising Star and waste some of his pay and his free time.

"So, what was it this time?" Apollo wore an expression of long-suffering patience, while Starbuck stared at his favorite spot from his now-accustomed position on the other side of the desk. "I know there was a fight, and it happened in the barracks, and it involved Blue Squadron—most especially Boomer, who's next in line for my office."

Starbuck squirmed and didn't answer. A faint flush crept over his cheeks.

"Well? I'm waiting." Apollo fiddled with his pen. Dear lords, he was tired of facing Starbuck over disciplinary matters! That hardly made things any easier on a personal level. How was he supposed to keep things civil between himself and Athena, when he was constantly dressing down her boyfriend? And worse yet, he usually deserved it...

"Since you'll find out anyway, Captain—" Starbuck sighed dramatically and fidgeted. "Boomer didn't like the way I was looking at him."

Apollo's eyes widened. "And that caused a fight?" He made a mental note to check into Boomer's stress level. Ordinarily, he was very even tempered and reliable. Perhaps it was just that Boomer was still jealous because Athena had never noticed him...

"Yes, because he made a rude remark that I didn't like."

There was an uncomfortable pause, while Apollo waited and Starbuck's flush deepened.

"Which was...?" Apollo prompted at length.

Starbuck sighed. "He said he didn't want me checking out his ass, sir, and Athena was wasting her time with a pansy-boy like me."

Apollo's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "Boomer? Said that?" he said incredulously.

"Yes. I tried to leave, but the others wouldn't let me, and—well."

"Yes, well." Apollo took a deep breath and held it for a moment, fighting the insane desire to break into giggles. "I'm assuming there was a reason for Boomer to make such a remark?"

Starbuck nodded.

"Okay, then. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Well..." Starbuck's eyes flicked down to Apollo's for a moment, and a roguish grin crossed his face before he returned his attention to the spot on the wall. "Boomer has a very nice posterior, sir, and there's nothing in regulations about not admiring the scenery."

Apollo snorted and coughed, barely able to contain his laughter. "Granted. However, there is something in regulations about proper behavior. You're welcome to have your opinions—" and Apollo grinned broadly "—but you'd be wiser to keep them to yourself. Do remember, officers can't go getting into fights with each other—it's just a generally bad idea. Dismissed."

Starbuck turned to leave, relief plain on his face. Obviously he'd expected things to go much worse.

"And Lieutenant?"

Starbuck paused, hand on the door panel. "Yes?"

"You're right, you know. Boomer does have a cute butt." Starbuck's eyebrows shot upwards, his eyes widening, and he left the room hastily.

Later, after his duty shift was over, Starbuck took his frustrations to the fitness center. He worked out until he felt totally drained of everything, emotionally and physically. He returned to the locker room for a turbowash, then started to get dressed.

"Starbuck!"

He tensed at the sound of Apollo's voice, then shut his locker door and turned to face his Captain, wearing nothing but a towel. "Fancy meeting you here."

Apollo smiled, eyes determinedly fastened to Starbuck's face. "I like to work out sometimes, you know," he said. "Didn't realize you'd be here though. But that's good, I wanted to catch up to you—"

Starbuck's mouth twitched with the desire to smile. So, a shirtless Starbuck made the Captain uncomfortable, hmm? How amusing. Especially after that comment about Boomer's butt. Maybe there was hope yet for the lovely Captain. "Oh, really?" Starbuck leaned back against the lockers in an artistically casual pose. Apollo's eyes widened, but he showed no other reaction.

"Yes, really," Apollo replied, voice slightly strained. "I was wondering if you were coming to the party tonight."

"Party? What party?" That was the last thing he'd expected to hear, coming from Mister Quiet Loner himself.

"Really, I don't know why Athena didn't already invite you..." Apollo dropped his workout bag on the bench in front of the lockers. "The family's having a get-together tonight on the Rising Star, kind of an annual thing—there's a few birthdays and such that all happen about the same time, so we just have one big party."

"And you want me there?" Starbuck was surprised. He would have sworn the Captain hated him.

"Sure, why not? Be there at 1900. Just tell the waiter you're with us, we have a private room reserved."

"Thanks, Captain," Starbuck said, with a slow smile. "I'll be there."

Apollo fidgeted with the strap of his guitar. He wasn't sure what would happen when Adama found out that he'd brought it, but at this point, he didn't care. Athena had asked him to play Zac's old favorite song in his memory, and by damn he was going to do it. Zac and Athena had both always liked hearing him play, so to hell with what his father thought. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

They were all there, even Starbuck. Serina and Boxey had arrived before him, probably with Adama. Athena saw his guitar and smiled. Adama saw it and frowned. Oh well.

"Hello, Father," he said, with a smile that said even louder than words go ahead, make a scene. I dare you.

"We were beginning to wonder about you, Apollo," Adama returned the smile, with only a tightening around the eyes to betray his displeasure.

"I was held up at the end of the shift. There was a minor problem with one of the pilots."

"But Starbuck's already here," Athena called, from her seat at the table. Everyone laughed. Apollo made his way to where Serina had saved a space for him.

With Apollo there at last, dinner was served. Apollo decided to ignore his father's unsubtle hints and insinuations. Serina didn't, however—every time Adama made a comment about anything to do with sealing, or plans for the future, or anything for that matter, she would look at him with a nearly predatory gleam in her eye. Apollo ignored her, too.

After the meal was over and the dishes cleared, Athena asked Apollo to play. He pulled out his guitar and shot a defensive glance at his father. "This was Zac's favorite song," he said to Starbuck and Serina, as he began to play a few notes to warm up. "Thenie thought it might be a good idea to remember him, along with our mother and all of the others we've lost."

Not even Adama could protest to that. Apollo began playing, a look of infinite sadness on his face.

Starbuck watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Apollo wove a spell of music around them all. The soft light gleamed on his hair as he bent over the dark wood of the instrument. Long, sensitive fingers coaxed forth a gentle melody. His voice, when he sang, was rich and pleasant. Starbuck could hardly believe this was the same man he saw nearly every day at work, the one whom he'd always thought cold and distant. No, this man was filled with life and passion—it was just well-hidden from the rest of the world.

And then he looked up, directly into Starbuck's eyes, and smiled. The sadness melted away, leaving something... else.

Starbuck's world tilted off to the side. His heart pounded and he fought to keep the turmoil within him from showing in any way. Orion had looked at him like that, as though he was the only other person in the world. As though nothing else mattered, just the two of them—alone and private, even in the middle of a crowd.

Then Apollo looked away, and Starbuck could breathe again.

"Beautiful, Apollo," Adama said, after the last chord had faded to stillness. "It was good of you to honor those whom we have lost. But don't you have any happier news for us yet?"

"Excuse me?"

"Perhaps any plans for the future?" Adama glanced at Serina, face wreathed in a huge smile. Serina wore a similar expression, eyes riveted to Apollo's face. He stifled a groan. By all the hells, didn't that woman ever give up?

"No sir, no plans for the future as yet." There. Let her chew on that. She was really beginning to annoy him, with her constant angling to get sealed.

Adama sighed. "Well, all things in due time."

"Yes."

The Commander's attention shifted focus from Apollo to Starbuck. "And what of you, young man? Your presence here tonight seems to indicate certain hopes for the future."

Starbuck's eyes shot wide open. "Me, sir? Actually, it was Apollo who invited me tonight, I really had no idea what was happening, no future plans at all..."

Ha! Striking out all around, are we, Father? Apollo bent over the neck of his guitar, fiddling with the tuning knobs to hide the evil smirk he couldn't keep off his face.

"How unfortunate," Adama said, his voice chilled to the point it would make space seem warm. "Apollo, when are you going to give over such nonsense, anyway? Music and art and the like—what place have they now? Nearly all of humanity and its culture have been destroyed. All that has survived is this battlestar and a few assorted refugees."

"But father—that's all the more reason to encourage the arts! Humanity is far more than just its weapons. It takes art and culture to raise us above the level of the Cylons. Do you want to be no better than them? Do you want the human spirit to be reduced to a primitive state, in which nothing matters but survival?"

Watching Apollo face his father, Starbuck blinked. What a surprise this man was! Always another layer, another level of complexity. Just look at him standing up to the commander! Where before, Starbuck had always assumed that the son was behind the father in all things, completely supportive. Of course, Starbuck had also assumed that lack of passion for life as a warrior had meant lack of any passion at all—which was obviously not true.

"That would be a terrible thing to happen," Serina jumped in.

Starbuck settled back quietly beside Athena, content to have a ringside seat to observe this debate. Apollo was definitely far more than he seemed. Suddenly, the notion of being at least civil to his Captain didn't seem so appalling...

Apollo rose willingly to answer the door chime. The sketch just wasn't working right at all. He'd been trying for a picture of a scene he remembered from home, sunset over the lake. Unfortunately, it kept coming out like a bunch of meaningless lines. He wondered who was visiting him at this hour, when Serina and Boxey were safely in bed, then got his answer when he opened the door and saw Starbuck standing there.

"Hey."

Apollo blinked. "Starbuck? What are you doing here?"

The blond man shrugged. "Was heading over to the OC, thought I'd see what you were up to."

"Uh... nothing, actually." Apollo scrabbled frantically through his mind for something to say. It had been so long since he'd had a visitor, barring Serina and Boxey, that he was at a complete loss for words. "I was, well, kind of working on a, well, project—but it's nothing important."

"Want to come with?" Starbuck actually looked at him, with a shy smile. "I mean, I know you don't go out much, but hey—it might be fun."

Apollo stared for a moment, astonished. "Sure," he said, before he even thought about it. Then he kicked himself mentally. Last thing he needed was to be around Starbuck in a social setting—good lords, that would just encourage his improper thoughts about the handsome Lieutenant. But it was too late, because Starbuck was smiling at him again, and he was stepping through the door, sketchbook forgotten behind him.

The OC was crowded, filled with warriors who just wanted to forget their troubles for a while. Starbuck found an unoccupied table, and they sat down and ordered drinks.

"So..." Apollo shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, is it always this crowded here?"

"Yeah, lately it has been. Don't you ever come here?"

Apollo favored him with a sardonic look. "Well, it's like this, you see—I don't go where I'm not welcome."

"Oh, come on now, drop the felgercarb."

"It's not felgercarb, and you know it. I'm not exactly the most popular guy around here, you know that."

"Aw, that's just because you hide out in your rooms all the time, or with Serina."

Apollo winced. "Shit. Don't mention her, okay?"

Their drinks arrived then, a welcome distraction for Apollo. But Starbuck pounced on the opening and wouldn't be distracted.

"Problems?" His eyes took on an avid gleam. Apollo wondered at the sudden interest, but shrugged it off.

"Kind of. See, she's got sealing on the brain..."

Starbuck laughed. "Yeah, so does Athena."

"So you can see where I'm coming from, then," Apollo smiled. He sipped at the ambrosa, something he hadn't had in quite a while.

"Yeah, sure can."

Once the initial awkwardness was vanquished, the conversation went smoothly on and on. Apollo was pleasantly surprised to find that he liked talking to Starbuck, as opposed to chewing him out for yet another incident of creative rule-bending. Of course, none of this was helping his resolve to keep control over his wayward emotions, but oh well... At least now there was something to base the attraction on, and it now longer seemed quite so far-fetched... He found himself staring at the blond man across from him and blushed, looking away.

"What's wrong?"

Damn, he'd caught it. "Nothing," Apollo muttered. "Just a random thought, that's all."

"Well? Spill it, Captain—it must be good, if it made you turn that shade of red."

"Oh good lords—" Apollo had a deep swallow of his ambrosa. His second? Third? Did it matter? "Nothing, just remembering a dirty joke is all."

"Well, I didn't know you knew any of those!" Starbuck was laughing at him, teasing. "So out with it, what was it?"

"Just something I overheard Jolly telling—something about the man trapped in the pit with the Iridian sex-slave."

Starbuck snickered. "Yeah—I heard that one, it was good. So did you hear the one about the cucumber, the pickle, and the penis?"

"The what?"

"I'll take that as a no, then..." Starbuck grinned. "One day a cucumber, a pickle and a penis were having a conversation. The pickle says, 'You know, my life really sucks. Whenever I get fat and juicy, they sprinkle seasonings over me and they stick me in a jar.' The cucumber says, 'Yeah, you think that's bad? Whenever I get big fat and juicy, they slice me up and they put me over salad.' The penis says, 'You think that your lives are tough? Well, whenever I get big, fat and juicy, they throw a plastic bag over my head, shove me in a wet, dark, smelly room and force me to do push-ups until I throw up and lose consciousness!'"

Apollo snickered. "That was bad. That was really bad."

"Oh yeah?" Starbuck grinned unrepentantly. "I'd like to see you do better."

"Oh really, now."

"Yes, really now! Come on, surely you can come up with something?"

Apollo's eyes gleamed with a wicked light. "Okay, then, if you insist..." he sighed dramatically. "There's these two dedicated Kobolian nuns out for a bike ride. One of them leans over to the other and says, 'I've never come this way before.' The other one looks around quickly and then replies, 'It's the cobblestones.'"

Starbuck stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I can't believe you just said that," he gasped, eventually.

"Why not?" Apollo quirked an eyebrow and sipped his drink.

"All this time—" Starbuck paused for a drink and to catch his breath. "All this time, I've thought you were this totally straight-laced and proper Kobolian type guy, and then you throw something like that at me..." He shook his head and grinned.

Apollo chuckled. "You just don't know me well at all, that's your problem. Me, straight-laced? Or worse yet, Kobolian? No thanks—my father does that well enough for the entire family."

"I guess so." Starbuck smiled. "So what other surprises do you have for me tonight, hmm? Let's see—so far, I've learned that you actually know how to have fun—as long as someone makes you, that is—"

Apollo threw a wadded up napkin at him.

"You like to drink, a surprise in itself since you're always so damn well-behaved... you tell sacrilegious jokes... what else?"

"What is this, dissect Apollo night?" He thought for a moment. "Well, I play Triad."

"No..."

"Yes. Got a problem with that?"

"Are you any good?"

"Haven't played in yahrens, but I used to be regional champion in the Academy."

Starbuck blinked in surprise. "No way—really?"

"Yes, really. Where were you hiding? Surely we must have been there at about the same time."

Starbuck blushed and squirmed. "Well, actually—"

"What? Out with it, man."

"I never really paid much attention to the Academy," he confessed, looking anywhere but at Apollo. "I was usually making the rounds of the chanceries and such."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Apollo grinned. Then he yawned and glanced at his chrono. "Look, I've got to head out, okay? I have this thing in the morning, let's call it work..."

"Yeah, yeah." Starbuck grumbled and glanced at his own chrono. "Damn. Guess we'll call it a night, then." He stood and looked down at his Captain. "Apollo?"

"Yeah?" Apollo looked back at him, still smiling.

"Why didn't you tell me you were so much fun to hang out with?"

"Because you never asked." Apollo rose. "I'm off. See you later!"

He walked off briskly, leaving Starbuck staring after him for a long moment. Starbuck finally shook his head and left, heading for his own quarters. Who would have ever guessed it—Captain Apollo was hiding a real personality beneath that cold professional exterior!

Hmm... Apollo lay back in his bed, thinking. Life was getting very interesting, despite the irritation of the Cylons. Starbuck was seeing to that. Between trips to the OC, the Rising Star, and the Triad courts, Apollo was seeing far more of the Lieutenant than he was his supposed girlfriend. He smiled. He didn't have much of a problem with that, not anymore. Serina did, of course, but that was her problem, not his. And there was something he could do about that... Perhaps tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow—that would be good. His smile broadened. And then, once his problem was taken care of... the possibilities were endless.

The door chime sounded. Apollo gathered his courage and resolve and rose to answer it.

"Hello, Serina," he said, stepping aside to allow her to come in.

"I got your message." For once, she sounded uncertain, tentative. "Was there something important?"

"Yes." Apollo simply looked at her for a moment. Lords knew he'd tried to make it work, but she just wasn't right for him. He dismissed the feeling that he was being selfish for the hundredth time. It wasn't selfishness to be honest.

"I'm sorry, Serina," Apollo said, looking away. "I just can't do this anymore—it's not fair to you, to me, or to Boxey."

"What's not fair? What do you mean, you can't do this anymore?"

"I can't continue to have a relationship with you anymore. You're looking for something I can't give." He risked a glance at her. The confusion on her face gave way to understanding.

"You're dumping me." Her voice was flat, emotionless—stunned. "Just like that. You're dumping me."

"I'm sorry, Serina—I tried, I really did, but I just can't be what you want and need." His head began to ache, a persistent throb that distracted his attention from the small woman in front of him.

"But Apollo, what about Boxey? Don't you care how hard this is on him, not having a father? He wants you as a father, so the kids at school will quit teasing him. They all say you are afraid to be a real daddy, that you don't give a damn about him."

