Hundreds of candles burned, shedding a clear and steady light on the lone figure kneeling before the altar. Each candle represented an individual prayer and a memory, spoken aloud before being left to burn out, a final gift from the living to the dead. Hundreds of candles, from hundreds of people—they had packed into here until there was scarcely room to breathe, into this vast cargo bay which had been converted early on in the interminable journey into a Kobolian Temple. They had lined the walls, jammed the aisles; the unlucky ones had even crowded in as close as possible in the external hallway. The service had been simple, poignant, moving. Not an eye present had been dry when Starbuck stood before them to deliver his eulogy for his closest friend, the great Captain Apollo. And though impatience is the nature of people everywhere, none had the nerve to disrupt the memorial ceremony following the service—hence, the hundreds of candles now filling the still air with the scent of hot wax.

The light glinted off the blond head of the warrior, waking glints and highlights not normally seen in hair more likely to be confined under a helmet. The still form stirred at last. His head raised, although he remained kneeling on the floor, hands clenched into fists atop his legs.

"Why?" he whispered, a harsh and pain-filled sound. Tear tracks shone wetly on his face. "He was the best of us. Why did you have to take him? I've been here for centares, thinking... remembering. Feeling over and over again the pain of watching him go. And not once have you offered an answer, or even given me any kind of sign that you are there, that you care at all. Why?"

The silent altar remained just that—silent. Starbuck sighed. He struggled to his feet, a process accomplished with much protest from his knees and back. Then he turned his back on the altar and walked slowly, carefully, through the burning forest of candles and out of the Temple. What little faith he had held was gone now. Surely, if there were any gods, they would not have allowed Apollo to die—or even, if they had indeed decreed that his time was up, they should have at least made their reasons plain to him, of all people. But no. No response at all.

Starbuck made his way to his quarters, grateful for the late hour. No one was abroad to see him progressing unsteadily through the halls, tears still occasionally trickling down his face. He made it to the sanctuary of his own quarters without incident, and locked the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Better get on with his life now; there was nothing more he could do. But how could he do so, when there was a gaping hole in his heart? In his very life, in fact? Apollo had always been there, a comforting and solid presence. The steady one, the sane one, who balanced out Starbuck's wild antics and provided the guidance of reason to his risky ventures... Apollo, who'd been like another half of him, who was as much a part of Starbuck's life as his arms or legs. Apollo, who'd always sworn to be by his side his entire life, and forever after.

Moving with a wooden stiffness caused more by grief than by long centares of immobility, Starbuck stripped off his fancy white velvet outfit. White, the color of death... may he never have to wear it again. He caught himself just standing, staring into the darkness, holding his shirt in one hand. The numbness within him was still holding him safe from the true strength of his emotions, but it was also insulating him from life, from reality itself. He finished undressing, still in the dark, and groped his way into bed.

The loneliness and grief worked past the numbness briefly, as he laid his head on the pillow where the dark hair of the Captain had so often rested. Now he wished they had not been so circumspect. Had they been out in the open about the true depth of their relationship, he could allow himself to grieve openly for his lost lover, rather than hiding it all beneath layer upon layer of self-control.

But no, they had allowed the tide of public opinion to guide them, and kept that important aspect of their lives together hidden. And what good had it done them, in the end? None.

Starbuck forced his mind to silence, a trick he had learned during long hours of patrol, when nothing happened and the stars streamed endlessly past his canopy. One by one, his thoughts stilled, although he could do nothing about the pain. That, he was sure, would be with him for the rest of his life, however long that might be.

Starbuck.

He was concentrating so intensely on nothing that he almost missed the sound.

Starbuck.

There it was again. His heart clenched painfully, then began pounding. That had almost sounded like Apollo, calling his name. A chill threaded its way down his spine and he opened his eyes, knowing there was nothing to be seen. Darkness closed in all around him, so dark, so alone... so very empty of love. A sob caught in his throat.

Enough of that, the whisper chided impatiently. Then, in an achingly familiar tone of command, Remember me.

"What are you trying to do, kill me?" Starbuck gasped, clutching at his stomach. Tears of laughter threatened to spill from his eyes. Apollo grinned.

"Now Lieutenant, surely you jest," he said, with a mock pout and a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "What good would that do me, after all? Remember, I'm looking for a good time—if I wanted an old dead stick, I could always go back over to the Senior Barge. But I want a young, energetic, handsome warrior..."

Apollo's faultless imitation of Siress Blassie on the prowl was interrupted by the pillow that smacked into his face. The small room exploded into frantic activity and wild laughter as a full-fledged pillow fight ensued.

A faint smile actually crossed Starbuck's face as the memory faded. But it was replaced by a fresh twisting of agony, as the man curled around the very pillow he had used to soundly defeat his lover amid so much laughter they'd both had sore throats the next day. Pol, why'd you have to go off and leave me like this? I think I may never laugh again...

Felgercarb, the phantom voice chided. You just wouldn't be the same if you didn't laugh.

"Same? Same?" Starbuck cried aloud, voice distored with grief. "How can I be the same, without you?"

