Title: All Mixed Up

Author: Karen

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Paring: over the course of the story goes from Apollo/Sheba - Starbuck/Cassie - Omega/other -
Boomer/Athena - Bojay/other to Apollo/Starbuck - Cassie/Athena - Omega/Bojay - Sheba/Boomer

Rating: R

Status: New, complete

Archive: Yes.

Series/Sequel: No

Disclaimers: No copyright infringement intended; this is purely for entertainment.

Summary: After the Pegasus is lost, even the ones with someone aren't where they want to be...

Notes:

Chapter titles are "Battlestar Galactica" episode titles, with the exception of Chapter Seven, which is a kd lang song title, and the Epilog, which belongs to Anonymous-and the Universe

Quote in Chapter Two is from Paul's Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, chapter two, verses eight and nine

Song in Chapter Three is kd lang's "Only Love"

The preflight checklist is excerpted, with edits, from "The Su-27 Flogger Pre-Flight Checklist", which was (as these things so often are) circulated anonymously

All dialog in the first section of Chapter Six (and bits of that in later sections) is from the episode "The Hand of God" by Donald Bellasario (except one speech by Adama in which I've fixed Bellasario's little problem with universes and galaxies...)

Quote in the fourth section of Chapter Six is from Psalms Eighteen and Eight; song is Collin Raye's "If You Get There Before I Do"

Quotes in the second section of Chapter Seven are from "The Song of Songs, which is Solomon's"; Cassie's story is borrowed from Takahashi Rumiko's "Ranma 1/2"

Song quoted in the third section of Chapter Seven is George Harrison's "Run So Far"

Warnings: het sex, gay sex, and lesbian sex; a bit of Boxey [minor cute child alert]; some non-graphic wartime violence and deaths of minor characters as killed on the show; some familiarity assumed for and thus spoilers for "Living Legend", "Fire in Space", "War of the Gods", "The
Man With Nine Lives", "Murder on the Rising Star", "Baltar's Escape", and "The Hand of God"

All Mixed Up

by Karen

Adama went to bed, finally, when he realized he was beginning to nod off over the files on his desk. He was startled to see how late it was. Since the Destruction a half-yahren ago (only that?) it seemed as if the twenty-four centares in each day were not nearly enough for all the work that had to be done. He was feeling his age, suddenly.

He was worried about his children. His remaining two... Zac was beyond all worry, now, beyond all care and concern. Adama grieved for him in the depths of his being, and thought that he always would. Yes, even though the time might come when Zac's name evoked the bubble of laughter it always had before, the fond pride and the good memories, even though that time might come, even then Adama would grieve at least a little when he heard the name. A father should not have to bury his son, he thought, or hear him die...

But he worried over the other two. Athena grieved still for Zac herself, he knew, though she did her best to hide it. She was of all his children most like her mother, not made to conceal her emotions, and yet she tried, for his sake and for the uniform's, and being his daughter what she tried to do she did well, if not happily. She didn't want to remind him of his loss; he wished he could find the words to tell her that there was no single centare that passed that did not bring with it a remembrance, that there was no way she could make it worse. But he, unlike his wife, did find it difficult to put his feelings into words. He sighed as he tried to make himself more comfortable in the bed, tired to the bone and yet not sleepy. Athena worried him. There was more bothering her than Zac's loss, though they two had always been close, and more, he thought, than losing Starbuck to Cassiopeia. He wished he knew what.

He turned slightly and thought of Starbuck. Not his son, of course, though very dear (and the more because he had been dear to Ila), and not, apparently, his son-in-law, either. He was worried about Starbuck now, as well. Once he was certain that Athena wasn't hurt by losing Starbuck—and she'd been angry, but not hurt—he had been pleased to think the young man had finally found someone, even more pleased when she left her somewhat reprehensible trade (Adama was not Gemonese, and he was Kobolian). Starbuck's true love, of course, wasn't his, though Adama wouldn't have objected had his elder son been of a mind to reciprocate, but Starbuck had apparently learned early in his life how to make do. Adama wondered if sometimes Starbuck hadn't learned that lesson too well, but the young man wasn't his to instruct or advise. But losing Cassiopeia to Cain had to have been a bitter pill.

Cain... Adama sighed. Dearly as he was fond of that wild man, he had to admit that two yahrens on his own had been perhaps the worst thing that his old friend could have had. He'd lost all sense of community, of responsibility... Like a little king of ancient times, he'd done what he wanted, not what he should have, and he'd nearly destroyed the fleet with his willfulness before Adama had realized how far he'd gone. That his desire for glory had led him to go out in a blaze of it, saving the Galactica and the ragged fleet she protected, didn't alter the fact that it was he who had put the fleet into danger in the first place. And his rivalry with Adama, born almost the first day they had met so many yahrens ago, had spilled over, perhaps irrevocably. There was at least one young Warrior in the Life Center who had balanced on the knife-edge that separated honest dissent from mutiny, torn between personal loyalty and loyalty to the greater good... Bojay had been a fine Warrior once, and perhaps out of Cain's immediate influence would be again.

Not that Apollo was willing to believe it. But, Adama shifted again in the darkness, his elder son (his only son) was not only his son, and thus personally antagonistic to Cain, but he had been the man facing Bojay at that dangerous moment... No, Apollo would not forget easily, and he would forgive even less easily, though he would follow Adama's orders, and he would never let his antagonism color his professional behaviour. Just as he never let his affections color it. Adama was more grateful than he could say that both of his son's dear friends, indeed, Apollo's only close friends, had survived Cimtar. Without Starbuck and Boomer, Apollo would have been even more lost than he had been, then and after the untimely death of his wife... Adama had been fond of Serina, was more than fond of her young son, and though he'd worried slightly over Apollo's leap into marriage, he'd remembered how Ila had told him she'd known within the centare of meeting him... But Serina's death had hurt Apollo deeply. Adama had been pleased beyond words to hear his son speak so glowingly of Sheba, back when it still seemed possible that the Pegasus and the Galactica would take on the task of saving their people together.

Well, perhaps they had, in Cain's own way. But Cain had died doing it...

And Sheba, his old friend's daughter. Injured and orphaned, her troubles were obvious. Perhaps Apollo's evident interest would help. Or perhaps it wouldn't. All he himself could do was open his heart to her.

Adama closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. And dreamed of Ila.

The door chime rang. Sheba ignored it. She was off duty, and it was the middle of the night. So she hadn't been able to sleep; she didn't care and she sure didn't want to talk to anyone. She wasn't used to her new status on the Galactica but she was pretty sure that she didn't have to let people bother her if she didn't want to. If it was official, they'd comm her. It rang again, and then settled into a prolonged buzzing ring as if whoever it was was leaning against it.