"Serina..." Apollo rubbed his forehead, with no result. The headache was rapidly constricting his entire universe into nothing but a vast, echoing tunnel of pain. "Serina. Leave Boxey out of this. Leave Boxey's friends, or enemies, or acquaintances, or whatever out of this. The issue is between you and me."

"Don't you love me anymore?" she pouted, lip trembling. He sighed and took her face in his hands. Large tear-filled eyes gazed up at him, with a lost-daggit look that could melt sterner hearts than his.

"Serina," he said again, softly. "I care about you. But the truth is, I never can love you—not the way you want—not the way my father wants, either. Can't you see that? I just don't want to spend the rest of my life by your side, tied down and responsible and..." The argument sounded weak, even to his own ears. He let his hands fall away and turned to leave.

"What kind of man are you, anyway?" she hissed at him, flashing into a fiery rage with no warning. "What kind of man leads a woman and child on, leads them to believe someone actually cares about them, and then just turns his back with no warning when they've grown to depend on him?"

A red hot poker stabbed him through the eyeballs at her words. Damn this headache, he thought irritably. Can't even think straight. "And yes, here we go again," he said, turning back to her. Sparks were all but flying off her small form, and she trembled with the intensity of her anger. "Outraged denial from you—"

"What?" she shrieked, stalking closer. "Me? What about—"

"Let me finish, dammit!" Apollo snapped. "You just can't accept the fact that I'm not romantically interested in you, can you? Damn, woman—I've told you no a thousand times, and you still don't get it!"

"Not interested? Not interested? You've been leading me on for sectares, pretending an interest in me, my son—"

"Not fracking pretending! I told you, I care, but I can't—"

"You're not man enough to be a father to my son."

"Lords..." Apollo gave up. He rubbed his aching head again, then walked away. He paused before leaving the room. "Why did you have to make this so difficult? I would have been willing to continue as friends. But now, thanks to your own spitefulness, I never want to lay eyes on you again. Get out of my quarters, now."

Without waiting to see if she did as he asked, he went into his bedroom to search his sanitary unit for painkillers. Surely there were some in there somewhere...

Okay, so it had been harder than he'd expected. It was done now. In fact, that sounded like the swish of the door closing out there. Aha! Yes, there they were—he grasped the bottle of painkillers with relief. One more problem solved. That was all he could do, just face one problem at a time.

Adama sat behind his desk, brooding. Starbuck fidgeted. Apollo merely waited.

"We must discover what is behind these new patterns of attack," Adama said at last.

"My guess would be that the Cylons have formed an alliance with another military power," Apollo said. He wondered idly if his father was upset enough with him to dismiss his ideas out of hand.

"Although that is extremely uncharacteristic, events force me to consider the possibility. How shall we combat this new threat?"

Starbuck shifted forward in his chair, with a glance at Apollo. He was on even shakier ground with the Commander, thanks to Athena. Apollo nodded minutely, and Starbuck took his turn with an unpopular idea. "I think it would be best if we split our forces," he said.

"Impossible!"

"Hear me out, sir," Starbuck leaned forward earnestly. "If we send at least half a squadron to the rear of the fleet, it will give more protection for the civilians. Having our entire strength concentrated in one spot was effective with the old attack patterns, but with these new tactics, the back section of the fleet is too vulnerable."

"The idea has merit, Commander," Apollo chimed in. He was glad he and Starbuck were able to work together now, rather than being subtly divided—better by far to present a united front against Cylons or his father. "With half of a squadron in place already, the damage to, say, the agroships could be kept to a minimum."

Adama winced. The entire fleet was still on short rations from the loss of one of the agroships. "Perhaps," he admitted. "Perhaps that would be wise. And where do you propose the fighters be quartered?"

"There is a troop transport which brings up the rear of the fleet," Starbuck replied promptly. "With a bit of work, the launch tubes could be repaired and approximately ten warriors could be housed there."

"You two have this all worked out, don't you." He steepled his fingers and regarded them both for a moment, no thoughts showing on his still face. "Very well, then—split Red Squadron in half and send half of them to the transport ship. Blue will take over all scouting duties. And make sure to collect all possible data on the new tactics for analysis."

"Thank you, sir." Apollo rose, followed closely by Starbuck, and left the office with a sense of relief. That had been easier than he expected.

"Good lords." Starbuck let his breath out in a gusty sigh, as soon as the door closed behind them. "What a tense situation!"

"You can say that again," Apollo agreed. "Could be worse, though. He could be allowing personal feelings to get in the way of professional duty."

"Thank the lords he's too good of a Commander to let that happen."

"Yeah. You going to go back to that transport?"

"Nah, not tonight. Bojay's in charge of the first crew. He gets all the clean-up duty."

The two shared a grin over that. Bojay had been one of the new additions to the crew when they ran across Commander Cain's ship, the Battlestar Pegasus. And what an ordeal that had been, in itself... leaving them with a few more Viper pilots, who had attitudes more than large enough to make up a whole separate squadron of their own.

"Athena had something planned—been on me about it all day, wants to make sure I'm there tonight."

"Thought she wasn't speaking to you?"

Starbuck shrugged. "I guess she changed her mind. Maybe even Athena can't stay pissed forever."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Apollo chuckled. "I know my sister a lot better than you do... anyway, I'm off for a while. I'll be in my quarters."

"Gotcha, Captain!" Starbuck saluted cheerfully and went off to inform Bojay about the cleanup duty.

It was an indeterminate length of time later. Today had really gotten to him, more than he really cared to admit. Apollo rarely sought solace at the bottom of a bottle, but that was where he was now. Safe in the privacy of his quarters, all the pain and confusion of his thoughts had wound down into an ambrosa-soaked puddle of goo. Serina, Starbuck, Cylons, hot and sexy men, the future—none of it mattered anymore. And then the door began chiming. He ignored it. Whoever it was would just have to go away.

But he, she, or it did not oblige.

"Go away," he muttered. The door chimed again.

"What the hell do you want?" Apollo yelled at the persistent chime of the door. "I said go away!" He'd been trying to ignore the damn thing, but whoever it was refused to leave him in peace. He swallowed the last of his ambrosa and glared at the door, daring it to chime again. It did. "Oh, all right!"

He flung himself out of the chair and stomped to the door. "What!" he demanded of the forlorn figure standing there.

"I brought more ambrosa," Starbuck said, and pushed his way past the startled Captain. He procured a glass for himself from the cupboard, then sank with a faint groan into the embrace of the couch, while Apollo stared at him in stunned disbelief.

"What happened to you?" he asked, at length. Starbuck looked like hell. In fact, Starbuck looked a lot like he felt—red eyes, messed up hair, the high color of one who's had a bit too much ambrosa...

"Your sister. Now are you going to join me, or just stand there like an idiot?" Starbuck popped the cork on the bottle and poured. Apollo stared for a moment longer, then retrieved his glass from his desk and sat on the couch.

"Tell me what happened," he said, holding his glass out for Starbuck to pour.

"Like I said, your sister," Starbuck responded, after a long drink. He sighed. "Seems little Athena's been having a fling with Boomer—she saw fit to inform me of that tonight, along with a few other choice facts. That was what she had planned."

"What?" Apollo gaped in disbelief. Athena was cheating? With Boomer?

"Yeah, facts like—she's tired of me, she thinks I'm the biggest waste of effort the gods ever made, she's having Boomer's baby..."

"Athena's... pregnant?" Apollo nearly dropped his ambrosa.

Starbuck finished his drink and poured another. "Not yet—I'll give her that much, she was careful not to get pregnant. But she definitely intends to. She wants to seal to Boomer and make lots and lots of little babies, starting tonight."

"Holy shit." Apollo stared wordlessly at Starbuck for a moment.

"Yeah."

There was silence for a long moment, then Starbuck sighed. "Women suck."

"Agreed." Apollo nodded. "They do. I really can't understand why they have to be such nasty little bitches—yes, Athena included. You know what Serina did today?"

"Heard you had a fight, but not the details."

"She sent Boxey over to my place to ask me to seal to her. She had him tell me how much he wanted a Daddy, and how great a Daddy I would be—and how much his mom loved me and wanted me to be part of their family."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. And then the little stinker slipped up—said how my father had been talking to his mom, and how great it would be if she could get me to seal to her. 'So's he didn't have to worry 'bout you no more,' was how Boxey put it."

"What a pisser." Starbuck knocked back the rest of his second glass and poured again. "Your family is fucked up."

"You're telling me!" Apollo sat upright in outrage. Funny, he didn't remember sinking back against the arm of the couch like a ragdoll—no matter. "If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be stuck on this damn battlestar! I would've been perfectly happy back on Caprica, doing what I love, but no—Father insisted that I join the military, carry on the family tradition."

"You don't want to be here?" Starbuck regarded him with wide eyes, a little clouded by the effects of the potent liquor.

"Hell, no! I wanted to be an artist, or a musician, or a writer—anything but a warrior. Father always said it was a disgrace, 'unmanly,' was how he put it."

Starbuck thought back to when he'd seen Apollo playing for the family. He'd seemed utterly happy, at peace with himself and the world for once. "Not a disgrace, not with your talent. You ought to blow them all off, go your own way—although if you had, you would have been blown up on Caprica with the rest of the artists, writers, and musicians."

"Sometimes I think I would have been happier that way," Apollo said quietly, relaxing back against the arm of the couch again. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with any of this. No Cylons, no Serina, no rogue Lieutenants driving me half insane—" He shot a sideways look at Starbuck.

"Only half insane?" Starbuck said lightly. "Guess I'll have to try harder. Here, have some more ambrosa."

When the alert sounded, Apollo struggled back to consciousness with an effort. His body began staggering about, automatically getting ready to face the crisis, before he was fully aware. He paused in the act of tugging his uniform on over his pressure suit—what the hell was Starbuck doing on his couch?—then continued dressing as memory returned. Oh yeah, they had spent last night getting very drunk and bitching about women and life in general.

"What the frack is going on?" Starbuck groaned.

"Alert, Lieutenant. Get your ass up and ready!" Apollo tried to sound confident and in command of himself, but wasn't too sure how well he did. He took a look at himself in the mirror. Bloody hell, he couldn't show up with those red eyes! Where were those eyedrops? Ah, yes, there they were. He put a few drops in each scratchy eye, sighing with relief as they soothed away the irritation and cleared the redness away. Much better.

"I'm ready, I'm ready—hey, can I have some of those?" The equally red-eyed Lieutenant made a grab for the eyedrops. Apollo tossed the little bottle, noting with approval that even hungover, Starbuck's reactions were still damn good.

"Hurry up, man. Looks like you're flying with me this time. Unless you think there's time to get back to your squadron?"

"Nah, they're cool—Bojay'll do a damn good job leading 'em, and love every centon of it. Let's go find out what all the fuss is about."

The two managed to reach the launch tubes in time to go out with the first wave of fighters. Cylon Raiders were everywhere, a full squadron focusing on the launch area alone. Radar showed more of them attacking other ships of the fleet, targeting the slowest and heaviest freighters.

"What the hell are these bastards up to?" Starbuck yelled over the comm, as he barely avoided a suicidal rush from a Raider.

"Beats me—this isn't an ordinary attack run," Apollo responded. He fed the data from the radar into the tactical computer, hoping to find a pattern or some hint of guidance. "All right—Blue Squadron, defense pattern delta, on my mark. Red Squadron—you out there?"

"Right behind you, Captain!" came the cheerful response. Bojay, he thought—probably absolutely overjoyed that his squadron leader was at the front of the fleet, leaving him in charge. "We've got a nice little party going on back here, care to join us?"

"We've got plenty of fun up here, Bojay," Apollo said dryly. He aimed carefully and fired at a Raider, which went up in a satisfying ball of flame. "Okay, Red Squadron, protect those civilian ships! I don't know what the hell these bastards are up to, and neither does my tactical computer, but those ships are totally defenseless and depending on you. Got that?"

"Aye, Captain!"

"Frack!" Starbuck swore. "This is weird even for Cylons—they're trying to make a strike at the Galactica!"

"Blue Squadron, belay that last order, and commence attack pattern alpha right now!"

Even as startled mutters were coming over the comm—attack? he wants us to attack, rather than defend?—Blue Squadron formed a tight phalanx with Apollo as point and Starbuck as his wingman. They drove into the Cylon force, splitting it into a mass of chaos. Unable to continue the attack on the Galactica, the Cylons were forced to deal with the Vipers, which drove through their scattered formation again and again.

"Alright, everybody, you're on your own! Split and find a target," Apollo ordered, peeling out of formation and targeting a Raider which was attempting to escape. Blue Squadron made short work of the remaining Cylons, then regrouped above the Galactica.

"Bojay!" Apollo called over the comm. "How's the party?"

"The bastards are hitting us hard," came the response. "They're everywhere—taking chunks out of the agroships."

"On our way," Apollo replied. "Hear that, guys? Let's get our asses back there and help out Red Squadron."

Then Apollo raised the Galactica on a private channel. "What're the chances of getting some help with defending the fleet? They're targeting the agroships."

"We'll try to help out if we can," Colonel Tigh responded. "But right now, we're more concerned with the baseship bearing down on us than the agroships."

"Frack!" Apollo checked his radar. Sure enough, there was a baseship on a direct course for the Galactica. Then his squadron reached the battle over the agroships and his attention returned to staying alive.

"Frack! I've got one on my tail, and I can't shake him!" Boomer's voice came over the comm.

"Easy, Boomer—I'm on it!" Starbuck drove in behind the Raider and blasted it, barely pulling up in time to avoid blasting Boomer as well.

"Thanks, man," Boomer said with relief.

"Don't mention it," Starbuck replied. Then he returned to Apollo's side.

"Apollo, you see a pattern in this shit?"

"Yeah, Starbuck—and a way to take care of it. You with me?"

"Lead on, man."

Apollo pulled straight up, Starbuck hard on his tail. From above the pattern was even more clear—one Raider in charge, two shadowing every move. "Ready?"

"Ready! Let's rock!"

The two warriors sent their Vipers down into the battle, targeting only the lead Cylons. Without the direction of their leaders, the other Raiders lost their cohesion, making them easy targets for the other pilots to clean up. Apollo had sighted on the last of the leaders, when suddenly all the Cylons regrouped and turned tail. Apollo ordered both squadrons to pursue, and got to witness an amazing sight: the Galactica and the baseship, blasting away at each other at point-blank range. The ships were equally matched in defense and weaponry when they were far apart, but being at such a close range effectively reduced the Galactica's weaponry by half.

Apollo swore.

"Starbuck." He took a deep breath. There wasn't anyone else he could trust with this mission—he knew all their records, he knew all their reaction times and simulator scores—there were only two pilots who even stood a chance of pulling this one off. He was going to have to risk it, hope Starbuck was equal to the challenge and wouldn't crack up on him... or let him down, because the old trouble between them was too newly healed.

"Yeah?"

"You going to cover my ass when I go in?"

"What! Frack—" Starbuck switched channels. Apollo stared at the little red indicator that said he was being hailed on channel 18, then flipped the switch. "—can't do that, Apollo! What the frack, man—have you lost your mind? That's a fucking baseship out there, in case you haven't noticed!"

"I'd noticed," Apollo replied, with all the charm of dry ice. "That is a baseship going toe-to-toe with the Galactica, to be exact. And you know what? The Galactica can't take it for much longer. Ever read up on the capabilities of that baby? At close range, she's no match for a baseship."

"That's no reason to go—"

"Starbuck. There are exactly two pilots in this motley crowd that are good enough to survive a run on that ship—meaning me, and you. Now are you going to cover my ass, or not?"

"Not again, dear lords, not again," Starbuck muttered, barely audible. Then, "Alright, I'll do it. But if you get yourself killed, damn you, I'll—I'll—I'll kill you myself!"

Apollo laughed, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "No worries, Bucko—I don't intend to get killed."

He switched back to the open channel and ordered the combined squadrons to harry and distract the baseship, providing covering fire for himself and Starbuck. Then he took a deep breath, said a brief prayer to the gods he no longer truly believed in, and hit the turbo button.

Afterwards, Apollo couldn't remember exactly how they'd done it, just a confused rush of speed, with a steady background of Starbuck swearing and bitching that he was going to get himself killed just like Orion had, and how the hell did Apollo think he would be able to continue in the service after losing two Captains in the same situation?

Then he was warning the Galactica to divert full power to the shields, and all Vipers to retreat. He could remember pushing the button which launched his full load of solenite torpedoes, and turning tail to get the hell away from the baseship before it blew, but he couldn't remember actually getting in or out. He knew he'd made it out of the trench in the giant ship somehow, because he was able to catch the amazing sight of the baseship blowing into countless tiny pieces. The Galactica rocked from the impact of the shock wave at such close range, but her shielding held.