Starbuck... The voice sighed, and an image of Apollo shaking his head in resigned exasperation passed through his mind.

"Apollo... is this really you, or have I finally gone round the bend?" Starbuck held his breath, more than half afraid of the response. Surely the voice was only a figment of his tortured imagination, a device his mind had come up with to help him deal with the overwhelming pain of his loss.

But his mind didn't create the sensation of an incredibly loving presence settling next to him, nor did it concoct the brief icy touch on his cheek. I'm here, Bucko.

Starbuck shivered. He wasn't afraid, precisely, but he was definitely uneasy now. If he really had gone off the deep end... Well, the thought that Apollo's ghost was sitting on the bed with him was infinitely preferable.

You're not crazy. I came to help you get over this mess.

Starbuck was stricken speechless for a moment, while his mind spluttered indignantly. Mess? Mess? The loss of half of himself, reduced to a mess?

Bucko... another sigh. You know it's always a possibility that a warrior will die. You've known and accepted this fact for many yahrens. Well, this time it was me. And you're going to have to deal with it. The Fleet needs you.

"Damn you, Apollo!" he cried, in a sudden fury. He sat up, turning to where the presence felt strongest. "Don't give me that line of shit! The Fleet needed you, not me. I'm nothing, no one- just your wingman. And frankly, even if they did need me, I don't give a shit. If not for them, you'd be here with me tonight, not dead and consigned to space."

Silence met this response. Then, just when Starbuck had begun to fear that Apollo had left him again, there was a faint sigh of sound. I know. There was another pause, then the whispery voice continued. And what good did it do me or them, either- that I took a hit for the Fleet, did a damnfool thing like a suicide run on a basestar when I couldn't see any other option... all it got me was dead. All it got them was a chance to pull out the fighters so the Galactica could nuke the planet. Thereby destroying an entire world... along with all its resources, and so on, and so forth. And this being dead business... it's not all it's cracked up to be. I'm breaking the rules right now, you know.

"What?" The simple statement, so matter-of-fact after the depressing words of before, startled Starbuck badly. "Rules? What rules? And you—of all people, Pol, I never would expect you to break rules..."

I'm not supposed to be talking to you, really, and the ghostly voice took on an apologetic, guilty tone, like a small boy caught with a hand in the mushies. I'm just supposed to share pleasant memories with you, whisper a few words of encouragement, stuff like that—you know, help ease your pain. But I never could resist you.

Starbuck actually chuckled at that. "Now that's the truth. And it's a damn good thing, too. But tell me, who made the rules?"

Oh, come on, now. Think about it, Starbuck. Who do you think made the rules? I'll even give you a hint.... they all love white.

"Ahh..." Starbuck felt his jaw sagging. Why hadn't he thought of that? Of course it was the beings they'd encountered before making the rules—they seemed to enjoy doing things like that. "So you're one of them now? On a Ship of Light?"

Not hardly. I'm kind of in between right now. I... well.

"Well? Well, what?"

I shouldn't tell you, but what the hell—I'm in trouble anyway. I refused to go where I was supposed to. I didn't want to leave you.

Starbuck swallowed against a lump in his throat. "That's—that's very sweet, Apollo."

Yeah, well, they didn't think so. They got very upset, but finally decided it was okay if I went to talk to you. I even tried to play by their rules at first, but you make that very difficult.

Starbuck smiled and reached out to where Apollo would have been, if he'd had a physical body. His hand tingled as it passed through a spot of icy cold. "That's my job, remember? I have to make life difficult for my Captain."

There was no response to that. Starbuck waited for a moment, but still Apollo said nothing. He began to worry again. "Pol? You still there?"

The quiet dragged on long enough for panic to clench at histhroat, panic that he'd lost his love again. Then—Sorry, Star. That one hit me hard.

"Oh. I—I'm sorry, I never realized this would be hard for you too..."

Well, it is. Think about it, buddy—I have to go on without you. There's obviously some kind of life after death, and now I'm stuck facing it alone. How am I supposed to do that?

"Apollo... I was supposed to go with you. I've always wanted to go with you. You know that."

Well, you didn't. There was no accusation in the disembodied voice, just a flat statement of fact. And I know you really wanted to. But before you get all crazy on me—if you kill yourself, you'll wind up in a different place. Something to do with the way the energy is released, sends the soul onto a different plane.

"Damn," Starbuck said softly. The idea had already occured to him, but if what Apollo said was true, it would serve no purpose.

There was a flash of light, brilliant and painful in the darkness of the room. A humming noise accompanied it. Starbuck covered his eyes, facing the light. He felt a cold spot along his side, as though Apollo's spirit had pressed up against him.

*This is not allowed,* a voice spoke, seeming to come from everywhere at once. *You must come with me now, spirit.*

The cold spot at Starbuck's side rippled. No.

*Refusal is not an option. You must come with me now. You have broken the rules and must be removed before you do any further damage.*

I said no.

"Go away," Starbuck said. The light from the being flared to a painful brilliance, throwing even the shadows into light. "If he doesn't want to leave me, he doesn't have to."