Great, she thought, finally climbing out of the bed and grabbing the robe Athena had given her. She hated the robe. She hated having to take it. She hated being here... She tied the pink thing around her waist, bunching the top up so she wouldn't step on the hem, and stomped to the door. Somebody was going to have his head handed to him, and she didn't care if it was the Strike Captain.

The door opened under her annoyed punch and the man who had, in fact, been leaning on the signal straightened up. "Hey," he said softly, "thank God this really is your room."

"Boj?" she said, finally getting her voice back, "my Gods, Boj, when did they let you out?" She grabbed for him, hugging him tight, feeling his arms come around her to press her close.

"They didn't, exactly," he said. "I was going crazy in there. So I broke out."

The door hissed shut behind them as she pulled him inside. At his final sentence she let go and stepped back, raking him from head to foot and back again with a critical eye. He was paler than she liked, and whoever had donated his shirt and trousers was less his size than Athena was hers, but he was steady enough on his feet and didn't look like he was about to pass out. Still, the thought conjured up the memories of him in agony and bleeding on Gamoray, him so close to death on the shuttle, him lying so still in the Life Center... She hugged him again. "Why didn't you just come in?" she asked, covering the fear.

"You changed your code," he reminded her.

"Damn, that's right," she said. "The four's out on this pad and that's low priority maintenance. Old story, huh?" She tugged his hand. "Get off your feet, you idiot."

"I'm all right," he said. "Barely hurts."

"Hah," she said. "Sit down. You want a drink? They manage to have a lot of ambrosa here."

"No," he said. "Sheba—" he caught her arm gently. "Is it true?"

She swallowed. She'd already had to do this eight times, but this was the hardest. Her father had loved Bojay almost like a son, would have chosen him to be the Pegasus's new Strike Captain. I want you to take Bojay and shuttle him back to the fleet. And Bojay had worshipped him... He would take this as hard as she had.

"It is," he said, reading her accurately. "Oh, God..." He reached behind himself and found the arm of the couch and sat, hard. "They're all gone?"

"Two shuttle pilots," she said. "Ten others... a couple of pilots, mechs, two medtechs... Dawn, Hathor, Rustam, Silas, Mercury, Iolaus, Harper, Hereward, Noah, Glyn, Hakim, and Rory. That's all. And Glyn and Noah might not make it."

"That's all? Just fourteen?"

She nodded. He was silent a moment; she understood his emotions. None of his particular friends were on that very short list, though he and the tech lieutenant, Hereward, got along all right. She sat down on the couch beside him and leaned her shoulder into his ribs. Almost automatically his arm went around her shoulders and he hugged her to himself.

"They're gone," he said softly. "Really gone... Oh, God, girl—your father."

I love you, baby. And I want to see you again.

"Boj..." It was all she could get out before she was crying, clinging to his shirt and sobbing.

He wrapped her in his embrace, holding her close, rubbing her back. He said the sort of things you say when someone's crying all over you, in that mix of Piscon, Gemonese and Standard that was their private language, and she was so glad he was there, alive, with her, that she wasn't alone that she cried harder. Finally, when she was cried out and just holding him, he said, "Have you just been being his daughter all this time?"

"It's who I am, Boj," she answered tiredly. "What else should I do? I am his daughter, they're all looking at me, the Galacticans too just differently. They've said they're going to give us our own squadron, Adama's being so nice, Athena gave me clothes and the only people from the Peggy were in the Life Center and—"

"Whoa, girl." His fingers were gentle on her lips. "Take a breath."

She looked up at him, his dear face and thinning brown hair blurry from the tears still in her eyes. "Boj," she said. "Oh, Gods, I'm so tired."

"I'll just bet." He shook his head and slid his right hand under her knees, standing up with her in his arms. Atavistically she closed her eyes and clung to him, surrendering all the decision to someone else, if only for the moment. Everyone needed someone to do that with, someone they could cry on and be weak in front of... But after three limping steps she realized what she was doing and pushed against him.

"Let me down, you idiot. Your leg—"

"I think I can manage this far," he said, turning sideways to go into her sleeping room. He laid her down on the bed and tugged on her robe. "You sleep in this?"

"No," she said, letting him strip it off her and then pull the blankets up. After only a centon she felt him slide in next to her, his arms pulling her up close. She closed her eyes, feeling the angular strength of his body along her back and legs and his chin on the top of her head. She reached up and caught hold of his arms, sighing softly. "Oh, Gods, Boj... I missed you so much."

"Just sleep now, Sheba," he said. He slipped a hand under her short sleeping shirt and rubbed it in comforting circles on her stomach. "Just sleep. I'm here."

She relaxed into his hold, feeling the warmth of him and the safety. Momentarily she wished he was straight, but it was, by now, a fleeting wish and barely even registered. She had never in her life had a friend like him and never needed him more than she did now. She knew he should probably still be in the Life Center, but she couldn't even say so, let alone do anything. She tightened her hold on his arms and let her secton's exhaustion carry her off, secure in his company.

Apollo sat alone in his front room. Boxey was asleep, finally: they'd been to dinner at his father's, just the family. Adama and his son and daughter, and his son's son. And Sheba.

He thought Boxey liked her. He hoped so. His stepson was still very young, but in a way that was to the good. He'd been devastated when his mother died, but he was resilient. He'd gotten over it. Over her. A new mother wouldn't be a trauma.

A new mother. That was the first time he'd put the thought into words. For a man who'd barely dated till he was thirty, he was acting very precipitately this yahren, marrying Serina after a sectare and now thinking about marrying Sheba barely a secton after meeting her. But he knew why.

Oh, he thought they'd get along well. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Serina had been. And though Serina had had Boxey, she'd been a high-strung prima donna of a vid star, a famous journalist with her own show and a huge following, used to getting her own way. Not that Sheba wasn't, he had to admit; as Cain's daughter and a Viper pilot of long standing—a damned fine pilot, too—she clearly wasn't used to staying in what anybody else thought was her place. But things were changing in the Fleet, too: two squadrons' worth of women pilots proved that. And he thought Sheba was a nicer person, deep down, than Serina. She had friends, people liked her, not her image...

Oh, there was Bojay (and Apollo didn't much like what little he'd seen of the man, but the circumstances hadn't been good and he'd been brave enough down on Gamoray), but she said they were just friends, just wingmates, and she didn't act like she wished Apollo would ignore her. And she and Bojay hadn't been inseparable when they were on the Galactica before. Sure, she'd taken his getting shot hard, but, Hades, how had he taken losing Starbuck? Or, maybe more to the point, hopefully more to the point, how had Boomer?