Then Apollo became fully aware of Starbuck, yelling over the comm. "You did it! You did it! I can't believe you fracking did it!"

"Yeah," he said, coming out of whatever daze he'd been in. "Come on, let's get back to the Galactica."

Once safely in the hangar, Starbuck rushed over to Apollo and grabbed him tightly by the arms. "Damn, man—I thought for sure you were a goner, but you made it!"

Apollo grinned. "Know what? You can be my wingman anytime."

Starbuck cocked his head sideways, considering. Then a wide grin spread across his features. "Felgercarb—you can be mine!"

And then the jubilant crowds descended on them.

The human advisor made his way silently into the presence of his host. He paused before the pedestal before bowing and speaking the correct ritual phrase, "By your command."

The chair rotated slowly until the ever-shadowed figure faced him. "What is your report, advisor?"

"The loss of the baseship is a grave one, O Leader," he began.

"The fools! The loss of the baseship was due to incompetence. Trouble me not with the details of it."

"Very well, then. Still, it can be used to our advantage. The colonial fleet will be in a state of overconfidence right now, and will become careless. In my opinion, it would be wise to withdraw some of our strength right now, and make them think that there was far more damage done than actually occurred."

"A ruse," the Imperious Leader mused. "A hurt organic, who flutters helplessly and makes an attractive target, while its mate circles around and strikes from behind, forming a trap."

"Indeed, O Imperious One. If the fleet can be lured into a false sense of security, they can be lured into a trap from which there is no escape."

There was silence, while the leader considered possibilities. The human stood perfectly still, although his brain worked at a frantic pace.

"You may continue with your plan, human," the Cylon said at length. His chair rotated back away from the light, a clear dismissal.

"By your command."

"Apollo!" Starbuck caught sight of his friend and hurried to catch up.

"Starbuck! I was looking for you. Where've you been?" Apollo smiled and Starbuck's heart lurched.

"You should know, you're the one who handles the duty roster," he said lightly, while trying to cover the jolt that smile had given him. Then he recklessly decided what the hell, and threw caution to the winds. If Apollo was offended by signs of interest, then let him be offended. Starbuck was bloody tired of hiding his every reaction to the man!

"Let's see... according to the roster, you had two days off, to change over your shift so it matches mine, allowing the switch between squadrons. That still doesn't answer my question, now does it?"

Starbuck put on an overdone mysterious expression. "That information is for me to know and you to find out," he intoned dramatically, then ducked the mock blow Apollo aimed at his shoulder with a grin. "You up to anything now?"

"Looking for you."

His heart skipped a beat, and this time Starbuck didn't fight off the goofy grin. "Well, you've found me. Now what are you going to do with me?"

Was that his imagination, or was that a faint blush creeping across the Captain's cheekbones? Nah...

"Well, I could tie you up and torture you..."

"Oooh, kinky."

Apollo snorted. "Or we could head over to the OC, since there's a party of sorts on... but then, you might not want to go to this one."

"Why's that?"

"You might be tempted to raise a bit of hell."

Starbuck looked at him sternly. "Apollo, you don't know me very well."

"Admitted, but why do you say that?" Apollo was rather puzzled.

"If you knew me, you'd know that I'm always tempted to raise a little hell. Why should this party be any exception?"

"Because it's Athena's engagement party." Apollo gazed at him intently, waiting for his reaction.

"Well." Starbuck was quiet for a moment. "You know what?"

"What's that?"

"I don't have a problem with that, but there's someone who might. Boomer."

Apollo laughed. "Boomer's still tied up in knots about you, did you know that?"

"How so?" Starbuck started down the corridor in the direction of the OC.

"Because," Apollo said, as he followed. "He's still pissed that you were checking out his ass, and he still mutters about you being a pansy-boy—" Starbuck bristled "—but he's damn grateful for you saving that ass of his, not just once but repeatedly over the last few sectons."

"Aha, I see." Starbuck laughed. "Well, it's his problem if he can't deal with the fact that he has a nice ass. I don't hold grudges."

Apollo was very quiet for a few strides. "I noticed."

"Hmm? How so?"

"I know when you got here, I was more than a bit of an asshole. I was having... issues."

"Yeah, well—so was I." Starbuck sighed. Even after several sectares, the pain of Orion's loss was still fierce.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Oh, gods. Apollo was looking at him with concern, like he actually cared... "Nothing."

"Now that's a load of felgercarb if I ever heard one."

"Look—I'll tell you later, okay? There's the OC. The things that bother me aren't any good for a party."

"All right, I'll let you get away with it for now, but I've wondered for a long time what's eating at you."

Oh, have you now, Captain Apollo... Starbuck followed Apollo into the OC, a speculative look on his face.

They walked into the middle of a toast. Athena caught sight of Apollo first and smiled, then saw Starbuck as she was drinking and spluttered nectar all over herself.

"What's wrong, Thenie?" Boomer was instantly attentive, helping her wipe the mess off her fine civilian clothing.

"Just saw someone unexpected, that's all," Athena muttered, pointedly not looking at Starbuck.

Naturally, Starbuck grinned and stepped forward. All eyes focused on him. "We just dropped by to offer congratulations to the happy couple!" he said, appropriating a glass of nectar from the long table set up in the center of the room.

"Yes, well," Boomer said, a stiff and unnatural smile making him seem comical. "Thank you."

"Wishing you joy and happiness," Apollo said, raising a glass in a toast.

"Hear, hear," a few people responded, and glasses tipped up all round. If anyone noticed that both Athena and Boomer drained their nectars and immediately went for more—well, it was their party after all, and who was going to complain?

"Haven't you got better things to do?" Athena suggested to Starbuck. "Like go scrub turboflushes with a toothbrush?"

"Well, you'd have to ask my Captain about that one," Starbuck chuckled. "Captain?"

"Hmm, well now, I don't know about that, Starbuck." Apollo tried to seem serious, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "Have you done something I don't know about, something that would deserve such a punishment?"

A few people snickered. They all knew precisely how much time Starbuck spent in Apollo's office.

"Not that I'm aware of," he replied thoughtfully. "Unless—maybe offending your sister with my presence counts?"

This time, the chuckles were louder.

"I think that definitely counts for something," Apollo mused. "Maybe we'd better clear out of here, while I decide exactly what pissing off Athena deserves?"

Outright laughter met that remark.

"I think you're right, Captain." Starbuck swept a graceful bow to the assembled crowd. "Good evening, all—and Boomer? Athena? May the future bring all that you deserve." Then he turned and left, Apollo at his heels.

The door had barely closed behind them before both men burst out laughing. "Oh, lords—" Apollo gasped. "That was fun! I think you're beginning to rub off on me, or something!"

"Oh, come now, Apollo—surely you've teased your sister before?" Starbuck grinned.

"Not for many yahrens, I'm afraid. I've become more than a bit boring—or at least, I was until you decided I needed to come out of my quarters and have some fun."

Starbuck's world narrowed down to nothing more than Apollo, standing there smiling at him. His heart swelled with an almost painful joy. "Yeah, well, what can I say?"

"I can say thank you," Apollo said. His eyes shone with happiness. "And then I can say—come on, let's head over to the Rising Star. I'm hungry as hell and don't feel like dealing with the officer's mess."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

The moment lasted a bit longer, with the two of them just standing there and staring at each other, then Apollo turned and started towards the shuttle bays. Starbuck followed with a happy sigh.

Later, in a semi-private nook in a popular eating establishment, Apollo cornered Starbuck on his earlier promise.

"So..." he said, leaning back casually after an excellent meal. "What was it you were going to tell me earlier?"

"I don't remember." Starbuck swallowed hard and hoped he could get away with it. He was torn between the desire to confide in someone, and the knowledge that such a confidence could very easily destroy this new friendship he'd found with Apollo—who really wasn't such a prick once he relaxed a bit.

"And yes, there it is, another load of felgercarb." Apollo glanced at him with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. "You were going to tell me why you were so upset when you arrived on the Galactica. My guess is it had to do with the loss of your Captain. Am I right?"

Starbuck sighed. So much for getting away with it. "Alright, then. You caught me out fair and square. You're right."

"So, tell me about it." Apollo waited patiently.

Starbuck tilted his head to the side. Wonder how much I can tell him? He considered for a moment. "We were very close." There, that should be safe enough.

"I kind of figured that out. You were rather broken up when you got here."

Starbuck swallowed, hard. "Still am." He had to look away from the compassion in Apollo's eyes.

"And I was being a prick."

Starbuck winced, then grinned at this echo of his own thoughts. "Yes, you were."

Apollo laughed. "You sure don't pull your punches, do you? Ah, no matter, it's true. I was unforgivably rude. My only excuse is that I was under a lot of pressure."

"Yeah, and so was I." A bit of old resentment worked its way to the surface. "Why were you so damn hard on me, anyway?"

Apollo smiled lazily, regarding Starbuck through half-closed lids. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Okay then, go for it." Starbuck grinned. Apollo sighed dramatically.

"Father shoving women down my throat, trying to get me sealed whether I wanted it or not... Serina, there every time I turned around... Father again, riding my ass about my worthlessness—" Starbuck made a sound of protest, but Apollo ignored him and continued. "You, pushing every limit known to mankind... Cylons, keeping us on constant bloody alert... See, there's only so much stress I can handle before I get really bitchy."

"I hear that," Starbuck agreed. He tried not to let on that he was disappointed. "Is that all? Nothing else?"

That lazy smile again. "Of course there was something else, but damned if I'm going to tell you all my little secrets."

Starbuck laughed. "I guess I can allow you to get away with that," he said. "After all, you certainly don't know all of mine."

"Like exactly how close you were with Captain Orion?"

"Er... yeah, like that." Starbuck hoped his blush wasn't visible in the dim light.

"None of my business, after all," Apollo said. He paused for a moment. "You know, Athena was a bit peeved that it was never her name you would call out in your sleep."

Starbuck's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Don't worry, I made her promise not to ever tell anyone." Apollo grinned. "There's some advantage to being an older brother, after all. I know plenty of things she doesn't want spread around."

"Oh, shit..." Starbuck's head spun. He hadn't realized he talked in his sleep. Part of him resolved never to fall asleep around Apollo, unless Apollo was dead drunk like that one night.

"Don't worry," Apollo repeated. "But anyway, I'm sorry I was so rough on you at first. I'm damn glad you're such a forgiving soul."

"Hey, what's the point of holding a grudge? We're all on the same side, after all." Starbuck searched frantically through his mind for another topic to shift the conversation to. Aha— "Hey, why did you never tell your dad to shove his ideas up his ass and go for a career as a musician or an artist, like you wanted? You're really good, you know."

"Thanks." The lazy look disappeared, to be replaced by disgust. "I never had enough guts, that's why. I was always too afraid I couldn't make it on my own. And now—well, I'd almost completed my term of enlistment when Father got me this job. And you know there's about a snowball's chance in hell that they'll ever let me resign my commission now."

"Good point." Starbuck shook his head. "You may be a bit too by the book for me, but you are a damn good Captain. Don't you enjoy it at least a little?"

"It has its moments," Apollo admitted. He sat up, after a glance at his wrist chrono. "You about ready to head back? The shuttles won't be running much longer."

"Frack! It's that late?" Starbuck looked at his own chrono. Yes, it was that late.

"Time flies when you're having fun," Apollo replied.

Starbuck grinned. "It sure does. I suppose we'd better get back to the Galactica, then."

Apollo rose with a stretch. Starbuck watched him appreciatively, then struggled upright as well. The good food had made him very much inclined to remain stationary. But he had to get back to the Galactica somehow...

The shuttle ride to the Galactica was a mere fifteen centons, not nearly long enough for Starbuck. Somehow, he wound up leaning against Apollo's shoulder, with a dreamy smile on his face. He was utterly relaxed, for once—and for once, he wasn't hurting. He no longer felt as though spending time with Apollo was a betrayal of Orion's memory. He wasn't too sure how that change had come about, but for whatever reason, he was grateful.

The ride ended all too soon. Starbuck and Apollo parted ways and went to their separate quarters, each intent on his own thoughts.

"Advisor." The Imperious Leader, shadowed as always, spun his chair to face the spot of light where the human stood.

"By your command, O Imperious One." Thalkarn, military advisor to the God-King and now to the Cylons, bowed.

"What is your assessment of this situation?"

"The colonial fleet is weakening, Great One. At this point, it would be beneficial to throw everything we've got at them for a while. Hit them fast, and hit them hard—keep them constantly under attack to cover up what is really occurring."

"And what do you have planned, that this assault would provide cover for?"

"Tell me, O Imperious One," the bronze man smiled. "Are you familiar with the monuments of my home world, and with the technology allowed on the surface? Perhaps you shall allow me to enlighten you. On Bel'akor, where mechanical technology is strictly forbidden, we have developed a different type of tool. The Great Pyramids were built using coherent sound, a force which so far in the known universe has proven unstoppable. If you will allow the construction of a weapon utilizing this technology, I can offer you the battlestar you so ardently desire on a gleaming silver platter. What is unknown can not be defended against with any degree of adequacy."

"And you believe this coherent sound will destroy the humans?"

"Definitely," said the advisor. "Once the device is built and properly calibrated, you shall be able to destroy the humans without any cost in Raiders."

"Intriguing," the leader mused. "Have we the materials you would need to build your device on board?"

"Yes, O Great One."

"Very well, then—you may build your toy. However, if it does not deliver, you shall suffer the fate of Baltar."

Thalkarn shuddered. Baltar had died on the gladius of a centurion, upon his failure to succeed in his plots against his own people. But the weapon of sound would not fail him. It had never failed before.

"Frack! Here we go again," Apollo groaned. He pressed the alert button. "Blue Squadron, radar shows incoming Raiders, and a baseship. Red, on alert as backup. Keep in touch with the rearguard. Let's go!"

He made his way to his Viper, feeling like he was at the end of his strength. The Cylons were up to something, that was certain—there had been attacks nearly continuously for the last secton. Part of him wondered where they managed to find all the centurions and Raiders, but the rest of him was simply numb and war-weary.

This attack was different. The Cylons approached from an unusual angle, coming up at a diagonal from underneath the Galactica. Strange, but hardly effective as a stealth maneuver, if that had been the intention; the Galactica's radar was omni-directional.

The skirmish was mercifully brief. The Cylons seemed surprised to find the humans ready for them, and withdrew from the field with little damage to the fleet. The men were too tired to even cheer when the Raiders withdrew. They simply returned to the Galactica, to catch what rest they could before the next attack began.

"Thalkarn." The Imperious Leader's voice showed his displeasure.

"By your command." Thalkarn waited for the condemnation which was sure to come. His plan had failed.

"The humans were not taken by surprise."

"No, Great One. I have failed you."

"The failure is not such a great one, human," the Leader said. The advisor raised his head, hopeful of a reprieve. "Based on previous performance and success, I will give you another chance. Go now, and devise a new strategy."

"By your command." Thalkarn bowed deeply, then left.

Apollo sat in the OC, fidgeting. Starbuck was late. What if he didn't show up? Then he'd feel really stupid just sitting here, all by himself. They finally had a chance to get away from duty for a while—there'd been two consecutive days without any Cylon activity. They'd planned to go out, to actually have some fun. But where was Starbuck? He caught himself shredding a napkin and made a conscious effort to relax. He was being paranoid. Since when was Starbuck ever on time for anything, anyway? But what if he didn't show up? What if Starbuck didn't bother showing up, because he just wasn't interested? He could be reading too much into the man's reactions. After all, he was very new to this whole game—maybe it was only because he wanted to that he was seeing signs of interest, signs of... desire. It could just be wishful thinking, Starbuck could really still be pining for Athena and just spending time with Apollo as a poor substitute...

Apollo's guts twisted uneasily. Then he laughed at himself. Yeah, right—sure the Lieutenant wasn't interested. That was why Thenie had been bitching about Starbuck occasionally calling out for him while he slept. Sure, most of the time he'd wanted Orion, but Apollo's name had been mentioned often enough to really piss her off.

Starbuck's arrival interrupted his thoughts. "Hey," he said, sliding into the seat opposite Apollo. He glanced at the remains of the napkin and Apollo hastily stuffed it into a compact ball and shoved it out of the way.

"Hey yourself." His insides fluttered. Damn, what was it about the man that made him feel all fluttery inside? Ridiculous, really—at his age, getting all silly over a guy. And sheesh—a guy! He still had occasional difficulties wrapping his mind around that idea. Although other parts of him didn't mind...

"Sorry I took so long getting here, got sidetracked." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a gleaming handful of cubits. "There was this game, you see..."

"And you just had to try your hand," Apollo chuckled. "I take it you won?"

Starbuck's complacent grin was answer enough.

"Good. Always better to win than lose."

"I always win," Starbuck said quietly, with a look that froze Apollo's breath in his chest and left him with no doubt that Starbuck wasn't talking about card games. The blond man smiled slowly, aware of Apollo's reaction.