*Mortal human, this is not for you to decide. Apollo has entered our world now, and must leave you and yours behind. The time has come.*

A tendril of light threaded from the glowing ball and snaked towards Apollo's spirit. Starbuck felt the cold spot begin to pull away from his side. "Apollo, no!" he cried. He reached out, knowing it was futile. There was another brief flash of light, and he was completely immobilized. No, no, can't let this arrogant asshole being take Apollo away from me again...

He strained and struggled to move his arm. At first, nothing happened, then he felt something tear free and his arm was able to move. He reached out and caught Apollo, who clung to his arm tenaciously, fighting against the pull of the cord of light.

Wait a minute—I can feel that— Starbuck tried to look, found he could move his eyes—and saw his arm, still where it had been. But he could clearly feel that he had reached out to Apollo, who was still hanging on to him. There was a steady tug against his arm. Starbuck closed his eyes and resisted with all his will. "Go—away!"

The hum increased to a volume that should have had the entire crew banging the door down, trying to find out what was happening. The pressure trying to seperate Apollo from him increased. Starbuck fought against it, stubbornly refusing to give up. He could feel Apollo's continued resistance as well, somehow, through the contact that couldn't possibly be real. He ignored the fact that his body was locked into place by a force outside himself and tore his other arm loose, adding it to the struggle over Apollo's spirit. The pressure and sound increased to nearly unbearable levels, then there was a flash which dwarfed the flare of the missiles striking the Cylon homeworld, and then nothing.

Starbuck slumped back against his pillows, released from the force which had controlled him. He opened his eyes, to find a faint glow. "Apollo? You still here?"

The glow rippled, then settled beside him on the bed. I'm still here... A feeling of surprise and wonder radiated from it. Starbuck blinked, and looked again. There were two glowing things extending from his own body, where he had felt his arms clinging to Apollo.

"Okay, this is weird."

What's weird?

"I can see you now, and I can see... part of me? My spirit, I guess?" He tried to move his physical arms, without success. The glowing things drifted over towards Apollo and he could feel them make contact—it was very strange, like suddenly discovering a new sense.

Starbuck—that's your soul. I don't think you should be doing that.

Starbuck laughed. "Come on, now, Apollo. I just helped you chase off an angel, and you're worried 'cause my soul wants to come out and play with you?"

There was an answering feeling of laughter, then Starbuck applied his will to seeing how much of his soul was willing to come out. At first there was resistance, then he was able to raise his head. Or... whatever. He turned towards Apollo, and for the first time was able to see him clearly. That was enough to make him sit up. There was an odd tearing sensation as he sat up, leaving half his body behind on the bed. It tickled, making him laugh a little. Apollo smiled at him, raising a hand. Starbuck reached out and took it, then pulled the rest of himself out of his body. Well, would you look at that—now I'm the same as you!

With one small exception, Apollo corrected. Your body is still alive.

Worry about that later. For now—get over here, you, and he held out his insubstantial arms for a hug. The two souls clung together, truly reunited at last. Their energy fields mingled and merged, allowing them to feel complete.

This is almost better than sex, Starbuck whispered. A ripple of laughter went through both of them.

You really should—

Apollo, if you finish that thought, I'll do something nasty to you, Starbuck warned. You can't possibly expect me to leave you, now that I've gotten you back.

I have to try, Bucko—you know that, or how could I live with my conscience?

Easy... who needs me more, you or the Fleet? And who do I need more? I assure you, it isn't the Fleet. If there's a way for me to be with you, damn straight I'm going to take it.

Apollo laughed. Why doesn't that surprise me? Then he sobered abruptly. You know, there's going to be trouble with the... angels, or whatever they are.

So? We're together again. We can face anything, together.

Are you sure?

Starbuck pulled back from the intoxicating embrace and looked at Apollo's glowing, ghostly face. Apollo. Do you want to spend eternity with me, or not? 'cause if not, I can always go back in my body, and you can go with mister asshole angel...

Apollo's eyes widened in mock horror. No, not that, anything but that! He smiled. Come here, you. I wouldn't have said forever in the first place if I hadn't wanted to spend eternity with you, and you know it.

He pulled Starbuck back into his incorporeal arms, and together they drifted up towards the ceiling. Starbuck felt a faint tugging at his soul, and looked back. There was a silver cord attaching him to his body. Well, damn. Can't have that. He let go of Apollo long enough to grab the thing and give it a good strong yank. It stretched. Starbuck swore, and kept at it, until the cord broke. Then he turned back to Apollo. Looks like it's really forever now, old buddy.

Yes.

The two spirits drifted out of the Galactica, together again.


***They say that Lieutenant Starbuck died of a broken heart. No one could find a trace of the cause of his death, but all knew the depth of his attachment to Captain Apollo. And from that day forward, strange things happened in the fleet, almost as if there were a pair of guardian spirits watching over the fugitives. And sometimes, if you listen hard enough, you can hear the sound of two male voices laughing together in the Officer's Club or on the Rising Star...***

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