And his father liked her. Apollo knew his father's approval was important to him, maybe too important sometimes, but he loved his father. Didn't want to disappoint him. He didn't think he'd marry to please Adama, but why go looking where you knew he wouldn't like what you found? Why not just start looking where he would, and then find what you liked, too?

Sheba was smart, she was talented, she was brave. She was well-bred, for what that was worth now. And she was definitely not going to embarrass him by being incompetent: in fact, she was likely to prove better than he was in the cockpit.

But all of that was insignificant next to the important fact, and he knew it. Knew it all, though he'd never admit so to a single person. Knew that since the Destruction, just when it was most important for him to be responsible and a leader, he'd been tempted, strongly tempted, to be otherwise. To say, "what the hell" and go for what he wanted, to snatch joy from death's jaws. Tempted to give in to the desires that had plagued him since adolesence.

Tempted by his wingmate.

He shook his head sharply and refused to let his thoughts run after Starbuck. On top of everything else, Starbuck was a ladies' man. Very much so, enjoying them as much as they enjoyed him, which was a lot. So even if by some warped logic Apollo could convince himself that it was all right to make a move on Starbuck, the blond wasn't likely to do anything but reject him. And he'd be lucky if that was all. He'd managed to survive the previous eight yahrens as Starbuck's friend; he didn't think he could survive losing that.

Wanting the moon never got anybody one. But poking out your eyes so you couldn't see it, that was insanity.

Courting Sheba... that was just the rational thing to do. You couldn't have the moon, maybe, shouldn't ask for it, but a nice fire on the hearth was warmer, anyway.

Athena leaned back in her chair, her fingers cradling her kava, and listened to Omega's recounting of an incident on the bridge yesterday, when she'd been off. Apparently Altair had reverted to primary school mindset and tied a couple of styli to Rigel's looped-up braids, and when she'd found out, she'd dumped a cup of hot kava down the back of his uniform—just as Colonel Tigh came out onto the bridge.

Anyone watching them would have wondered why Athena was snickering and then laughing out loud, Omega's manner was so grave, but that was his customary demeanor: his eyes were dancing with humor as he told the story. Once you got to know him, Athena mused as she giggled at the image of Rigel with styli dangling down behind her, you realized Omega had one hell of a wicked sense of humor, buried under that oh-so-correct exterior. He reminded her, a little, of her brother. Just better looking and more fun to be with.

Which made her wonder why he'd never been married. He had all the requisites: looks, money (well, before the Destruction, anyway), a good career, good sense of humor, wonderful manners... But she could answer herself, if she thought about it. She liked him very much, but there was no spark when she was with him. Fun to be with he was, but like her best friend from school, not like, say, Starbuck. And even Apollo, Sire Stiff-and-Formal, had gotten married.

Still, if she was right she didn't care, except to feel sorry for Omega. But then again, he was five or six yahrens older even than Apollo and he seemed content with his life. Like everyone, the Destruction had hit him hard, like many of the Galactica's crew he had lost his whole family. If he'd lost someone else, you'd never know it talking to him. But he'd never let on that there was a someone... Athena wasn't even sure whether to wish there had or hadn't been. Was it really better to have lost than not have had? She didn't think so, but others disagreed.

However, presumably Omega could manage his private life to his satisfaction. Gods knew, she thought amusedly, he managed everything else. And to Colonel Tigh's satisfaction, which was probably a good deal harder. Plus, she thought selfishly, this way she had someone to spend time with besides Cassie—and if Starbuck and the medtech were fighting, she'd find it hard to stay friends with them both. And since Starbuck was her brother's best friend, avoiding him would be hard.

She shook her head at herself. Sometimes she thought she'd gotten incredibly selfish since the Destruction. But before she could chastise herself too much, Omega interrupted.

"What?"

She realized he'd caught her headshake and told him part of the truth. "No, it's just, that sounds like something my brother Zac might have done. Except," she added with a chuckle, "he'd have ended up going out with Rigel instead of getting a kava-bath."

Omega smiled. "I'm sorry I didn't get to meet him properly."

"He'd have driven Apollo mad," she said, wondering as she did how long had it been since she'd spoken of Zac to anyone, "but I would have enjoyed having him here. We were closer, he and I; Apollo's so much older, you know."

"I know how that is," he nodded. His chrono beeped once and he glanced at it. "Time to go."

She finished her kava and stood up. "I hope the colonel's over yesterday."

Omega snickered. "Not as much as Altair and Rigel do."

She laughed and accompanied him to the bridge.

Cassie closed her eyes and recited under her breath. "The severity of a burn depends on its depth, its extent, and the age of the victim. Depth is classified as first, second, and third degree. First-degree burns cause redness and pain (e.g., sunburn). Second-degree burns are marked by blisters (e.g., scald by hot liquid). In third-degree burns, both the epidermis and dermis are destroyed, and underlying tissue may also be damaged. The extent of a burn is expressed as the percent of total skin surface that is injured. Extensive burns involving 30 percent or more of the body's surface can be life-threatening because they disrupt the skin's ability to fight infection, prevent fluid loss, and... and... and regulate body temperature. Persons under 1 yahren and over 40 yahrens old have a higher mortality rate than those between 2 and 39 for burns of similar depth and extent. Inhalation of smoke from a fire significantly increases mortality." She opened her eyes and checked the text. Okay.

She glanced up through the open door to the Life Center's admit area, but no one had come in. And who are you expecting to come in? Starbuck? Not likely... She sighed and then laughed at herself. She didn't exactly expect him, but she'd been hoping for him all night. Which was ridiculous, if you thought about it: not only had she pretty thoroughly dumped him (I'm getting ready to jump into an inferno, and you want to talk to me about Cain?) but he'd never had any trouble finding women before now. She'd had to use every trick in the book to keep him...

And speaking of books... She sighed and looked back at the medical text. It wasn't as... interesting as Starbuck, but it was a lot easier to deal with. And she'd have to be a much bigger fool than she was not to know that Sheba had buried the hatchet because she'd been there to save that other pilot's life—what was his name? Bojay? And not to realize that once Apollo had been told that Sheba wasn't sleeping with Bojay, that they were "just wingmates", he'd be after her like a daggit on heat. Well, in rut, she supposed she ought to say... men.