"Aw, isn't that cute." A sarcastic voice shattered the moment. They looked up to see Sheba standing over them, with a nasty smile on her face reminiscent of cruel children plucking the wings off insects.

"Well, hello, Sheba," Apollo drawled casually. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hey Serina," Sheba called, looking off over her shoulder. "C'mere—look what I found!"

Serina worked her way through the crowd. Apollo felt a sinking sensation in his middle and firmly resisted the urge to slide down under the table—or worse yet, to cling to Starbuck for support.

"Bugger off, Sheba," Starbuck suggested, pointedly not looking at her. "You're not wanted here."

Sheba sneered. She'd been drinking, Apollo could tell. A faint scent of stale booze permeated the air around her. "Bet you'd like that, pansy-boy."

Starbuck tensed and Apollo laid a restraining hand on his arm. Just then, Serina came staggering up, to lean giggling against Sheba.

"Oh, how cute!" she giggled. "Look at that, Sheeb—no wonder Apollo didn't want to be a daddy for Boxey. He's got a boy of his own!"

"Now that's enough!" Apollo snapped. "Sheba, Serina—both of you, leave now. Or do I have to call security?"

"Fuckin' Captain, always throwin' fuckin' rank around—" Sheba sighed with overblown disappointment. "C'mon, Ree, let's get outta here. The pretty boys are too grouchy tonight."

Starbuck glared and muttered as the two women made their way back to the bar. "Bitches."

"Yeah." Apollo relaxed, now that the women were gone. "Wonder what the hell that was all about?"

"Beats the frack out of me. Although, I think if I was still in command of Red, I'd have to haul Sheba in for an ass-chewing."

Apollo gasped in mock horror. "What—you, go by the book? You, discipline your pilots?"

It was Starbuck's turn to throw a wadded up napkin. It bounced off Apollo's cheekbone. "Knock it off, you. Really, though, I don't give a damn about the rules as to who you can and can't sleep with, as long as nobody's being bloody obvious. Look at them."

"Holy shit, you're right!" Apollo leaned forward, observing the two women with more interest. "Be damned. I never would have guessed that. Just look at them, though!"

"Yeah, well—sometimes it's easy to tell, and this is one of 'em."

Apollo snickered. "Wonder what dad would say if he saw the woman he wanted me to marry now?"

Starbuck grinned. "What a thought."

"Yeah."

There was a brief moment of silence. Then Starbuck glanced away, attention caught by movement at the front of the room. "What the hell...?"

Apollo stretched to get a better view. Greenbean was fiddling with the microphone on the microscopic stage at the far end of the OC. "Looks like Greenbean's going to give us some entertainment," Apollo chuckled.

"All right! This should be something to see."

There was a low hum and a crackle as the amplification system powered up. Then Greenbean tapped on the mike and raised it to his mouth.

"Hey hey hey," he said, with a wide grin, "and welcome to the great OC of the mighty Galactica. I trust you're all having a good time?"

"Not good enough, Greenie!" someone called from the floor.

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm up here," he grinned. "See, someone dared me, and you know how I am about a dare—" general laughter met this remark. "So... anyone ever hear the one about the Kobolian and the three Cylons?"

Apollo snorted. "Oh no—spare us from his jokes, please—if there are any gods, they'll make that mike blow out about now..."

The groans of the crowd silenced the joke before it began. "Okay, okay, I get the picture!" Greenbean laughed. "So... any ideas for what we can do to liven up this too-quiet evening?"

"Sing for us, Greenie!" Sheba called out from the bar.

Greenbean reeled back in mock horror, bringing more laughter. "Sing? Me? You must not know what you're asking..."

"C'mon, Greenbean! Give us a tune!" Apollo couldn't quite make out that speaker.

"Awright, awright—anyone know what happened to the backup recordings?"

"Hell yeah!" Jolly jumped up and rummaged through a storage compartment. He produced a backup disk and dropped it in the sound machine. "How about 'Walk In the Stars?'"

"I'll try—" Greenbean started to say, then the music began. He shrugged and began singing, to the accompaniment of much laughter and good-natured catcalls.

Apollo leaned closer to Starbuck. "He can't sing worth a damn, but this is a definite change from the ordinary OC nights."

"You ought to get up there," Starbuck suggested.

"Nah, don't think so." Apollo chuckled. The song ended.

"There, I did it. Now it's someone else's turn." Greenbean returned the mike to its stand and returned to his seat, where he was rewarded with a drink bought by his friends.

"Put some real music on, we want to dance!" Serina called. Apollo blinked. Apparently, Serina loosened up a bit with the addition of alcohol.

The suggestion was met with enthusiastic approval. Jolly found a disk of dance music and put it on, while others shoved aside the tables sitting on the tiny dance floor. Serina dragged Sheba out on the floor and they started dancing.

Apollo had to laugh. "Look at that—they don't even know how to dance!"

"You've got that right." Starbuck laughed as well.

"Starbuck!" Giles called.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you get out there, show 'em how it's done?"

"Nah, don't think so." Starbuck grinned and shook his head.

"C'mon, Starbuck..." Jolly wheedled, coming up to the table. "I've seen you do the Time Warp. You're damn good."

Apollo spluttered and nearly sprayed ambrosa all over the table.

"Something wrong, Captain?" Starbuck asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Nothing, nothing—haven't even thought of the Time Warp in yahrens, that's all—and—" He stopped, before he could say anything even more embarrassing. The thought of Starbuck... and the, um, interesting movements required by the dance... well.

"You know it?"

"Yeah. I know it."

"You always manage to surprise me, Apollo," Starbuck said, shaking his head in wonder.

Jolly slipped away and fussed with the sound system for a moment. Then the unmistakable first strains of the Time Warp song rolled out of the speakers. Starbuck looked at Apollo. Apollo looked at Starbuck.

"Well?"

The challenge was equally unmistakable. Apollo started to say no, to do the right thing as always and be the proper good little Captain. Then he decided to hell with propriety and stood up.

Starbuck threw back his head and laughed. Then he got up and made his way to the dance floor, landing on it with a dramatic leap. Apollo followed, sliding into position beside Starbuck right as the intro ended. Ah, it had been so long...

The crowd cheered on their efforts, until the music stopped with a squawk.

"Captain Apollo."

Instant silence descended on the OC. Everyone froze in place, then turned to face the man who'd spoken—Commander Adama, who stood beside the stereo, finger still on the power button.

"What is the meaning of this? I came here to enjoy a quiet evening with Siress Tinia, not to witness my son engaging in... inappropriate behavior."

Apollo felt a hint of color creeping across his cheeks, but didn't move away from Starbuck.

"We were just having a bit of fun, Commander." He straightened his shoulders and looked his father dead in the eye. "We are all off duty here, and just enjoying our free time."

"I suggest you find different ways to enjoy your free time, Captain. Or else you will likely find yourself spending it confined to quarters." Adama frowned, harsh and disapproving, at everyone present. "I expect all of you to remember that you are all under alert conditions, and to conduct yourself accordingly."

He turned and left, Siress Tinia on his arm.

"What do you suppose he means by inappropriate, anyway?" Starbuck mused, gazing at Adama's departing back. There was a subdued grumble from the others present as they returned to their seats. Resentful mutters filled the air.

Apollo made a face. "Anything that leads to or condones the having of fun," he said sourly. Starbuck snickered. "And I don't see what his problem is. Really, the way he reacted, you'd think we were doing something positively indecent, right here in the OC!"

"Hmm..." Starbuck grinned at him, an irrepressible gleam in his eye. "Perhaps that isn't such a bad idea, after all. I mean, we're damned in his eyes already, why not have some fun?"

Apollo snickered. "And wouldn't that be a sight to behold, when word got back to him about his son and his best friend engaging in—um—truly inappropriate behavior in public!"

Starbuck's breath caught painfully. "Why Apollo, you surprise me again," he said softly.

Apollo looked at him, the dim light making his features soft and indistinct. "How so?"

"You don't appear shocked by what I suggested." Starbuck licked his lips, tension singing along his nerves.

"Nope, not in the slightest," Apollo grinned broadly. "I'm afraid it takes more than a suggestion of improper behavior to shock me."

"How much more?" Starbuck breathed, sliding closer and touching the Captain's face lightly. The rest of the OC faded away into the insignificant background.

"Certainly much more than a mere suggestion. Perhaps some of the improper behavior in question?" Apollo smiled and leaned into Starbuck's almost-caress.

"Perhaps," Starbuck started, then had to stop, swallow, and try again. The words didn't want to pass from his suddenly dry throat. "Perhaps this isn't the best place for this discussion?"

"I think you're right." Those green eyes smiled at him in the dim light, warm and inviting.

Then the alert sounded.

"Frack!" Apollo jumped and ran, swearing all the way, for the Viper bays. He could hear Starbuck behind him, swearing equally creatively. Just before they reached the launch tubes, Apollo stopped and caught hold of Starbuck, pulling him behind a tall pile of supply crates.

"I just wanted to let you know," he said, eyes burning with intensity, "that we're going to continue that discussion later." He kissed the other man with fierce passion.

Then he pulled away and left for his Viper. Starbuck staggered after him, senses reeling from the fire and promise in that brief kiss.

The engagement was fast and furious. The Cylons, only one squadron this time, hit a civilian transport hard. By the time the Vipers were launched, a matter of mere centons, the civilian ship was in flames, beyond saving. The Cylons, mission accomplished, didn't even try to cause any more damage than the one ship. Apollo wondered distantly, through the adrenaline rush brought on by the battle, what was behind this change in Cylon tactics. This new strike and run style of theirs was doing far more damage to the fleet than the old throw-everything-at-the-Galactica technique.

Blue Squadron pursued the Cylons until they reached the defensive perimeter which Adama had set. More than half of the Raiders were destroyed, but there was nothing that could be done for the defenseless civilians who had been on that ship.

It was a quiet and demoralized squadron that returned to the Galactica. Apollo sought refuge in routine, secure in his office and the endless forms which always had to be filled out and filed—reports of pilot performance, of enemy strength and tactics, damage reports, even the amount of fuel consumption. Boring work, mind-numbing work, but it allowed him a chance to simply not think for a while. There had to be an effective way to counter these new tactics. There just had to be, or the fleet was doomed.

Eventually, the work ran out. Apollo stretched, then stared at his cleared desktop. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. There was another matter of unfinished business to attend to... a certain Lieutenant, who had made a certain suggestion...

Apollo left his office, bad mood replaced by anticipation. Where would he find Starbuck, anyway?

He checked the OC—no luck. No one there had seen him. He tried Starbuck's quarters, with a similar result—no answer to the door chime. He thought about checking the shuttle logs, to see if maybe Starbuck had gone over to the Rising Star, then shook his head with a rueful smile for his own folly. So the man wasn't available. He'd just have to deal with it. But what a disappointment...

Apollo sighed and made his way to his quarters. He went in and turned on a light, then blinked in surprise. Starbuck was there, sprawled across his couch.

"So that's why I couldn't find you."

Starbuck stretched and yawned, sitting up. "Yeah. Hope you don't mind, but, well—I kind of wanted to make sure you didn't disappear on me."

"Disappear?" Apollo sat next to Starbuck, nerves alight with anticipation. "Now why would I want to do a silly thing like that?" He laid a hand on Starbuck's thigh. Starbuck smiled and covered it with his own.

"Oh, I don't know—second thoughts, maybe, about continuing that discussion?"

"I've had thoughts, all right," Apollo purred, sliding closer. "Many, many thoughts, over the last few sectares. But none of them have involved avoiding that... discussion." He smiled into those blue eyes, so close to his own, and leaned forward for a kiss.

It was nothing like in the Viper bay. This was not a fiery promise, but more of an exploration of possibilities. Starbuck's arms slid around him, pulling him closer.

Apollo gave himself over to the sensations racing through his body. This was good. This was definitely good. If he had ever doubted the wisdom of breaking it off with Serina, this was more than enough to lay those doubts to rest.

Starbuck broke off the kiss, but only for a micron, long enough to shift into a more comfortable position. Then he was back in Apollo's arms, lips searing skin.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," Apollo panted. Little kisses left a fiery trail along his throat.

"Shh, don't worry about it," Starbuck whispered into his ear. Apollo shivered. "Just—do what feels good, what you want to—"

"What I've been dreaming of?" Apollo whispered. He ran a tentative hand through Starbuck's hair. It was thick and soft, not coarse at all—nice to play with.

"You dream of me?" Starbuck pulled away to look at him. Apollo smiled.

"Yes, all the time." He stroked lightly along the side of Starbuck's face. "I dream about doing things like this—" and he kissed the other man gently. His tongue slid along Starbuck's lips, provoking shivers. "And like this—" he slipped both hands under Starbuck's shirt, pulling it up over his head and throwing it across the room. He popped loose the seals on the pressure suit beneath until he could run his hands over exposed skin, a truly intoxicating feeling. "But most of all—" he paused for a kiss "—I dream of doing this." He moved away and took Starbuck's hand, leading him into the bedroom. He switched the light on dim, so there was barely enough light to see by, then pulled Starbuck close against him and sank to the soft bed.

"I think I like your dreams," Starbuck murmured. He began some explorations of his own, peeling Apollo out of his uniform with ease, while Apollo's hands left shivery tingly trails all over his exposed skin. "I think we're both a bit overdressed for the occasion, wouldn't you agree?"

Apollo smiled and nodded. He rolled out from under Starbuck and removed his uniform the rest of the way, stealing shy glances at his companion as he did. Starbuck was beautiful. That was all there was to it—he was absolutely beautiful. The thought of that body against his own sent a wave of slow pleasure through him.

Then it was more than just a thought. Then it was Starbuck scooting back until he was fully on the bed, pulling Apollo with him, and Starbuck's naked body pressed up against his own. Apollo cried out at the feel of the man beneath him, then they were kissing, pressed so tightly together that their bodies felt like one.

Rational thought disintegrated into sheer pleasure. Apollo didn't even try to think, just reacted to the feel of Starbuck's body against his own. It was incredible, mind-blowing, beyond belief...

Later, much later, Apollo lay awake in the dark. Starbuck slept beside him, nestled up against his side. Apollo smiled and stroked the blond hair with a feather-light touch. Who would have ever believed it? Such an incredible experience... and this was what he'd been so afraid of? Not only the thought of sharing his body with another man, but that man being Starbuck? So silly of him... no more fear. No more need for fear, at all. Starbuck had at long last answered the question which had plagued him so—what exactly was he looking for in a partner? His smile widened. The answer was laying right here, by his side.

Starbuck woke slowly. First he was aware of how warm and relaxed he was, and then he stretched and realized that was because there was somebody else in the bed with him. Apollo... Starbuck's eyes opened, just enough to verify that he was indeed in Apollo's bed, with the lovely—and very naked—Captain curled up beside him. He closed his eyes again, with a smile of pure bliss. He wasn't sure what the morning would bring once Apollo woke, but for the moment—well, this moment was one to be savored and enjoyed to its fullest extent. This was even better than waking with Orion.

Starbuck was surprised not to feel guilty at that thought. Hmm, guess I've finally let go enough to enjoy life again... I'll always love him, nothing will ever change that, but he's gone and I'm not. And dear Captain Apollo means just as much to me as Orion ever did... Now that was a sobering thought. But it was true. Starbuck had known for a while now that, given the opportunity, he could easily love Apollo. But of course, a lot depended on Apollo's reaction to finding Starbuck in his bed this morning...

Would he be able to go back to being just friends, if Apollo got scared and, well, freaked out? Starbuck sighed. Probably not. But why go looking for unnecessary trouble? Just lay here and enjoy the moment, and never worry about what the next moment might bring.

Apollo woke suddenly, completely. He opened his eyes to find blue eyes scant inches from his own. Starbuck. He smiled and reached for the other man. "Good morning, gorgeous," he said, pulling Starbuck close for a kiss.

Starbuck responded eagerly. "Well, I guess you just answered my question," he said, a long and breathless moment later.

"And what was your question?" Apollo's hand traced teasing patterns on Starbuck's skin.

"Was just wondering," Starbuck gasped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, "how you would react to finding me here."

Apollo smiled. "Do you still want to be here?"

Starbuck caught his hand and put it on his throbbing erection. "What do you think?"

"I think—" Apollo squeezed gently, producing a pleased moan from Starbuck. "—that not only do you want to be here, but that you won't object if I do this—" and he attacked his lover with hands and mouth, putting an end to all conversation.

Surprise, surprise, Apollo thought sourly. So much for our day off...

The alert had caught them in the turbowash, pretending to clean up. Apollo smiled, despite the Cylons. Starbuck in the turbowash was a pleasant thought. So was Starbuck in bed, and Starbuck naked, and...

Apollo jerked his mind back to the business at hand when a blast from a Raider came uncomfortably close. Better pay attention, he didn't want to wind up dead—not anymore, anyways. Now there was definitely something worth living for.