Not that that was fair. Apollo was smitten, to be sure, but he'd never do anything so crude as chase Sheba. Not just because he was Sire Adama's son, either, and used to being the target, but because he was that rarity: a well-bred, restrained young man, with manners and a veneer of confidence over a shy nature. Plus, of course, that Caprican Kobolian upbringing that made Starbuck swear eleven times out of twelve.

And her, too. Kobolians... Somehow—what did she mean, somehow? Adama was the reason, just as he was the reason they were alive—Caprican Kobolians outnumbered everyone else in the Fleet put together. And although Adama was the soul of tolerance, it was pretty clear that other ways were tolerated, which meant that the Council had the right to stop tolerating them someday. Libran Old Believers, Piscon Diwests, Tauran Aldebarians, Gemonese Otori, Arian Submitters, Sagittan Soldiers of God: all were definitely second-place religions now. Not that she grieved for any of them, and it could have been worse. But Caprican standards were pretty middle of the road, and Virgon line marriages and Tauran troikas were also pretty much frowned on. Let alone the same-sex marriages Gemoni, Leonis, and Libris had permitted.

Which brought her back to Starbuck again... She'd thought being Cain's lady would have been preferable, but now she wasn't so sure. Marrying Starbuck wouldn't be a slap in the face, that was certain. And it would make people stop looking at her. Sure, Sheba had been won over by her medical skills, but she couldn't expect to save the life of half the Fleet so the other half would forget her past. Even if she managed to qualify as a Medtech First Class and get into one of the medical classes Dr. Paye was talking about, to alleviate the doctor shortage in the Fleet, there would still be people who'd think all she wanted was to get their man, or them if they were the man, into bed. Like that had ever been the end-goal.

She sighed again and began reading the text. Focus and Compartmentalization, the secrets to a socialator's success. Or at least sanity.

"You look like you were up all night, buddy. Again."

Starbuck gave Boomer a jaundiced look. "Don't start with me," he warned.

"Sorry." Boomer backed off immediately. "Bad night?"

Starbuck knew what Boomer meant: nightmares. They all had them, now and again. Hades, how could you have survived Cimtar and then seen the Colonies destroyed and not? And this whole thing with the Pegasus had brought older scars to painful throbbing as well. He was tempted to let his old friend think that was the problem, but Boomer was the one he let see the pain. They'd roomed together at the academy, after all, and Leonids were a broad-minded people. Still, he eased into it sideways. "Yeah. Bad. You were on OOD, Cassie was on the night shift, and Athena was at a family dinner. With the commander and Apollo. And Sheba."

"Ow," Boomer said sympathetically.

"Yeah." Starbuck slammed his locker shut and picked his blaster up off his bunk where he'd dropped it. Boomer knew what that meant, all the ramifications of it: Starbuck had used to be 'one of the family' for those dinners, back when he was dating Athena. He'd been there the night Apollo had announced his and Serina's Promising. A couple of times since Kobol he'd been asked to go by Apollo... but now it was Sheba.

"You know, what I'm about to say is going to sound so inconsiderate I should probably duck after I say it, but... buddy, you'd better get used to it."

"I am used to it."

"No." Boomer shook his head. "If you were used to it you'd have a big callus there where you're bleeding."

Starbuck avoided his friend's eyes by buckling on the blaster. "I don't like it," he said finally, "but I know it's how it is. I'll get used to it. He wanted her the first time he saw her picture. And now she's here."

"Sans Cain, which has to be a huge improvement."

Starbuck laughed slightly. "Yeah. Even though Cain's always been his idol, or so he told me."

"Well," Boomer slapped him on the shoulder, "she's not sans Bojay."

"Oh, he told me she said they were friends, not romantically involved." He took a deep breath. He knew Bojay's secret, but it wasn't his to hand to Boomer even though the Leonid wouldn't care. "Not that it would matter, Boomer. He obviously wants a wife. I don't qualify."

"Sorry." Boomer meant it. "But it won't kill you, right?"

"You mean am I going to fly my Viper into the side of the battlestar?" He manufactured a smile, a nice bright Starbuck Number Two. "Not this kid. And in a way, it's a lot easier now that he's heard his biological clock going off. No more sitting around wishing..."

Boomer shook his head. "You're a real masochist, Bucko. If it was me, I'd be asking for a transfer to another squadron."

"Nah... Who'd keep Apollo from turning into a drone if I wasn't around?"

"You do relax him." Boomer's tone was thoughtful.

Starbuck hastened to intervene. "Don't start, Boomer. He's not interested. We're friends, as far as he's concerned. That's how he wants it. He's just... affectionate. Once you get through that barrier he puts up 'cause he's so shy. That's all."

Boomer sighed. "I suppose you're right."

Now Starbuck slapped him on the shoulder. "You know I am. Cheer up. We all have a lot more and bigger problems."

"And you've always got Cassie." He paused. "Or whoever."

Starbuck grinned. "That's right. Or whoever."

Apollo leaned back against the seat on the shuttle and rejoiced silently in being alive, in knowing that Athena and Boxey were alive, and that his father had come through the surgery. For several centares it seemed as though the Cylons were going to succeed in taking the rest of his family from him. His father had a piece of his own battlestar in his heart, and his sister and son were trapped by fire. And that tragedy had been overwhelmed, rendered nearly unimportant by the fact that that fire was threatening the battlestar. And if the Galactica was lost, the Fleet would follow shortly.

But all was well. The fires were out, his family was alive, the battlestar would be brought back to functionality, and the Fleet would survive. And he was alive himself. He looked at Starbuck, slumped as boneless as a felix on the seat next to him, and felt the same too familiar mixture of love and exasperation that the man had been rousing in him for yahrens. When he'd missed his hold and gone floating into space above the wounded Galactica, he'd known there was no time to stop and save him. Tigh had no option but to blow the charges. He would die. He'd resigned himself to it, knowing he'd saved the Fleet, and hoping the willing sacrifice would buy back his family from Death.

And then Starbuck was disobeying orders—again—and joining him, and the two of them had somehow survived the explosion and been picked up. Like the rammet in the thicket, he thought a bit unclearly. Starbuck's actions had somehow made the difference.

Which didn't alter the fact that he'd disobyed his orders. Not to mention that he wasn't the slightest bit religious... "Starbuck, what were you thinking?" he demanded.

Starbuck shrugged. "I told you."

"You know, both of us dying wouldn't have done anybody any good."

"Both of us? Apollo," Starbuck sat upright, staring at him. "What the frack are you thinking?"

"Can't stand to see me go anywhere without you?"

"Yeah, well, I can't. So I stopped you going." He shook his blond head and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Why is it people always think I'm ready to die?"

"Maybe because you're so fracking reckless. What were you thinking, then? We could have both been caught in that explosion."