Out beyond the main action of the battle, the Cylon baseship commenced turning with ponderous grace. Apollo spared it a moment's thought, then returned his attention to the Raider bearing down on him. A quick burst from his lasers, and he was flying through the flaming cloud that used to be the Raider.

"Starbuck, this attack seem odd to you?" he called over the open channel.

"Yeah." Starbuck gazed blankly at his screen "What the frack?"

It showed the Cylon forces disengaging.

"Something's up," Apollo was puzzled. "Blue squadron, into open formation and on full alert."

The twenty Vipers formed a loose V in the sky. The Raiders all flew back into the baseship, which had completed its turn.

"What the frack is that?" The question came from more throats than just Starbuck's. Mounted on the outside of the baseship was a structure unlike anything they'd ever seen before.

"Galactica, full shields and prepare for attack from an unknown source." Apollo's voice remained calm, even though other pilots were sounding frantic with this new threat. "They've got some kind of a—"

And then it struck.

Starbuck saw the thing, which looked like a giant hollow cone, compress in on itself. An almost subliminal hum emanated from it, gathering in strength, until it cut loose with a blast of SOUND. A single pitch, intense and piercing in its quality, rolled out of the cone in an unstoppable force. The Vipers were thrown across the sky like dice from a gambler's cup. As Starbuck fought to regain control of his tumbling craft, he caught sight of the Galactica as it tilted slowly, majestically, from its flight plane, rearing upwards like a crazed equus. He fought his Viper back under control and had another look—yes, the Galactica was still out of whack. What the hell had that thing done?

"Alright, people," he called over the comm. "Don't panic—whatever that thing is, it's not going to help if you panic. Apollo? You out there?"

"His ship's still flipping, Starbuck," Boomer called.

Starbuck swore and twisted around frantically, trying to spot Apollo's Viper. Then he swore again and checked his instruments, which showed several Vipers still out of control and the entire front line of the fleet tilting at crazed angles. "Apollo? Apollo, where are you at?"

"Starbuck—" Boomer's voice, steady and reassuring, gave him a momentary anchor of sanity to cling to. "If Apollo's out, you're in charge, man. What do you want us to do?"

His throat clenched. Not again, oh frack, not again—this wasn't like before, there was no fireball that had once been his Captain, he wasn't taking over command from his dead lover—Apollo's comm was out. Yeah, that was it. Apollo's comm had been damaged in the blast. He got a firm grip on himself. No matter what was happening out there, he owed it to his squadron to keep his grip on sanity and do his best. "Everyone, I want you all to spread out. Put yourself on as many different levels as possible, and I want you out of the path of that thing. It looks like it has a specific... region of influence. Get out of it, then check in."

Seventeen Vipers shot into a wide formation, a sort of abstract sphere. Three still tumbled, adrift and out of control. Starbuck's eyes prickled.

"Boomer, here and steady."

"Jolly."

"Greenbean. Have some damage to the instruments, but I'm still here."

One by one, they all checked in, all except Apollo, Dietra, and Giles. Starbuck took another look around—three ships, still tumbling. Space had such minimal friction that left unchecked, they'd probably tumble forever. The Galactica was resuming its normal plane of balance.

"All right, I want you to pair off and head in to take shots at that thing. I'm going to try and stop those Vipers, get 'em to stop with this flipping end over end felgercarb. Stay out of that thing's... influence. Go in over, go in under—doesn't matter. Hell, might even be good to go in behind—they've obviously got the damn baseship shielded, or they would have just trashed themselves. Just—be careful, and do what you can."

Starbuck tuned out the sounds of the others and focused on the three disabled Vipers. The one in most urgent need of help was on a course straight for one of the fleet ships, which tilted crazily and had a slow spin to it. He positioned his Viper directly above the disabled craft. This one was in a flat spin, revolving rapidly as it slid through space on its collision course. He matched its speed and plotted its course into his computer, then shot ahead of it and turned on his catchnet. The Viper spun directly into the magnetic tangle-field, and lurched to a halt. Starbuck's Viper lurched as well with the sudden strain. He engaged his tractor beam and hauled the Viper to a place that he estimated would be safe and left it there.

He checked on his squadron. They were engaged against a large number of raiders. The new weapon showed signs of damage, which was probably why it hadn't been fired again. Satisfied, he went after the next disabled craft.

"Galactica, do you read," he called, as he lined up the last of the Vipers. No easy way to tell who was who. They all were the same on the outside, and one helmeted head looked like another. He tested other channels. "Galactica, this is Blue Leader. Do you read."

"Blue Leader, this is Core Control. What is your status?"

Starbuck let out a whoop as Rigel's familiar voice sounded in his ear.

"We've got some casualties out here, Core," he said. "Three Vipers out of action, pilots' condition unknown. The rest of the squadron is engaging the Cylons at the baseship, after damaging this new weapon. I need someone out here with a salvage crew to bring these Vipers in."

"Crew will launch in five centons. Call all active Vipers in to provide cover, then return to landing bay alpha."

"Understood, Core." He switched back to the battle channel. "Blue Squadron, disengage. I repeat, disengage and regroup over here. All fighters to provide cover for the salvage crew and then report to landing bay alpha."

"But we've got these bastards running scared!" Boomer shouted gleefully.

"Do it, Boomer." Starbuck hardened his voice to steel. He barely heard the muttered response, but all the Vipers disengaged and flew to hover with him over the eerily still craft below. The salvage ship emerged from the Galactica, heavy and slow but with a powerful enough electromagnet to tow all three disabled craft at once. It connected to them in its methodical way, then proceeded back to the battlestar, with the Vipers providing escort.

Scanners showed the Raiders returning to the baseship. Starbuck tensed and waited for another blow from the new weapon. What the hell was that thing, anyway? Some kind of amplifier?

But nothing happened, and he was able to land with the rest of his squadron in the bay. As soon as atmosphere was restored, he was fighting his way through the med crews to find Apollo. Consequently, he was there to see when they pulled Apollo's limp body from the middle Viper.

"Apollo!" He tore free of the medtech who'd been trying to hold him back and raced to his Captain's side. He was breathing. Starbuck let loose an inarticulate cry of relief and reached out to wipe a smear of blood from Apollo's face.

"Don't touch," Dr. Salik snapped. He got Apollo onto a stretcher and sent him off to the Life Center. Starbuck followed, dimly aware that there was chaos throughout the entire ship. But he didn't have time for that right now—all he had eyes or attention for was Apollo, stretched out pale and still on that stretcher.

They wouldn't let him in the room. He had to wait outside, pacing frantically, while they scanned, poked, and prodded at Apollo's unconscious body. Finally, Cassiopeia emerged from the room and halted his unchanging orbit from wall to wall.

"There's good news, and there's bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Cass—" Starbuck groaned and asked the gods for patience. "Cass, I don't care—just tell me how he is!"

"Okay, then. The good news is that the injury isn't too serious. He's got a concussion. His brain got rattled around when the sound wave hit his Viper. We've done scans, and there appears to be no permanent damage."

Starbuck sighed with relief. "And the bad news?"

"There's nothing we can do to help him feel better." Cassiopeia sighed. "No pain medication, no quick and easy cure—even the best of modern technology can't find a better cure for a concussion than time. He'll be in a lot of discomfort when he wakes up, and will need a lot of help."

"He'll have it," Starbuck promised. Cassie smiled at him.

"I know. His father's in there now, getting instructions from Dr. Salik."

Starbuck felt a wave of burning resentment wash over him. Oh, sure—Adama could go in there, because he was family. But not Apollo's best friend and lover, no way... "So, what kind of discomfort? Is there anything I can help him with?"

"There's a lot of things that can happen with a concussion. Mainly, he'll be disoriented, and in a lot of pain. Depending on the severity of the injury, he may have difficulty standing, seeing, hearing, even speaking. And he will have a massive headache. For the first twenty four centares, he must not be allowed to sleep. This is very important—every fifteen centons, someone needs to check on him and make sure he's still conscious. After the first twenty-four centares, he can be allowed to sleep for up to two centares at a time. No more than that, though, for another twenty-four. After that, he can sleep as much as he wants to. He will be off duty for at least two sectons—and I hold you responsible for seeing he remains off duty, Lieutenant."

"Of course!" Starbuck straightened under her piercing gaze. "I would never let an unfit man fly!"

"You'd better not." She glanced away, at the sound of activity within the Life Center. "Sounds like they're bringing him out now."

They were indeed. The doors opened and the stretcher with Apollo on it was guided out. Starbuck's heart twisted at the sight of his lover, thrashing and moaning with pain. At least he was conscious now... Adama followed after, face gray with anxiety.

"Sir," Starbuck stepped up beside the Commander.

"Yes, what is it," he replied, without taking his eyes from his son's face.

"I'd like to help, any way I can," Starbuck said. He followed Adama out of the Life Center, in the wake of Apollo's stretcher.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, but that won't be necessary. Athena, Boomer, and I will be able to see to him just fine."

"But sir—"

"Starbuck, the leadership of the Galactica's squadrons falls to you, with Apollo out of action. You can help by making sure things run smoothly and our fleet is well defended."

"Yes, sir." Starbuck fell back dejectedly. Damn duty, anyway. But now that Adama had mentioned it, he couldn't overlook or ignore the fact that the fleet's defense now rested squarely on his shoulders. Apollo wouldn't thank him for letting the fleet get blown to hell, just so Starbuck could hold his hand.

Starbuck threw himself into his temporary job with a vengeance. He went to Apollo's office and took care of all the annoying paperwork, although he choked up when he had to record the details of the Captain's injury. He even paid a visit to Dr. Wilker to find out the analysis of the new weapon.

"A coherent sound generator," the doctor replied to his query.

"A what?" Starbuck blinked.

"Do you understand the principle of how sound travels?"

Starbuck nodded, impatient.

"And of how a laser works?"

Starbuck looked puzzled for a moment, then comprehension dawned. "Ah—a laser is coherent light. All this thing is, then, is a sound laser."

"Essentially, yes." The doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Take the waves out of a sound and focus it correctly, and it can do amazing things. We've never managed to properly harness it, though. I'd like a chance to study that weapon to see how they did it."

Starbuck smiled, with little humor. "I'm sure you would. Thank you, doctor." He started to leave, then paused. "Is there any way you know of to defend from this new threat?"

"Not yet." Wilker ran his hand through his hair again and sighed. "I'll work on it, though."

"Thank you, doctor." This time, Starbuck made it all the way out the door.

The next two days were absolute hell for Starbuck. The Cylons were quiet, which was a blessed relief to everyone. He commed Adama so often to check on Apollo's condition that Adama, in a fit of frustrated pique, locked his code out of the comm system. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep—all he wanted was to be with Apollo, but Adama wasn't about to allow it. So he fussed, and he stewed, and he drove the warriors half insane.

Finally, there was a buzz on his comm line. "Yeah?"

It was Athena. "Starbuck, would you come over here—"

"On my way," he interrupted, and hung up. He was out the door without even bothering to fasten his uniform properly—who cared if it was half undone? They were going to let him see Apollo!

He arrived in front of Adama's quarters in record time.

"Where is he?" he said, as soon as the door opened. Athena laughed.

"Well, hello to you, too! He's in there." She indicated a dimly lit side room. "No, wait!" She barely caught hold of his arm.

"What now?"

"He's pretty bad off," she replied, seriously. "He's been asking for you, that's why I commed you, but I have to warn you—he sounds really weird, and he can't handle much light at all, and whatever you do, don't let him stand up."

"Gotcha." Starbuck went into the room. Apollo was laying on a bed up against the wall, barely visible in the dim light. "Apollo?"

A hand reached out for him, and Starbuck crossed the room all in a rush to take it. There was a chair beside the bed, and he sat in it.

"Starbuck..." His voice was... distorted. That was all Starbuck could think to describe it.

"Shh, don't talk," he whispered. "I'm here."

"Good." Apollo smiled, just a faint twitch of facial muscles. His eyes stayed closed, squinched shut with pain. "Will they let me sleep now?"

Starbuck smoothed Apollo's hair away from his eyes. "If they won't, I'll make them." It had been the required forty-eight centares.

"Thank you." Apollo's eyes closed, and he went completely limp. Starbuck looked frantically around. Athena was standing by the door.

"Is he—"

"He's fine," she said. "He just falls completely asleep, very deeply, which is part of the reason we've had to keep waking him up. Let me tell you, we're not very popular people with him right now."

"I can imagine." Starbuck smiled tenderly down at the sleeping man in front of him.

"Yeah, well, now that you're here, I'm going to bed myself." Athena yawned and left.

"Sounds like a damn good idea," Starbuck whispered. He leaned back in the chair—thoughtfully positioned so its occupant could rest his feet on the bed—and made himself comfortable, although he didn't let go of Apollo's hand. So what if anyone looked in and saw them like this. Fuck 'em. He didn't care. All that mattered was that Apollo was alive, and everything would be alright.

Adama was less than pleased to find Starbuck asleep in the chair beside his son's bed, but Athena managed to convince him that it really was a good idea. After all, Apollo had been asking for Starbuck constantly, and wasn't Adama always saying that Apollo needed more friends?

When Apollo woke, the first thing he was aware of was that Starbuck was there. The world was still spinning horrendously, his head hurt worse than anything he could remember—barring the experience of yesterday, when he'd tried to stand up and made himself throw up. That pain had been enough to make him wish he was dead. Anyway, even though he felt utterly miserable, Starbuck was there. Apollo very carefully rolled onto his side, facing Starbuck, and curled around his lover's hand. Now everything would be okay.

They moved him back to his own quarters, with Starbuck in anxious attendance. Adama fussed, Starbuck ignored, and Athena stuck up for him, with the welcome result that Starbuck officially got the duty of Apollo-sitting.

At first, Apollo didn't do much more than sleep. But he gradually began to take an interest in life again, and Starbuck hovered over him like a momma daggit with only one pup. Finally, Apollo just couldn't take it anymore, and his patience snapped.

"Starbuck, I care about you, I think I even love you. But would you leave me be? You're driving me fracking nuts!" Starbuck looked torn between joy at the word "love" and the urge to pout even better than Serina. "Look, I appreciate what you're doing for me, but damn—give me some room to breathe!"

"I almost lost you, Apollo." Starbuck was suddenly dead serious. "How can I deal with that? You took the pain away, you made life worth living again. I want to be with you forever, and I almost lost you. The only way I can show how grateful I am that you're alive is by taking care of you."

"I'm sorry, I know it must have been worse than nine kinds of hell—but frack, give me some space! Let me get my own damn book, or change the vid channel for once! I'm not asking you to go away, because I want you here. I need you here. I thought I was a goner, too—thought I'd never get to see you again, and I really couldn't bear that. I love having you here by my side. But can you see where I'm coming from?"

Starbuck nodded reluctantly. "Okay, I'll try to back off—but dammit, Apollo, you can't make me quit worrying about you!"

Apollo smiled. "I think I can take that, as long as 'worrying' doesn't translate into 'smothering,'" he replied.

Starbuck sat beside him on the couch, with a sudden shy smile. "Did I really hear what I thought I heard?"

"That depends. What did you think you heard?"

"Did you say you love me?"

Apollo stared at him for a long moment, with a slow smile for the other man's uneasy fidgeting. "You heard right," he said at last.

Starbuck's face became absolutely incandescent with joy.

A sectare after Apollo was allowed to return to duty, the fleet encountered a lucky break. A great magnetic cloud drifted through space, which concealed a system of planets. It also concealed the refugees from the Cylons. The magnetic field provided enough interference to mask all the ships of the fleet from Cylon sensors. With a vast sense of overwhelming relief, the fleet found a planet which had suitable atmospheric conditions for humans and set about making much needed repairs.

"So this is where we'll be staying for the next few sectons," Starbuck mused, looking about the plain.

"Six sectons, to be exact—that's what Wilker estimated for the refitting to be complete on all ships."

"And we have the time off duty?"

"For the most part, yes," Apollo grinned with eager anticipation. Six whole sectons... "If they call us back, we have to go, but otherwise we're on our own."

"Excellent. Do you know what I have planned?" Starbuck turned towards Apollo with a salacious grin.

"I think I can imagine," Apollo replied. Certain parts of himself twitched at the thought.

"Shall we be off, then?"

"Off?"

"Yes, off—because one of the things I had in mind was hauling you off into those trees over there and fucking you silly."

Apollo laughed. "Well, then, what are we waiting for?"

Hand in hand, they ran for the trees, laughing like naughty children.

The following sectons were like a dream come true. Together, Apollo and Starbuck roamed the surrounding countryside, only rarely checking back in to the camp to collect supplies and check on the progress of the repairs. But then they explored just the wrong area.

It was a deep forest, heavily wooded and very private. They had been traveling through it randomly for several days, learning its secrets and pausing for a bit of fun whenever the urge struck them—which was quite often. In fact, they were looking for just the right place for a bit more fun when the normal forest sounds vanished abruptly.

"Apollo?" Starbuck's voice broke the sudden uneasy silence, and Apollo jumped.

"What?"

"Did you hear that?" He inched closer.

"Yeah." Apollo reached out for Starbuck's hand, which gripped his tightly.

"What the frack was it?"

"I have no idea, but I think maybe we'd—"

The low, bloodcurdling growl sounded again, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing through the brush.

Starbuck didn't wait for Apollo to finish his sentence. He bolted. Apollo followed close on his heels. The crashing sound grew louder. Once, Starbuck glanced behind him to see what it was following. He immediately regretted it. He got a confused impression of green scales, slime, and a cavernous mouth which roared with fury. He coaxed more speed out of his legs at the sight.

Suddenly, they broke free of the forest. They pelted across an open field and saw a very welcome sight: a structure. They ran for it together.

There were no openings. "Around the other side—" Apollo gasped.

Together, they made for the corner of the building, and ran smack into its owner.

"What the hell?" A middle-aged man staggered back from the two fleeing warriors.

"Quick, man—there's something after us!" As if on cue, there was a bloodcurdling shriek from the forest.

"Damn and blast, now you've done it!" The man calmly set his burden of loaded buckets on the ground. "What did you have to go and do that for?"

"Help us, please!" Starbuck shot a worried look over his shoulder. "You don't seem to understand—there's a creature after us, a big one—"

"Oh, I understand alright," the man replied. "It won't come down here. You're safe enough. But who the hell are you?"

"I could ask the same," Apollo replied, with a borderline suspicious look.

"Ah, but I live here, an' all. So I'll do the askin' around here. Now, who are you?" The man's face set into stubborn lines.

Starbuck opened his mouth to reply, but Apollo beat him to it. "Visitors."

"Be you from yonder spacecraft?" Not a hint of concern touched the man's phlegmatic face.

"Yes," Starbuck replied, with a quick glance at Apollo, who merely shrugged.

"Great. Then mayhap you'll be wantin' to know where the village is, so you can get settled in, like the others."

"Others?" Apollo asked, at the same time Starbuck said, "Settled in?"

"You're not the first visitors we've had, although the others have all had the sense not to go through the grendel's territory." He made a peculiar gesture with one hand along with the unfamiliar word—he drew his hand, with fingers curved into claws, from left to right across his chest. "Let me get my beasts fed, and I'll show you the way." With that, the man picked up his buckets and continued on about his interrupted task.

Apollo looked at Starbuck, who shrugged. "At least the thing—the grendel—isn't chasing us anymore."

"Yeah. This is weird, though. I wonder what's up here?"

"Beats the frack out of me."

Once finished tending his creatures, the farmer led the two warriors to a small village. Here, there was an inn, where what must have been the entire male population of the town gathered in the common room, along with some people who looked slightly out of place and were probably from the fleet.

"Found some more," their guide announced to the room at large, then collected a mug of ale from the bartender. "They came in through the forest."

Shocked looks and mutters met that remark.

"What was that thing that chased us?" Apollo asked. A few people turned cold stares on him. "Was it dangerous? Why did it stop when we left the trees?"

"You should have stayed out of the forest." One man spoke, then returned his attention to his ale. Apollo blinked.

"Why?"

"We never go there. The grendel lives there. It doesn't bother us. We don't go there, it doesn't come here. But now you've stirred it up."

That was all the man would say.

"These people are strange," Starbuck whispered into Apollo's ear.

Apollo agreed whole-heartedly. "So what do we do now?"

"I'm not sure."

One of the locals beckoned them over to the bar. "Hello, strangers," he said, with the first smile they'd seen on any of these people. "Have a seat, and a drink on me, while you tell me your tale."

"Thanks for the offer," Starbuck smiled, settling on one of the high barstools. "We're from the Battlestar Galactica, and we've been out exploring..."

Apollo sat quietly and sipped his ale, while Starbuck chatted with the man, whose name turned out to be Kaleb.

"So, what do you think?" Starbuck nestled closer. Apollo's hand toyed with his hair. They were warm and secure in a room at the inn. Not only was the innkeeper glad to take their cubits, but no one gave a damn that they were together—a pleasant change from their own people.

"I think it's damned odd that we keep running across the descendents of Kobol everywhere we go."

"Yeah, me too. Funny how no one ever considered there might have been other colonies than just our twelve. But what I meant was, what do you think about this place? And their offer of hospitality?"

Apollo sighed. "I wish we could stay here. That would be like an answer to all my prayers."

"We can, you know." Starbuck ran his hand up Apollo's chest, tracing the familiar outlines of his body. "We can just walk away from the Galactica, stay here, and not have to worry about the Cylons ever again."

Apollo sighed again. "You could, maybe. I doubt my conscience would let me get away with it."

"Ah, well, it's worth a thought." Starbuck rose up on one elbow and looked down at his lover. "You know what else is worth a thought?"

"What's that?"

"This is a very soft bed, and there's lots of pillows, thereby allowing more creativity than any forest floor..."

His hand made Apollo gasp. "Be creative, then—be very creative, by all means!"

Starbuck chuckled. "Oh, I shall. Believe me, I shall..."

And so he was.

"What's up?" Apollo smiled. Starbuck had lured him off to their room, away from another quiet evening in the common room.

"I'm staying here."

"What?" Apollo lost his smile and sat down heavily.

"I said, I'm staying here." Starbuck wouldn't look at him, wouldn't even come near him. "I've thought about it for a long time now, and I've decided to leave the fleet."

"You mean, to leave me." Apollo struggled to get the words out past the sudden constriction in his chest. "You're going to just walk away and leave me, aren't you."

"You can stay with me." Now Starbuck looked at him, pleading with his eyes. "I love you, Apollo. I want to be with you."

"Then don't stay here!" Apollo wiped at his eyes angrily. He could feel tears prickling, perilously close to the surface. "You know I can't stay here, we've discussed it before, in this very room, even." He gestured at the familiar surroundings of the room at the inn, where they had stayed for the last two sectons.

"Yes, I know. And we've also discussed what the fleet's been saying about us."

"Shit." Apollo shifted uncomfortably. Word had gotten out about him and Starbuck, and now life was hell when his father was around. "Damn gossipy idiots, couldn't keep their mouths shut."

"Are you ashamed of me?"

Apollo blinked in surprise. "Ashamed? Hell, no. Why?"

"Just checking. You seem rather unhappy that everyone knows we're lovers."

"Good lords, Starbuck—you know what happened when my father heard! I'm not ashamed of you, but damn, he makes me bloody uncomfortable."

"And you still won't stand up to him. You'd rather go with him, be a good little Captain, than break with the fleet and stay here with me."

"Frack..." Apollo rubbed his head. He could feel one of the headaches Serina used to give him starting up, right above his eyes. "Starbuck, I love you. But we've been over all this before—it's just like it was when I had to leave my own brother behind. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one. There's too many people depending on me to just walk away and please myself. They need me."

"I need you."

Apollo looked up and saw Starbuck sitting on the edge of the bed, the one they'd had so much fun in. The one they'd made love in just that morning. Tears glinted in his blue eyes. He stretched out a trembling hand.

"I need you more than any of them possibly could, Apollo. I love you. What do they care about you? All you are to them is a person in a Viper. But I love you, and I need you by my side. Stay with me? Please?"

Apollo struggled to his feet and crossed the room, to take Starbuck's hand in his own. He knelt down in front of the bed, clutching his lover's hand, and buried his head in Starbuck's lap. A few tears trickled free of his control. "I can't," he whispered. "I love you, but I just can't—can't—"

Starbuck's free hand stroked across the back of his head. "Apollo, what can I do to convince you to stay? You already know who loves you more—I promise, it isn't the fleet or your family."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Apollo cried out. The pain and conflict twisting within him was worse than anything he'd ever felt before.

"All I'm doing is asking you to stay with me, to love me like you have for the last several sectares—" Starbuck's voice broke.

"You're making me choose between doing what I want, and doing what is right." Apollo fought for control and got it. He raised his head from Starbuck's lap and rose, to pace restlessly about the room.

"What is right and what you want are the same thing, Apollo. All your life you've been pushed around by the opinions of others. You let your father make all your decisions for you. Well, now here's your big moment, your chance to make all your dreams come true. All you have to do is stand up for yourself, for once, and tell your father to go to hell, because you're staying with the man you love."

"Don't you get it?" Apollo ran his fingers through his hair, wild-eyed. "I just can't do that! There's people's lives depending on me!"

"Yeah, right—depending on you so much that, if you were killed tomorrow, Boomer would take your place and the fleet would scarcely notice the difference. Don't you love me enough to stay with me?"

Apollo stopped in his tracks. "Don't go there," he said quietly. "Emotional blackmail didn't work for Serina, and it won't work for you. I can't walk away from my responsibilities."

"But you can walk away from me."

Tension vibrated through the air. "I don't want to..."

"But you're going to, aren't you." Starbuck shook his head. "Lords, Apollo—why can't you get a backbone for once? That's all it would take, for you to stand up to your father one time and be a man—"

"Knock it off, would you? I've told you, a thousand times—"

"Yes, yes, I know—duty." Starbuck's voice made the word into an insult. "Duty above all other things, most especially love. Forget about the pain you cause, as long as you still do your duty..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away. Apollo took a deep breath.

"I will always love you, Starbuck," he said. Then he walked out of the room.

"What are you doing here?" The Commander's voice was about as welcoming as a slab of granite.

"Strike Captain Apollo, reporting for duty." Apollo kept his voice and face completely devoid of expression.

"You mean, you didn't choose to stay with that Starbuck?"

"I know my duty, and my responsibility to the fleet. Now what are my orders?"

Adama gazed at his son, standing there at attention. He was obviously in pain, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that there was hope yet of redeeming him from the shameful scandal of his... relationship with that thrice-damned Lieutenant.

"Resume normal patrol schedule and be on the lookout for Cylons," Adama said at last. "And son?"

Apollo glanced briefly at him.

"Welcome back."

"Thank you, sir." Apollo executed a sharp about-face and left the Commander's office.

The Cylons were waiting. As soon as the fleet cleared the magnetic distortion field which had cloaked them from the instruments, the attacks resumed. At first, morale was high, due to all the pleasant leave time. But the ferocity of the attacks, combined with the devastating sound laser, soon took their toll on the warriors and civilians alike.

Apollo continued to do his duty, despite the hollow numbness which had taken over his life. He just didn't give a damn anymore. He did what he had to do for the men. He even went on all the dates his father arranged for him, although he was lousy company and he knew it. He only spoke if someone spoke to him first, and even then kept his replies to monosyllables.

And somehow, despite the ferocity of the continuing Cylon attacks, he still survived.

"Hello, Kaleb," Starbuck said, settling onto a stool beside his friend.

"Starbuck!" Kaleb smiled. "I thought you'd gone with your fleet! What are you doing here?"

"I stayed."

"You don't look too happy about it. What's wrong?"

"Two things. I don't have a place to live, and Apollo left with them."

Kaleb was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"I'll live."

"I may be able to help with the housing situation," Kaleb said, after a silence.

"Yeah?"

"There's a place been standing vacant for some time now. It needs a bit of work, but if you're willing—"

"Why not? Give me something to do with myself." Starbuck actually felt a spark of interest. "What happened to the original owner of this place?"

"Blessed are the Fallen, for they shall bring us peace," Kaleb responded, making that peculiar sign—the Sign of the Fallen.

"That doesn't tell me much, Kaleb. What does that mean?"

"Blessed are the Fallen, for they shall bring us peace."

"Whatever. Where is this place?"

Kaleb glanced outside, at the last rays of the dying sun visible through the window. "It's too late now. I'll show you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sounds good to me. But what about tonight?" He sighed. He couldn't possibly face that room again, the room where Apollo had walked out and left him.

"Stay with me. I have a spare room." Kaleb smiled, and Starbuck saw a hint of an invitation in his eyes. He shook his head slightly. Not on your life, buddy.

"Thanks," he said aloud.

"No problem." Kaleb turned away, with only the slightest hint of disappointment.

Apollo stared at the blank sheet of paper, turning the graphite stick aimlessly in his fingers. What was the use? He could no more create anything now than he could make love to Starbuck. There was an aching void within him, where his inspiration had been. He was empty now, devoid of life, of love, of creativity...

Slowly, he reached out and crumpled the blank paper.

He was realizing more with every passing moment what a big mistake he'd made. The really bad part of this realization was that there was no way to correct it. He had made his decision, and now he was stuck here—alone, in a position of command over men who didn't trust him and who wished the Cylons would hurry up and get him. He smoothed the paper back out meticulously, before wadding it again and pitching it into a basket full of similar wads. He wished the Cylons would hurry up and get him, too.

Starbuck woke, suddenly and completely alert. What was that noise?

It sounded like someone screaming in the distance. Then there was another noise, one he remembered all too well—the sound of what the townfolk called the grendel. It was a horrible thing to hear, the roars and growling of the beast which had pursued him and Apollo through the woods. Worse yet was the sound of the terrified human, shrieking in mortal terror—then silence, replaced by slobbering sounds.

Yuck.

Sounded like someone hadn't been as lucky as he and Apollo had.

His heart clenched around the familiar pain. Somehow, everything always worked back around to Apollo. Everything he did, everything he saw—hell, even everything he thought reminded him of Apollo. The wounds were still just as raw now, after several sectons, as they had been when Apollo turned away and walked out that door. He had been so sure he could talk Apollo into staying, into making a life here with him, where neither had to worry that the next time the Vipers launched one of them wouldn't return. Here, where nobody gave a fat damn that they were two men in love—where they could spend the rest of their lives together.

So here he was, alone, listening to the slobbering sounds of a disgusting green monster devouring a fellow human. Oh, joy. Maybe he should have been the one out there, getting eaten. At least if he was dead, he wouldn't be aching inside anymore.

When the morning arrived, Starbuck gave in to a whim and set off through the forest, towards where the screaming had come from last night. He wondered yet again why the townsfolk avoided the forest like plague. Sure, the grendel lived here, but it was only dangerous if you went directly into its territory. Otherwise, it left you alone, to enjoy the peace and serenity of the forest.

Some of that serenity was beginning to rub off on him. He still ached inside, he still felt the gaping emotional wounds of Apollo's loss, but he was finally feeling more like himself instead of an automated man-shaped object. Maybe someday, he'd even recover, and be able to face society again, here on his new world.

What was that? Something gleamed through the grass ahead of him, in a clearing. He headed for it, only to stop and stare in horrified fascination at the scene before him. On the ground were heavy manacles, four of them, attached to solid iron pegs driven into the ground, which was churned and muddied. The sharp scent of blood was everywhere. What was worse, there werepiecesof what had once been human flesh and bone scattered about. His stomach clenched and heaved, and he had to turn away. That was when he noticed the ring of bare earth, circling the site. He frowned and walked to the hard-packed dirt. Hmm. Standing here, one had an excellent view of the manacles. He followed the bare path around. It formed nearly a complete circle, and only left a large chunk of undisturbed grass facing east.

East, where the grendel laired.

What in all hells was going on here?

"Apollo. Do you know why I called you here today?" Adama frowned ponderously.

"No, sir, I do not."

"There have been complaints, and I feel they must be addressed."

Apollo did not respond, merely kept his gaze fastened on a spot somewhere above Adama's head—a trick he had learned from Starbuck, which was both infuriating and effective. Infuriating to the person supposedly in authority, because it sent out the unmistakable signal in body language that none of this matters, nothing you say can affect me, effective because the position worked on the subconscious levels of the seated person to produce a nagging who's in charge, here? response.

Adama's frown deepened. "The warriors are saying that you are working them too hard."

"This can not be avoided, Commander." Apollo kept his voice carefully neutral. "In addition to the six fully qualified Viper pilots and eight trainees who chose to remain on Kobol-at, there have been heavy losses in recent engagements. The active duty roster is barely at half the strength it was before Kobol-at, and you know as well as I that one full squadron has no hope of effectively defending the fleet. Perhaps if we had more pilots, the strain would ease, but until then eighteen warriors will have to continue doing the work of six full squadrons."

"What have you done to remedy this situation?"

"Training and recruiting programs have been stepped up, but there is little to be done about the lack of Vipers. At best, there are enough craft to field two squadrons. Has anything been done about manufacturing new Vipers?"

"Dr. Wilker informs me that this is just not possible in space. He recommended building a facility on a planet." Adama shifted in his seat. "What of the Cylon attacks? Has any progress been made in developing a more effective defense?"

"No, sir. All we can do is remain on constant alert, with six pilots on ready-five at all times. The early warning network among the civilian ships is having some effect, but nothing can be done to counter the sound laser. The only attacks we can defend against are the traditional ones, which have decreased dramatically in number."