"But we weren't, you'll notice. Look, Apollo," he said when Apollo raised his eyebrows, "you were drifting. I kicked off. I had momentum. You do remember physics, don't you? Inertia, vacuum, angular velocity... Even crashing into you didn't slow us down enough. I knew we'd be clear."

"And drifting in space," Apollo pointed out, feeling irrationally less happy about Starbuck's unwillingness to die with him than he should have.

"With one very hot rocket jock who happens to want to jump you out there to look for us. Plus, I doubt the rest of Blue, or the Wing for that matter, would have just written us off. We'd have been found. It was a sure thing."

Apollo ignored the reference to Sheba, though it raised his hackles a little, an unfamiliar sensation when dealing with Starbuck. "Like your last seven-eleven system?"

Starbuck just smiled at him. "We were found, right?"

Apollo shook his head. "You took a helluva risk, Starbuck."

"Payoff was worth it." He stretched and changed the subject. "I guess Muffit is good for something after all."

"Looks like it. Thank God Boxey had him with him."

"Thank Salik for paying attention at medical school."

Apollo couldn't quarrel with that.

And then they were coming into the battlestar's one functional landing bay. Apollo was on his feet before they'd set down properly, he was so anxious to get to the Life Center and see his father, to find his family, to believe it.

Sheba was waiting in the landing bay, but Apollo only realized it when he was at the turbolift and realized he'd lost Starbuck. He turned and saw his wingmate talking to her. Starbuck's hand was on her arm, but as Apollo watched he lifted it, gesturing firmly. He was laying down the law about something, which relieved Apollo's mind of the suspiscion that his best friend might be making a move on his girl. Somehow they'd managed to know each other for a long time without that ever happening.

He almost laughed at himself. Somehow? Probably because he'd never had a girl, and if he had, Starbuck wouldn't have the time to go after her, as full as his social calendar was. Besides, the only time Starbuck had expressed a personal opinion about Serina, a real opinion, it had been to say that he was a bit jealous because Apollo was moving on to the next stage. "It's the last time we'll be like we are," he'd said.

And true as that was, still it hadn't stopped them from staying friends, though if Serina had lived it might have been different.

But right now he didn't want to waste time. If Sheba was here instead of the Life Center, if she didn't know why he had to go, he didn't want to talk to her. Not now. But Athena and Adama and Boxey would want Starbuck... "Starbuck!" he called impatiently. "Come on!"

"I'm coming," he called back and with a final word to Sheba he trotted over to the turbolift. "Just saying thanks," he said as the door shut. "Seemed a bit rude to just walk on past."

And of course he was right. "My god, how could I do that?"

"You're a bit distracted," Starbuck said easily. "Focussed on something besides yourself. She understands."

Apollo wondered how true that was, but shelved it for the moment as the door opened (landing bay to Life Center was a non-stop). He headed for the waiting room and realized that Starbuck was lagging. "Starbuck, come on."

"You go ahead; I'll be in in a centon."

"Starbuck, come on. You know Boxey and Theni will want to see you."

"I know, and I'll be there. But right now it's your family and your reunion. I'll be in the way."

"You're not in the way." Apollo shifted his weight impatiently.

"I'm not in the family," Starbuck said with a little smile. "I'll come in in a centon. This is your time. Go on; I'll be right behind."

Apollo shook his head at the other man's intransigence and opened the door. He promptly forgot all about Starbuck as he took in the sight: Adama in the lifepod, blankets draping it to make him more comfortable; Athena and Boxey beside him, she on her knees with her arm around the boy; Boomer and Cassie in the background. He crossed the distance quickly; going to his own knees, he grabbed his son and held the small body tightly, feeling tears on his face and unashamed of them.

"Oh, Boxey," was all he could manage to say. With a laugh that was half a sob he reached for his sister and hugged her without letting go of Boxey and then turned to look at his father.

Adama was still in a lifepod, perhaps, but he was awake, alert, and even half sitting instead of lying down. He smiled at Apollo, and reached for his hand, clasping tightly. "I told you I'd make it through," his father said, adding, "at least I think I did."

Apollo still couldn't manage words. He just held his father and his son tight in his hands and laughed.

Adama nodded. "I hope you'll recommend Boomer for a decoration. He pulled them all through."

Still on his knees Apollo turned to look at his old friend. He let go of Boxey and reached with both hands to take Boomer's in his. "Thank you," he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper, though he'd never meant anything more.

Boomer's lips quirked in an embarrassed little smile and he shrugged a what else? at Apollo. "We did have one casualty, I'm afraid."

Boxey's voice was heartbroken. "Muffy's never coming back, Dad."

Oh, not again, Apollo thought, but before anybody could say anything, Starbuck's cheerful voice rang out from the doorway.

"Wanna bet?"

And then that terminally irritating, totally wonderful, mechanical "Arf, arf," and, to a completely Starbuckian flourish, a blackened, stinky heap of drone dagget was wheeled in on a gurney.

"Muffy!" caroled Boxey.

Apollo picked the boy up and carried him over as Starbuck said, "You be real proud of him, kid. He saved that firefighter's life." He gestured at the man who'd been wheeled in before Muffy. "Dragged him out of a burning compartment just in time."

"So that's why he ran back into the duct," Boomer said.

Boxey looked down on the drone and said, doubtfully, "I'm glad he saved somebody, but he got burned awful badly."

"Don't worry," Apollo reassured him. "Dr. Wilker will fix him up just as good as he was before."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Apollo said. He looked up from the tatterdemalion drone to see his sister hugging Starbuck and tugging him over to talk to their father. He couldn't hear what Adama said to him, but the blond blushed and shook his head, so it wasn't hard to guess. For a man who bragged as much as Starbuck did, gratitude embarrassed the pogees out of him. Maybe Adama would get Tigh to write him up for a decoration. Maybe all three of them. He found himself reaching down to rub Muffy's head as if he were alive and decided to rejoin his father.

But before he could say anything Dr. Salik arrived, bearing medical authority like a sword. "That's more than enough, Adama," he said. "I count five visitors here, plus that thing. That's several more than you should have tonight. Plus," he glared at Boomer and Athena, "the two of you, and you too," he added to Boxey, "haven't been checked out yet. I don't care," he overrode their protests, "how you feel. You've been breathing smoke for centares. Get to the waiting room now and check in for a checkup, or I'll put you on report."

"Yes, sir," Boomer said.

"I'll come back, Father," Athena said with dignity.

Apollo bent down so Boxey could kiss Adama's cheek and then did so himself. "I'll be back, too," he promised. "Good night; sleep well."

"I will, now," said Adama. "You, too, son; the morning is soon enough."

Apollo nodded, his eyes feeling full of tears again. When he could trust his voice he said, "Now that there'll be a morning. I love you, Father."

"And I love you, Apollo."

Their gazes held for a moment and then Apollo followed Athena and Boomer out of the critical care unit. He didn't realize Starbuck was still with them until they sat down in the waiting room and the blond settled next to him. "I'll take Boxey if you want to freshen up," he offered.

Apollo blinked at him and then realized he wasn't exactly presenting his usual tough exterior. "Might be a good idea," he said. Starbuck took Boxey onto his own lap and Apollo ruffled the boy's dark hair.

"I'll be right back."

"Okay, Dad." Boxey seemed more okay with his leaving than he was.

Apollo ducked into the turbowash and, after using the facilities while he was there, washed his face. The cool water felt good. He stared into the green eyes looking back at him from the mirror and thought about what had just happened. He'd always been close to his father. Athena was too much younger than he for them to have been close, but they were now, the moreso since Zac and their mother had died. And Boxey... of course he was close to Boxey. But something odd was going on with Starbuck. On the one hand, Starbuck risked his life to save Apollo's, followed him into the waiting room without either of them giving it a thought, felt like part of his family to Apollo. On the other hand, the blond clearly didn't think he was, and yet...

Am I being fair to him? Apollo wondered. He couldn't picture his life without Starbuck, but was there really as much room for him as there had been? He wasn't dating Athena any more, and maybe that's one reason he felt like he no longer belonged at family gatherings. And Sheba: no doubt she was another; Apollo remembered all too clearly how Starbuck had pulled away from him when Serina had entered his life. Just because he panicked at the notion of Starbuck someplace else...

He had to laugh at that. Where else was there for Starbuck to go? And no, he wasn't being fair. Starbuck had his own life to live. Sooner or later he was going to settle down with somebody. Wasn't he? Of course he was, he told himself firmly, ignoring the protest that roused. He had no right to want to keep Starbuck single just so he could have simpler fantasies. He had to laugh at that, too. He'd bet Starbuck's fantasies didn't include how to make sure inconvenient significant others weren't around. He probably just ignored them altogether.

"Apollo?" Starbuck was rapping on the door. "They want to look at Boxey now."

That brought him out of his introspection and the washroom in a hurry. He took his son from Starbuck and carried him into the exam room, telling him not worry.

"I'm not, Dad," the boy said. "I'm not gonna get a shot or anything. Am I?"

"No," the smiling medtech, whose name Apollo couldn't remember, said. "We just need to listen to you breathe to make sure all the smoke is out of you. I'm going to put this on your back, that's all." She listened to his lungs and took his temperature and other vitals. "You're fine, young man," she said.

"Really?" Apollo asked.

"Really, captain. From what I understand, he was on good oxygen almost the whole time."

Of course. Boomer and the others would have made sure Boxey had a mask as long as they could. He picked up his son with another surge of gratitude. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she said.

Apollo went back out to the waiting room, where Boomer and Athena were still sitting together, and Starbuck was still leaving him room between him and Athena. "Dad? Can we stay till Boomer and Aunt Theni are done?"

"I don't know," he said. "It's pretty late."

"I'm not a bit tired!"

Apollo thought that unlikely. He also thought Boxey would fall asleep soon no matter where he was, so he sat down in the space provided. Soon enough the boy was, indeed, asleep. A few centons after that, Starbuck leaned over and said, "Listen, Apollo. When you get back home, don't forget to call Sheba."

"Don't forget? Was I supposed to?"

"Were you supposed to? No. Should you? Yes."

"You've lost me."

"I know," the blond answered, then grinned and said, "Look, even Reese could detect that you're interested in her. And she's not running. Call her. Thank her for saving your life. Apologize for not talking to her earlier; remind her about your father. That'll get to her; she understands fathers. And she likes yours."

"Maybe you're right," Apollo conceded. The idea was not without its attractions. And clearly Starbuck had something else in mind for the rest of his own evening. "I will."

"Good," Starbuck said, and leaned back, letting Athena capture Apollo to discuss making sure their father didn't overdo for the next few sectons. If possible. And when they finally left, Boomer headed back to the barracks and Starbuck, reminding them that he hadn't been breathing smoke all day, headed toward the O Club to "remedy that situation. Plus have a bit of ambrosa."

"Good night, Starbuck," Athena said. "Don't get into trouble."

"Me?" he mimed astonishment. "Don't forget what I said, Pol."

And then he was gone. Apollo shifted Boxey slightly in his arms and shook his head. "He never changes," he told his sister.

"No," she nodded, "I think you're right. Poor thing."

"What?"

"Oh, never mind. I daresay he's perfectly happy, or he would." She smiled at him. "Go home and call Sheba."

"Ganging up on me," he said. But when he got home he did. And found himself inviting her to come over, since the evening was still young, though the day felt like it had lasted forever. And since he wanted someone to talk to. Even if she wasn't exactly his first choice, she was the right choice.

The only choice.

Cassie glanced out across the people waiting to be seen. They'd taken care of the serious cases, mostly firefighters with a handful of others who'd been in the wrong place; all the injured Warriors had been treated while the fire was still raging. The medical staff had triaged the rest and mostly what was left was smoke inhalation, bruises, minor burns—she had to chuckle to herself. Who'd have thought all that studying two sectons ago on burns would have proved so useful so quickly? She wasn't particularly religious but what gods there were, she'd always thought, had pretty warped senses of humor. She was tired, but...

There. Her gaze settled on one group of people. Dr. Salik had run off Commander Adama's visitors a centare ago, insisting on some post-operative quiet time, and, in fact, the commander was now sleeping deeply. But his family was all still here. Athena, a straight slash of midnight blue and silver between two Warriors, one dark and one darker in brown and gold, like a goddess of Night between her consorts of Dawn and Dusk... Cassie shook her head, unsure where that image had come from and uncomfortable with it. Especially since one of the Warriors was Athena's brother, Apollo. There was nothing wrong with him, he was just keeping his sister company, his son asleep on his lap and the remnants of tears of joy still visible on his high-cheekboned face. They were talking softly, Apollo and Athena, dark heads bent together, so as not to wake Boxey, who slumbered bonelessly and unworried in his stepfather's sure hold. He had proved to be a remarkably good father, had Apollo; in the days when Cassie had been among the few who gathered sectonly at Adama's table she'd envied the boy his good luck, falling on his feet like that. She still did, though she no longer dined with him.