"Why is this? Why can you do nothing against the sound laser?"

"The most common tactic is to bring the baseship within range, fire the laser, and then send in Raiders to destroy the disabled ships. There is no known defense against the sound, and the Raiders outnumber the Vipers so dramatically that there is little hope for victory. All we can do is scramble to defend the unaffected civilian ships."

Adama sighed. "Very well, then. I shall inform those who have complained that there are no viable options to the present course of action."

"Thank you, sir. May I go now?"

"There was something else, son."

Apollo glanced down, away from his spot, before he could stop himself. His father wore an ill-at-ease expression which instantly put him on alert.

"There have been other—complaints." Adama fidgeted.

"Yes?"

"The men are—uncomfortable with you as their officer, based on recent developments—" Adama was clearly uncomfortable, as well.

"You mean, they are uncomfortable with my personal life, which has no bearing on my professional duties." Apollo felt a swirl of anger winding through his midsection.

"Yes, well, they feel—" Adama paused, groping for words.

"Unsafe? Threatened? Afraid of me, Father?" Apollo barked out a mirthless laugh. "You can inform all the complainants that they have nothing to fear. Their asses are safe from me. Now, if you don't mind, I have a patrol to fly." He turned to leave, when Adama's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You should have sealed to Serina when you had the chance. Then you'd at least have someone at home to support you. But then, that's right—if you'd sealed to Serina, you wouldn't need support, because you wouldn't be having this problem."

Apollo stiffened and turned slowly back to face his father. He ignored the snide remark and addressed the larger issue. "No, father—I do not regret at all not sealing to Serina. Wasn't it you that tried to teach me about honor, about honesty? I couldn't ever live with myself if I were to enter into a sealing under false pretenses. Maybe you're capable of it, I don't know—but I just cannot live a lie." Then he left.

"Blessed are the Fallen, for they shall bring us peace."

There it was again, that phrase, this time chanted from a thousand throats in response to the priest's words. He'd heard it over and over again, since his arrival here, and he still didn't know exactly what it meant. He thought it had something to do with the manacles out in the forest—at least, people became just as silent when he questioned one as the other.

"It is time, people of Fairhaven!"

The high priest raised his hands and the gathered townfolk cheered. Starbuck stood on the edge of the crowd, not entirely sure what all the fuss was about. All he knew was that Kaleb had come to collect him this morning, and said only that there was a festival.

"Now let us eat, drink, and be merry! For today we shall learn the identity of the Chosen One, who may yet deliver us all from suffering."

Starbuck shifted uneasily. There was another taboo subject—religion. Nobody would answer his questions about that, either, and they would get downright snippy if he pressed for information. He suspected that it was all tied together—the Fallen, the manacles, and the mysterious religion.

"Come on," Kaleb said beside him, excited. "There's food like you've never seen before!"

"Undoubtedly," Starbuck agreed dryly, as Kaleb dragged him by the arm through the crowd. "Considering that I've only been on this planet for a few sectons, that doesn't surprise me in the least."

Kaleb ignored the sarcasm, as usual. They reached a double row of trestle tables, spread with foods Starbuck couldn't even begin to describe. He didn't have much appetite, but he took a plate and put some things on it that Kaleb recommended, just to be polite.

There was also entertainment, while the townsfolk ate. Singers, dancers, and storytellers took turns on the wooden stage on the town common.

Notable by their absence were the town leaders. "Where'd all the council members go?" he asked Kaleb.

"They're in the chapter house," Kaleb replied, not taking his eyes off the acrobats currently performing. There was an air of determined cheerfulness about the villagers today, as though something unpleasant hung over their heads, but they were going to enjoy themselves no matter what. The atmosphere grated on Starbuck's nerves. He had become accustomed to solitude.

"And what are they doing in the chapter house?" Starbuck sighed. Sometimes, getting information out of Kaleb was like pulling teeth.

"They are meeting to determine who is the Chosen One for this year."

One more try... "And what exactly does the Chosen One get chosen for?"

"Blessed are the Fallen, for they shall bring us peace."

I honestly think he doesn't even realize he's doing that, Starbuck thought. Frustrating though it was, he had to accept the fact that Kaleb just wasn't going to give him any information.

The day's events rolled on, with Starbuck pretending an interest just to keep his friend happy. It was midafternoon before the council emerged from the chapter house.

"People of Fairhaven," the high priest began, raising his hands above his head in an echo of what he had done earlier. "The time is now! Gather round, and hear the name of the Chosen One!"

The gathered townsfolk pressed closer to the stage. The priest's eyes swept the crowd. A prickling chill ran down Starbuck's spine as the priest looked directly at him.

"The Chosen One is..."

Drumroll, please! Starbuck thought irreverently, during the dramatic pause when the townsfolk held their collective breaths.

"Starbuck, the newcomer to our town!"

A great cheer rose from a thousand throats. Three people remained silent—Starbuck, confused as hell and wondering what he should do next; Kaleb, with a look of utter horror on his face; and the priest, who wore a satisfied little smirk as he stared directly at Starbuck.

"Kaleb!"

Starbuck hurried after the elusive figure ahead of him in the moonlight. He'd finally managed to break free of the priests, who'd tried to keep him sequestered, saying that he needed to spend time in meditation.

He caught Kaleb at last, although the other man tried to run away. "What the hell is going on here?"

"You shouldn't be out here," Kaleb said, voice low and intense.

"I need to know what is going on! Nobody will tell me a damned thing, and this is getting old really quick." Starbuck didn't release his hold on Kaleb's arm. It looked like the man might bolt again if he did.

"You are the Chosen One. Tomorrow you will join the ranks of the Fallen."

"That's what everyone keeps saying!" Starbuck growled in frustration. "Tell me about the Fallen," Starbuck pressed. Kaleb looked around, fear plain on his face.

"I'm not supposed to—you're an outsider, you shouldn't—"

"Look, they want me in on this, but they don't want to tell me a damn thing. Now that's hardly fair, is it?" Kaleb shook his head, reluctantly. "So tell me about the Fallen. Who are they? What happens to them? Why do they bring peace? And why, by all the gods, do they want me to join their ranks?"

"The Fallen are the ones who go to the grendel," Kaleb whispered.

Ice slid down Starbuck's spine. "Go... to the grendel?"

"The place, in the woods, you know the one—" Bright sunlight glinting off metal, showing the claw gouges in the blood-soaked earth, picking out the small bits the creature had missed— "The Fallen go to the grendel there, to bring us blessing. They are chosen by lottery, every moon-dark... Without them we would not survive. The Fallen are honored above all, you know that..."

"Honored above all, and yet sacrificed to the appetite of a vicious beast. Yeah, right. Suddenly I understand why no one wishes to speak of their fates." Starbuck shuddered with horror. The high priest had suggested he join the ranks of the Fallen—had, in fact, said that perhaps Starbuck was the answer to their prayers, and named him the Chosen One.

"In their suffering, we find peace," Kaleb whispered, head bowed. He made the sign of the Fallen. Starbuck looked at the familiar sign with new eyes—a hand drawn from left to right across the upper chest, fingers curved into claws. Just like a strike from the clawed grendel... He shuddered.

"And they want to do that to me." Why was he being so calm about this? Perhaps because the horror of the idea had numbed him. Once the shock wore off, then he was sure to react more strongly...

"They want to honor you," Kaleb corrected. "It is the highest honor of all to go to the grendel at year's-turning. For the Chosen One is the one who is given the chance to redeem us all, who may yet become the Deliverer. Only the Chosen One may bring us all to glory."

"What?"

"One day, the Chosen One will deliver us from the anger of the grendel and bring relief to all the suffering. Then at last the ranks of the Fallen will be complete, and all will know peace." Kaleb bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at Starbuck. Moonlight glinted from his eyes and silvered his skin. "And now, I have told you more than enough. I must go, before someone comes. Tonight we form the Circle of Renewal, and I will be missed if I do not attend."

"You've been a great help, Kaleb," Starbuck said, with great irony. He reached out to touch the man's face, but Kaleb pulled away and melted silently into the night. Starbuck stared after him, an ache in his heart. Kaleb wasn't even a poor substitute for Apollo. No one could ever replace the love he'd lost this time.

Apollo made his way up to the celestial dome, careful not to be seen. He had to think. Once he reached the dome, he opened it to the beauty of the endless stars and settled into the ancient astrogator's chair. He leaned back in the chair, using the stars to calm and focus his thoughts.

There was a lot whirling around his brain these days. The Cylons were keeping him busy, the troubles with his men were keeping him awake nights, and there was one particular problem which was nearly enough to send him over the edge of insanity.

Apollo missed Starbuck.

No matter what he had told himself before, the loss of Starbuck was not bearable. He had to do his duty, true, but he should never have put duty above love. His throat clenched with unshed tears. What had he been thinking, anyway? The fleet needs me, my father needs me... what a fracking load of felgercarb.

Memory surfaced in merciless detail. Starbuck, eyes pleading with him, reaching out a trembling hand: But I need you more...

And his own damnfool response, It's just like it was with Zac. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one.

Stupid. How could he have been so stupid? Look what his dedication to duty had brought him—a father who was determined to "cure" him, as though his love for Starbuck was some kind of disease, a dwindling host of warriors who were alternately contemptuous and afraid of him, and loneliness. Oh yes, loneliness. Empty nights, empty days—a cold ache in his heart where once had been love. Nothing, really, to live for at all.

"Pain is all there is, pain is all I deserve," he muttered. The only success he'd had recently at doing anything creative had been producing endless depressing poems. That had been written yesterday, along with a good many more equally bleak lines.

"Is this all that's left of the life before me? Nothing but pain, bad poetry, and talking to myself because no one else wants to listen?" He laughed at himself, a bitter sound. "Fool."

Starbuck... how I wish I had stayed with you. Why did you give in, let me be so stupid? His conscience prodded him with a sharp poke. Well, okay—so I wouldn't listen, and you got mad and gave up trying. Who can blame you. I was so incredibly stupid... Damn, I wish I could lose this fracking sense of duty.

"What's wrong with me, anyway? I never wanted a military career, and here I am, tied fast to a sinking ship."

Fuck. Wish I had more guts—I'd put an end to it all. He squashed the memory of Starbuck insisting he was very brave. A brave man would have told his father to kiss his ass, rather than give in and have a career utterly opposite of what he wanted. A brave man would have thrown away any career for the chance to remain with his true love. A brave man would not have given a fat damn about public opinion. What a pisser. Why do I have to be so stupid and pathetic?

The silent stars continued to spin overhead. There were no answers written in them, no easy solution to his problem. Only bright points of light, shifting slowly as the Galactica traveled onwards.

The day dawned clear and cold, brittle sunlight fracturing the chill of the air into shimmering shards. Starbuck sat on the front porch of the chapter house, where he'd spent the night, lost in thought. He'd thought first of running, but had slowly come to the conclusion that he didn't really want to. So what if he had been chosen to face off against a hideous monster? So what if this was to be his last sunrise? At least it was a beautiful one. During the long, cold hours of the night, while he'd sat here and shivered and his behind had turned utterly numb, he'd come to the conclusion that it didn't matter. If he died today, if the grendel killed and ate him, then his death would mean something to these folk. No matter how repugnant he found their beliefs and religion, now that he knew a little about them, at least his death would bring hope and renewal. There was really nothing for him to live for, alone here without Apollo.

When the priests came to help him prepare, Starbuck was ready for them. He went along with everything they did to him—the ritual bath, the loose white robe, the last meal of specially prepared and religiously significant foods... he was very glad when they girded him with the ritual blade, as well. It was about the length of a centurion's gladius, and the edge looked sharp enough to cut diamonds. At least Kaleb had been serious when he said the Chosen One was given a chance for defense.

The preparations were carried out in an eerie silence. Starbuck accepted this, just as he accepted the fact that he was going to his death. True, there was a slight possibility of survival, but he wasn't sure he wanted to survive.

The priests led him along a well-worn trail from the back of the chapter house. They crossed the cleared fields and entered into the forest, winding steadily into the rising sun. The path ended abruptly in the clearing Starbuck had found before, so near to his own home. All the townfolk stood in a silent open-ended circle, waiting.

The high priest entered the circle and faced the crowd. "Now is the time, people of Fairhaven," he intoned. "The Chosen One has arrived, Starbuck the Outlander, who may yet prove to be the Deliverer and bring us peace. All hail him who stands before us, prepared to join the ranks of the Fallen!"

"Blessed are the Fallen, for they shall bring us peace," the crowd responded. Starbuck kept his eyes fixed on the east, where the open swath of grass led into the forest. The grendel's lair was nearby. He hoped it would arrive soon.

A distant growling echoed his thought. As one, the town folk turned to the east.

"The grendel comes," people whispered among themselves. "The Chosen One's time draws near."

Starbuck stood with his hand on the hilt of the gladius. He loosened the blade in its sheath and waited.

The priests left the circle. Starbuck moved so he stood directly in the center of the clearing, where the chains were. The growling grew closer.

"Blessed are the Fallen, for they shall bring us peace!" The words rose from many throats, fervent as a prayer. The grendel roared.

"All hail the Chosen One!" the high priest called out. "May he bring us deliverance and peace!"

"Blessed are the Fallen—" the voices were cut off in mid-chant by an ear-shattering bellow. The grendel leapt into the circle, causing many of the townsfolk to flinch and draw back.

Starbuck held still, staring at his adversary. It was ugly. Two legged, green, scaly—he'd already known that, from the time it had chased him and Apollo. Long teeth, dripping slime. Large claws, tiny eyes—and soft, flexible spots where body parts joined the torso. The chest scales were also a different shape and texture than the body scales.

The grendel let loose another roar and leapt towards Starbuck. He dodged out of the way, dancing back just in time to avoid a swipe of those claws. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of people making the Sign of the Fallen.

The grendel snarled in frustrated fury. Starbuck drew his gladius and swung at it when it charged again. The blade struck the beast on the thigh and recoiled.

Starbuck's mind went into overdrive. Now that the thing was here in front of him, his survival instinct was definitely kicking in. Abstract thoughts about life without Apollo were replaced by the peculiar mindset of the warrior, in which all that mattered was action and reaction. He analyzed the movements of the beast in front of him, which was circling now. He searched for a weakness, an opening, a point of vulnerability... anything to give him an advantage.

He maneuvered around so his back was to the sun. The thing howled and raised an arm to protect its eyes.

Weak eyesight, noted Starbuck's brain.

The grendel made another rush, swinging both arms with claws fully extended. Starbuck held his ground, then leapt clear at the last minute, with a jab at the grendel's underarm. He felt the blade penetrate and stick. The yank it took to free the blade jarred his wrist and shoulder.

The piercing shriek the grendel uttered dwarfed every sound it had made before. Starbuck wasn't ready when it rushed him, claws flailing and mouth open. He barely avoided its grasp by dropping and rolling. He came back up to his feet at the edge of the circle, peripherally aware that the townsfolk were backing away with frantic speed.

The grendel rushed him again, and this time he jabbed it at the joining of leg and body. A gush of green blood squirted out.

Must have a major vein there, just like we do...

Some of the blood splattered on Starbuck. It burned like acid. He ignored it.

This time, the grendel's rush was slower, more carefully planned. It danced just beyond Starbuck's reach and spat at him.

Frack!

Starbuck dodged the glob of mucous and heard it sizzle when it hit the ground. He made a rush of his own, putting the thing into a frantic backward retreat. He worked it so the sun was in its eyes again, then made a carefully calculated forward lunge.

His blade pierced the grendel's eye, and it fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

Starbuck felt more of the burning blood splatter on him, but was too caught up in the heat of battle to notice. He darted forward and drove his blade into the damaged eye, thrusting it all the way into the head. The grendel convulsed horribly, screaming like a lost soul, and then died.

Starbuck stood for a moment over the beast, breathing hard. Then he released the hilt of the embedded blade and turned to face the silent townsfolk.

"All hail the Deliverer!"

Starbuck recognized Kaleb's voice as the one who started the chant. But he had eyes only for the high priest, who stared at him in undisguised hatred and loathing.

"—just can't believe it, not Apollo."

Apollo froze in place. He edged cautiously forward until he was certain no one inside the locker room could see him.

"No wonder he never got sealed." That voice—had to be Jolly.

"Shit, no wonder Starbuck ran like a scalded daggit when Athena brought up the subject!" That was definitely Boomer. "I can believe it of him, though. He was always looking at my ass."

Apollo smiled through the painful lurch his heart gave at the memory—Starbuck at the office door, shocked, then grinning at Apollo's remark about Boomer's cute butt.

"Apollo, though. Who would have ever guessed it?"

"I know. He doesn't check out everyone's asses—or does he?"

"Hope not." Jolly chuckled. "Lords know mine's not much to look at, so I'm safe, at any rate."

Apollo turned and went back the way he had come. He had intended to have a workout before the Commander's Ball tonight, to release some of his frustrations with mindless physical activity, but he just didn't want to face any more suspicions and wary stares just now. He'd just go back to his rooms, spend a bit longer than necessary getting ready for this bit of ridiculousness Adama had convinced him to attend... and perhaps he'd even figure out what to do about his problems. Yes, and while he was at it, he'd single-handedly defeat the Cylon Empire and discover Earth, too, all with one hand tied behind his back. Yeah, right.

"And why the hell should I care?" Apollo's voice cut across the polite murmur of voices and the quiet music alike. People turned to stare at him, then resumed their interrupted conversations.

"You should care, because this is your future we are discussing." Adama kept his voice quiet, but there was no doubt of the strength of his feelings. His hand clenched his goblet with enough strength that Apollo was surprised it didn't break. "You will settle down and find a wife."

"I don't want a wife, Father."

"You have made that abundantly clear, son. However, your future depends on the support of your family. Therefore, you will find a suitable wife, or else—"

"Or else what, Father? You'll disown me?"

Adama's eyes hardened. "I'll not have an embarrassment as my heir."

"Oh, is that what I am now? An embarrassment?" Apollo smiled, a brittle smile with nothing of humor about it. "Well, no matter what you do or say, you can't change the fact that I'll always be your gay son."

"Be careful what you say, Apollo," Adama warned. "If you want to remain part of this family, you'll—"

"I'll what? Deny everything I am, just to please you?" Apollo laughed. His patience finally snapped, taking a bit of his sanity with it. "You know what, father? I've had it. I'm through with you, with this whole damn mess. Fuck you. I'm going back to Starbuck, who loves me the way I am and who won't try to change me into what he thinks I should be. Goodbye, father."

The whole room was as silent as the very depths of space.

"Be careful what you say, son. You may regret it."

"Regret what? That I would rather spend my life with another man? Or regret that I'm tired of hiding the fact and pretending to be like you? Face it, father—your son's in love with another man. And I'm not going to pretend otherwise any longer. So you can just tell all these lovely little ladies of yours, all these hopeful daughters of friends and such, that they have no more chance than Serina did. I love Starbuck, and I'm going to go to him. Goodbye."

Apollo turned with military precision and walked the length of the ballroom, head high. People fell back from his approach, still unnaturally silent, and staring with wide eyes.

Once free of the eyes, Apollo dropped his dignity and ran like hell. He had to get to the Viper bays before his father realized that he was serious. If he alerted security, if he locked down the launch tubes... but he didn't. Apollo was able to reach his Viper and launch with no difficulty. He set a course for Kobol-at, heart in his throat. What if Starbuck didn't want him any more?

"Kaleb!"

Apollo hurried towards the familiar face. The hostile attitude of the townsfolk was surprising, but Kaleb at least had been friendly in the past.

"Apollo!" Kaleb jumped, looked around quickly. "What are you doing here? Come with me, you have to get out of town. Your kind aren't too popular here right now." Kaleb hurried away, towards his home. Apollo followed, utterly puzzled.

"What is going on here, Kaleb?" Apollo asked, once he caught up with the rapidly moving man.

"I'll tell you in a minute. There's my house, come on." Kaleb stepped up his pace, and Apollo hurried to catch up again.

Kaleb sighed with relief once they were safely inside his house, with the door closed behind them.

"Now will you tell me what is going on here?" Apollo was breathing heavily from the near race across town.

"Your friend has really done it now," Kaleb replied. He sank into a chair and waved at Apollo to find a seat as well. "He turned the whole world on its ear about a week ago."

"Starbuck?" Apollo's heart clenched painfully in his chest. "What did he do?"

"He killed the grendel." Kaleb drew his hand across his chest in that odd sign.

"He did? But surely, that's good?" Apollo was puzzled. It seemed that the death of such a horrible monster would be welcomed, not met with hostility.

"But you don't understand! Now, there is nothing for the Fallen to go to, no way to bring peace and rebirth... you're just like him, don't know or understand—"

"Wait a minute, Kaleb. How can I know or understand? I'm not from here, remember? Tell me what is going on here. Who are the Fallen, and what have they got to do with Starbuck?"

Kaleb visibly took control of himself. "Sorry. I forgot, you weren't here when I explained all this before. It is something we do not speak of openly here. A thousand yahrens ago, when our people first settled this planet of Kobol-at, they were stalked by a fearsome beast, one which they named grendel for its resemblance to a creature of legend. The grendel developed a taste for human flesh to the exclusion of all else. Our wise and ancient forebears developed a way to keep the grendel satisfied and away from the town, and so fell the first of the Fallen. Every five sectons, at the dark of the moon, another person joins the ranks of the Fallen. In their suffering, we find peace and rebirth, for the immortal grendel will leave us alone for a while longer. Every yahren, at the turning of the seasons, the Chosen One is given the chance to deliver us from the grendel. Your Starbuck did this, and now our community is in chaos. The leaders do not know what to do, and the priests insist that the Lotteries must continue. Without the suffering of the Fallen, the land will remain sterile and our crops will fail. Without the blood of the Fallen to wash us clean, we will sink into sin and depravity."

Apollo swallowed hard against horror and disgust. "Let me see if I have this right. Your folk sacrificed one person at the dark of the moon to the grendel." Kaleb nodded. "Every year, one of these sacrifices is allowed to have a chance to defend himself." Another nod. "And this year, the Chosen One was Starbuck, who killed the grendel?"

"Yes."

"So now, he's rather unpopular around here, and the whole culture is in turmoil."

"That sums it all up nicely."

Apollo sighed. What a mess. He put aside his horror at the thought of the human sacrifices and concentrated instead on the reason he was here. "Where can I find Starbuck?"

"He's got a place in the woods. I can show you the path to it, if you like?"

"Yes. I think it might be better for you if I'm not here any longer."

Kaleb nodded. "The fewer people know you are here, the better it will be. You are well known to be a friend of Starbuck."

He rose from his chair and led Apollo out the back door of his house. The sun shone brightly, about midway through its descent to the horizon. The warmth did little to dispel the chill of apprehension in Apollo. When Kaleb showed him a small track to the forest, Apollo thanked him and set off. There was no turning back now.

"Hello." Apollo was amazed the word came out at all, much less that it sounded so steady and... normal. Starbuck stood in the doorway, face blank with astonishment.

"Apollo? What are you doing here?"

"I left the fleet." Apollo couldn't get enough of looking at Starbuck. He looked great.

"Left the fleet." Starbuck blinked. Then he stepped back, into the room. "Why don't you come in? I have a feeling there's a lot we have to talk about."

"Yeah." Apollo stepped through the doorway, with an admiring look at the structure. "They said you built this?"

"Nah—fixed it up a lot, though. Had a little help from one of the locals—Kaleb, remember him? He helped quite a bit."

Apollo felt jealousy rise up and catch him by the throat. He fought it off. He had no right to be jealous. He'd thrown that right away by the roadside when he'd left Starbuck on this planet. "It's great."

"No, it's not," Starbuck corrected flatly. "It's a place to live, but it's not a great home." He sat on a heavy, hand-made chair. He'd had someone in the village make the cushions, but the frame was all his—design, effort, everything. Just like the rest of the furniture here. But all of it lacked that certain something, the feeling that made a place into a home.

Apollo found a seat as well. He wished he knew what to say. There were a thousand ways he had imagined this meeting, a thousand wonderful things he had thought of to say, but none of them were coming to mind right now. "Um..."

"What—"

They both started to speak at the same time, then broke off and stared at each other. "You first," Starbuck said.

"Okay." Apollo sighed and looked at the floor. "Might as well get it over with. I was stupid. I came here to apologize. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I've regretted it every micron since I walked away from you."

There was no response. Apollo snuck a look at Starbuck, keeping his head lowered so he could pretend to still be watching the floor. Starbuck's face was filled with pain and sadness.

"Why did you do it?" His voice was barely above a whisper. Apollo found the courage to look up, directly into those pleading eyes.

"I was scared." He shrugged. "I know, that's not much of an excuse. The thought of just walking away from everything I'd ever known scared me shitless."

"I did it."

Apollo winced at the accusation in his former lover's voice. "I know. You always were braver than me. And you were right—everything you said. I could never stand up to my father, never fight for what I believed in. Art, music, love—I just couldn't do it."

"Then why are you here?" The suspicious look in his eyes tore through Apollo like a centurion's blade.

"Like I said, to apologize. Other than that—" he shrugged. "I had to go somewhere. I'm no longer welcome with the fleet."

"Yeah, right. Like Commander Adama would ever turn away his precious son."

"He would when that son has admitted, openly and publicly, in a way that couldn't be ignored or covered up, that he prefers the company of men."

Starbuck shook his head. "Always so polite... But why did you do that?"

"He was shoving women at me every time I turned around. When Serina died, he tried to make me feel guilty about Boxey. When that didn't work, he started setting me up in situations I couldn't get out of, with damn near every eligible female in the fleet. When I'd finally had enough of his bullshit, I made a fool out of him at the Commander's Ball. End of bullshit. End of commission, as well—also, end of family. He disowned me."

"Oh." Starbuck plucked at the material of the cushion on his chair. Disowned, huh? And decommissioned. Interesting. "And I suppose you expected to come running back to me, and find me waiting with open arms?"

Apollo had to look away again. Otherwise, he might embarrass himself even further—he could feel tears prickling at his eyes. "No." He took a deep breath. "I admit, that would have been nice, but I don't expect that could ever happen. What I had in mind was just to find you and apologize. Beyond that—well, hells. I hadn't thought that far. I suppose I will have to find somewhere to go."

There was an uncomfortable silence, which stretched on for so long that Apollo looked up again. Starbuck had his head in his hands, body curled around some inner pain. Apollo ached to go to him, to hold him and say that everything would be alright now... but he didn't. He just sat there, torn by powerful emotions, as he watched the man he loved struggle with his own inner demons.

"Don't go too far," Starbuck whispered eventually.

"What?" Apollo's reply sounded unnaturally loud and abrupt. Hope flared in his chest, a bright searing pain.

"Don't go too far," Starbuck repeated, somewhat louder. He looked up at Apollo, a hint of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "If you do, than how the hell will I ever find you again?"

"Do you want to?" Apollo held his breath. Please, please—if there are gods, any gods, anywhere, listening now—please...

Starbuck leaned back in his chair, internal conflict resolved. He smiled for real, a welcome sight. "I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. Life sucks alone."

Apollo nodded wordlessly.

"I've not quit thinking about you for more than a few microns since you left me. I tried—lords help me, I tried really hard—but I couldn't get rid of what I felt for you. So all this time, I've had this gaping hole in my life where you used to be. Now here you are again, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you just walk away again. I don't know if things can ever be the same as they were, but... like I said, life sucks alone. It's better with a friend."

Apollo sighed. "Yes." He smiled, for what felt like the first time in yahrens. "Maybe more someday?"

As suddenly as it had arrived, Starbuck's smile was gone, as was his easy attitude. He flinched back as though from a blow. "And how am I supposed to trust you that far again, hmm?"

The hope inside Apollo fluttered and died at the look in Starbuck's eyes. "Fuck. I guess I really ruined all hope of that, didn't I?" He sank back in his chair, eyes closed again and fighting off tears. Damn, but this was turning into an emotional strain from hell. Up one micron, down the next—in control, out of control—no warning between changes, just a sudden lurch and things were utterly opposite what they were a moment ago.

"Well, you did walk away and leave me of your own free will." There it was again, the accusation, the pain.

"Okay." Apollo took a deep breath. "Granted, I was an asshole. I already said I consider what I did to be the biggest mistake I've ever made. But I can't get rid of what I feel inside, so maybe it would be better if I did go far away. That way you won't have to deal with me, wanting... things to be like they were."

"Frack." Starbuck's face went still as stone. "You won't do that to me again, you can't do that to me again—I won't let you hurt me again, not like that." He took a shaky breath, then continued, in a calmer tone. "I already said I don't want to lose you, and I meant it, but—if you think we can't get along—" He couldn't say anything more.

"I didn't say that. I just said that I can't quit loving you." Apollo swallowed. There, he'd said it. Now everything was up to Starbuck. "We need to settle this. Neither one of us can go on with something like this hanging over our heads."

Starbuck nodded. "So... what are our options, here?" He leaned back in his chair. His attempt at a casual attitude was only marred by the tension in his face—the wary look in his eyes, the expectation of pain.

"Options." Apollo looked at his hands, folded on his knee. So prim and proper—also so still, so safely not trembling or reaching out to the man across from him. "Well, we've said what needs to be said. We can leave it at that, go our separate ways—" A small, choked sound came from Starbuck. Apollo smiled faintly. "I don't like that one much either. Or, we could stay here, try to make a go of it together on this whacked-out world. You've found yourself a hell of a nice home here, maybe I could add something to it, if you'd let me..." He allowed himself to look up then, away from his hands, which were now clutching his leg so tightly he could feel his knee creak.

"Apollo—" Starbuck stopped, gulped. Then he looked Apollo directly in the eye. "There's a third option, you know—one that doesn't involve trying to stay on this planet full of maniacs. We could ship out together, find a new world. There's other human worlds out here, worlds that were colonized by our ancestors and the other colonies never knew about. We could find a place out there somewhere, take a shot at building lives for ourselves somewhere we won't get interrupted every few minutes by the Cylons. Maybe... maybe things could even go back to the way they were, in time. What do you think?"

Apollo smiled shyly. "It sounds absolutely wonderful," he said. He held out a hand—which was, indeed, shaking. Starbuck looked at it, then at Apollo's face, then back at the hand. He stretched out his own hand across the intervening floor space and grasped Apollo's, then stood and pulled Apollo up with him. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around Apollo.

At first, Apollo was stiff, uncertain, expecting another violent mood swing. Then he gave in to the need within him and wrapped his arms around Starbuck, pulling him closer still. He buried his face in his love's shoulder, shaking. "I missed you," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Lords, how I missed you."

"When I think of how many times I wanted to do this—to just hold you again, or even look at you—" Starbuck had to stop and take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Apollo. Can you ever forgive me for the things I said?"

Apollo slid his fingers through Starbuck's hair, cradling the back of his head. A sound escaped Starbuck, a cross between a moan and a whimper. "I think I already have, or else I wouldn't be here. Can you forgive me for being such a prick?"

"Apollo..." Starbuck pulled back, but didn't entirely let go. "It's going to be hard, you know? I love you, I need you—every day when I woke up without you, I felt like something of me died. But I have to learn to trust you again, and it isn't going to be easy."

Apollo broke away and sat down again, head in hands. "I know." His voice was strangled, choked. "And I have to learn to trust you again as well. We both hurt each other, and we both have to work to make things better again."

Starbuck sat beside him, rubbing lightly along those tense shoulders. "But it's going to be worth it."

"Yes."

Apollo stood silent, staring out the window and across the moonlit clearing. His hand rested against the rough-hewn window-frame, above his head, while his thoughts followed the same steady, predictable path.

He can't forgive me. I fucked up. I should have stayed with him. Which led to the inevitable thought, Now what? Guilt gnawed at his soul, guilt for the destruction of the most beautiful thing in any universe. Love. Destroyed by his own lack of strength, lack of ability to stand up for what he believed in.

Absorbed as he was in his pain and guilt, Apollo still heard the small sound of someone moving up behind him. Starbuck's voice came as no surprise. "Beautiful, isn't it?" His hand touched Apollo's shoulder lightly, then his fingers traced along the upraised arm, coming to rest with fingers entwined in Apollo's. His other arm crept around Apollo's waist.

Apollo froze, heart pounding. "Yes." His voice remained steady, but he couldn't have prevented his fingers from tightening on Starbuck's to save his life. His entire body was intensely aware of the man behind him. He felt every slight movement of Starbuck's fingers, the stroking of his thumb, even the warmth of his breath tickling the back of his neck. He leaned back slightly, against Starbuck.

For a long moment, the tableau held. Then Starbuck buried his face in Apollo's neck. Apollo could feel him trembling.

"You hurt me worse than anyone ever has before," Starbuck's voice was broken, filled with anguish. "But before that, you took the pain away—the pain of loneliness, of Orion's death. Can you take away the pain you caused?"

"I can only try, and hope for the best." Apollo closed his eyes. His free hand rubbed Starbuck's forearm. "Will you let me prove to you that I do love you?"

There was a long pause, then Starbuck drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I have to hope for the best, because there is no other option. Now that you've come back to me, I don't think I could survive losing you again."

"Starbuck..." Apollo paused, fighting down the lump in his throat. "I won't leave, not ever again. I love you."

There was silence, broken only by the sound of Starbuck's harsh breathing. Then Apollo turned and wrapped his arms around Starbuck, cradling him close. "I will make it up to you, I swear," he whispered.