On Athena's other side was Boomer, who also needed to be checked out although he, too, seemed unhurt, at least seriously. He and Athena had breathed a lot of smoke, most likely been bruised in the explosion, and he was favoring his left hand a bit, probably a minor burn. His other hand was resting on his thigh about a millimetron from Athena's leg, and his shoulder was against hers, his dark eyes fixed on her face when she turned to talk to her brother and skittering off when she turned to him. Cassie could read the signs as well as anyone and better than most.

And on Apollo's other side, certainly the one you'd pick for a Goddess's consort and the incarnation of glorious Day, sat Starbuck. His winter-sky eyes were mostly on the wall opposite him though occasionally they drifted towards Apollo and, if the captain wasn't looking at him, which he almost never was, lingered there a centon or two before returning to their inspection of someplace only they could see. Cassie sighed. It wasn't that he wasn't wanted there; he'd started to leave earlier and Apollo had broken off his sentence to reach out and hold the blond by his side, and Athena had reached over her brother to echo it, clasping Starbuck's hand in hers, her eyes thanking him for being there for Apollo, as he always was. As he always would be. It was only that he wasn't wanted as he wished to be. Cassie sighed again. But no man could be as oblivious as Apollo was without meaning it, so Starbuck stayed close enough to be reached for and yet never...

Someday he'd settle. Cassie knew all about that. Settling when you didn't know exactly what you wanted instead was hard. When you did, it was harder. She'd learned that over the past half-yahren. She sighed again. Settling cheated the one you settled for; if you cared about them, it was hardest of all, perhaps. But if they were settling, too? She'd decided that might make it work.

She put away the chart she'd been annotating on auto-pilot and crossed to the other end of the counter to look at those for the patients still waiting. After only a brief hesitation she pulled out the third one instead of the first. After so long no one would notice and there wasn't any harm in it. No one still waiting was really in need.

"Athena?"

She looked up, protesting, "Boomer first, surely."

He shook his head, taking the chance to put his hand on her shoulder (and how often has he touched his best friend's sister in casual affection that now he is taking a chance?) and say, "No, you go. They know what they're doing."

Her pale blue eyes narrowed but before she could say anything else Thea appeared at Cassie's shoulder, holding a chartpad and saying, "Lieutenant Boomer?"

So soon Athena was sitting on an exam bench, alone with her. "Please remove your tunic," Cassie asked, controlling her voice, storing up the graceful movements for dark-of-the-night fantasies. Athena pulled off her belt and tossed it onto the nearby chair and unsealed her tunic at the shoulder, then pulled it off and tossed it after. Against the non-regulation black tanktop she was wearing her skin gleamed like shorsa, exotic, smooth, sweet. Her small breasts pushed at the fabric as her nipples tightened with the chill. She shook her head to get her hair out of her face and said, "I'm fine, really."

Oh, yes, you are fine, Cassie thought but said, "Let me be the judge of that."

As Cassie listened to her lungs, she breathed in the subtle scent of Athena's hair, overlayed still with smokiness that enhanced it in some odd fashion. Athena sat quietly, her arms braced on the edge of the bench, and inhaled deeply when told. A purpling bruise marred the back of her left shoulder; she jumped when Cassie gently prodded it.

"Ow," she said, turning to look over her shoulder, those heart-of-flame eyes wide with surprise. "What did you do?"

"What did you do is more like it," Cassie replied. "You've got quite a bruise here."

"Oh." Athena craned around, twisting her arm backwards in an attempt to see it. "I don't remember that. It must've happened during the explosion. It doesn't hurt—except when you poke it," she added accusingly.

"Let me take some readings," Cassie said with a professional smile, glad for the excuse to prolong the visit and gladder when the numbers all came up acceptable. "You're fine," she said. "Lungs clear and everything else good."

"So I can go home and collapse?" Athena smiled at her.

"Sounds like the right idea." Cassie watched as the other woman pulled her tunic back on, her breasts rising with her movements, and resisted the impulse to help her draw that umber mane out of her collar and restore it to some sort of order.

Athena didn't even bother to do that, just pushed it back over her ears before picking up her belt. "I don't suppose you could write me a med for missing work tomorrow?" she joked.

"I would if I could," Cassie smiled back and then followed her back out to the waiting room.

Boomer and Thea were just ahead of them. When they entered the room, Apollo and Starbuck stood up, Starbuck inconspicuously steadying the captain and his armful of sleeping child. Thea had stopped at the desk; Cassie was about to join her when the door opened and Lieutenant Omega came in, his dark blue uniform turned grey over half of it and his face a bit banged up.

Athena veered from her course towards her brother and headed straight for him. "My gods," she said. "Haven't you been here already?"

Omega shook his head, smiling down at her. "No. We were busy on the bridge—"

"I'm sure," she said tartly. "But the colonel was here, getting that hand taken care of. Tellerat could have handled mopping up for a while."

"He's there now. And I'm here. And you look remarkably good, all things considered."

She snorted at him. "I am fine. You, on the other hand—" she raised her hand and almost touched the left side side of his face, red and slightly swollen. "That looks like it hurts."

He shrugged. "It does." He coughed.

Athena turned around but the cough had snapped Cassie out of her distraction. Her medical training had lasted only a few sectares and so was not automatic yet, but it did kick in when needed. "Come this way, Lieutenant Omega," she said.

When she turned to precede him into an examination room she saw Boomer looking at Athena like a wistful pilgrim who's just seen the Gates slammed on Paradise. Poor boy, she thought. Join the club.

But when she took him back out after Dr. Atilla had fused his cracked cheek- and jawbones, only Starbuck was still there. Omega left with a thank you and the blond pilot leaned over the counter in his old familiar way. "You," she informed him with surface sterness, "should be in bed."

"I couldn't sleep if I tried," he told her. "How much longer are you on?"

She glanced at her chrono even as she asked, "What's it to you?"

He shrugged. "Thought maybe you'd like to go for a drink."

She looked at him. His blue eyes were still filled with the adrenaline high of the day. A drink wasn't all he wanted. Or needed. She sighed to herself, knowing he couldn't see it, and admitted her own need was as strong as his. Cain had cast his shadow over their relationship the same way he'd darkened a lot of things, but she'd realized that she'd been trying to recapture the past while Starbuck was the present, even if she'd realized it a bit late. (And even if they were neither of them the future she desired.) And Starbuck had apparently looked around over the sectons since Cain had disappeared again and decided he'd do better with someone who was settling, same as she had, even if he didn't know who it was she really wanted.

But Starbuck wasn't a bad second choice. Not at all. So, "Sure, Starbuck. I'd like that. I'm on overtime already. But we seem to have finished up, so I'll let them know I'm leaving."

"Great." He smiled at her, one of his best. Something was really bothering him.

"I've got some ambrosa in my quarters," she said, grateful again that medtechs got private rooms, even if they were tiny. "I'm not in the mood for a club; what do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," he answered.

Back in her quarters she said, as she poured the ambrosa, "I want to tell you something about Cain."

"You don't have to," he said. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"Maybe," she admitted. "But I think I should. If we don't talk about him we'll think about him. If we are going to have anything between us but sex we should talk. I can't—"

"Of course," he said quickly. And he meant it; it was one of the reasons she was fond of him. He didn't think she should put out because after all she used to be a socialator. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath. This was going to make her sound rather cold, but she thought—hoped—that he'd like that just now. "Cain was my ticket out of being a socialator. I thought I loved him, but, well, he didn't love me enough to value my new job at all, or to want to keep me with him. I suppose he thought he loved me, but..." She laughed a little. "I don't think clients really fall in love with socialators. They don't ever get to know us."

"I know you."

"Are you in love with me?"

"I don't know," he said. "Are you in love with Cain?"

"No," she said firmly.

"Are you in love with me?"

"I don't know, either."

"Well," he reached over and took her glass and set it down with his on the table. "That's enough to start with, isn't it?"

His arms came around her. They weren't the right arms, but they'd do. As he kissed her, she put her hands into his thick tawny hair and pulled him closer. She felt his hand on her back, unzippping her uniform dress, warm against her skin. After a moment he pulled it down over her shoulders, and began kissing her throat. She let go of him long enough for her dress to fall to the floor and then grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close and shucking his jacket off. Soon she was unfastening his tunic, running her hand down his chest. He moaned softly into her throat and picked her up, carrying her into her sleeping room.

He laid her on the bed and pulled off her boots, kissing his way up one leg, his hair tickling her skin gently as his lips and tongue traced meaningless patterns on her thigh and then her belly. She found his hand and tugged and he came up along her body willingly, his mouth closing on her breast. "Oh, gods, Star," she said; his teeth nipped gently at her nipple and then he began suckling. She arched her back, burying her hands in his hair. He laughed, the sound sweet and warm on her cool wet breast, and moved to the other.

She caught hold of his shoulders and rolled over, bending to kiss him and then work her way down his body, returning the favor. He shuddered in pleasure when she teased at his nipples. She unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers, sliding her hand inside. He bucked against her; she loved his need.

Pulling away from his hands she knelt on the floor and began unbuckling his boots. She wrestled his right one off and began on the left, and gasped in unexpected pleasure when his bare foot slid under her arm and his toes gently pinched her breast. She hauled his boot off and reached for his trousers; his hands were already there and in microns they were both naked and reaching for each other.

His hand slid inside her and she moaned her own need, spreading her legs. "Now?" he asked and she echoed the word in affirmation. Then he was leaning over her, his blue eyes, hot like a young star, centimetrons from hers, and he entered her, their needs meeting and feeding each other. She wrapped herself around him, her legs and arms, pulling him closer, and then cried out as she came, shuddering as he continued to thrust. She came again and this time he came with her, their cries commingling in the air just as their bodies did. Panting, he collapsed on her and then rolled over, holding her close, staying inside her a few moments more. She kissed him, their tongues pushing gently against each other, and laid her head on his shoulder, kissing his throat, tasting his sweat.

He pushed her hair gently out of her face, drifting his fingers along her cheek and throat. "May I stay?"

She caught his hand. "You don't have to ask."

He kissed her again and then pulled away from her just long enough to draw the sheet and blanket over them. She rested against him and he cuddled her.

Just for the moment, just for now, it was good.

She felt his breathing evening out and let sleep claim her as well.

Bojay signalled at the door and then went on in. "Sheba?" When no answer came he glanced around and found a note. Boj, it said, Apollo called me and invited me over. Don't know how late I'll be back; if you want, make yourself at home. —Sheba

Don't know how late? he thought. How about don't know if. Dropping the note he went looking for an ale and then wandered about the small front room looking at the stuff they'd issued her.

Sheba's quarters weren't big, though more than what she'd had on the Pegasus, where she'd tried to not take too much advantage of her position. But they were nice. Private. He wondered how long she'd get to keep them. The Galacticans had nearly a couple of dozen female pilots, and they'd come up with separate barracks space for them, but only by dividing a section off. The squadron leaders' rooms were both in the men's side. And what Bojay remembered of Adama (and Tigh, for that matter) led him to believe he wouldn't approve of her bunking in there as she had back on the Peggy, even if everybody else was fine with it. And you couldn't very well make the woman squadron leader bunk in with the pilots while the men got their own, if small, rooms any more than you could, for very long, give her outside quarters while the men were in the BOQ.

Maybe they'd solve it by giving all the squadron leaders quarters. That would be nice for them. Or maybe they'd just hang on and hope Sheba would Seal with Apollo and get rid of the problem altogether. Though if they gave the next one to Dietra...

Well, it wasn't his problem. Not by a long shot.

He sat on the small sofa, stretching his leg out in front of him and rubbing it. It hurt, not much, but he'd been on it too much today, roped into fire-fighting. Not that he minded, but... And not that he was going to complain. The Strike Captain would love a good excuse to ground him. He found the remote and turned on IFB. Frack. Children's Centare still... that annoying puppet thing. He turned it off before two words escaped and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

He'd wanted to talk to Sheba but he had to admit it was a good thing she was out. And that she had private quarters, at least for now. It was allowing him to get over his first reaction without anyone around to witness it. Because he wanted to be happy for her and he wasn't, not entirely. He was... He was jealous, is what he was. Not of her, in that he wanted for himself, because he didn't. At all. And certainly not of Apollo; Sagan, no, Sheba could have him and welcome if that's what she wanted.

Which she did. Not really news, after all.

No, he wasn't jealous of her or Apollo. He was jealous of... No. Not jealous at all. Envious. He was envious of her having someone. Envious that she wasn't alone.

And that, he admitted, was not a pretty thing.

Especially since she was his best friend. He ought to be happy for her. And he was, really. It was just... If she was with Apollo, who would he talk to?

"Selfish bastard," he said out loud and got up and got himself another ale.

Sheba thought Apollo was attractive. And he probably was, once you got past that humorless, angry inflexibility... which, to be fair, was probably exacerbated by being challenged in public in a manner which could be called grossly insubordinate, with a hint of physical threat. But Sheba didn't have that problem, and she liked the captain. Rather a lot. Liked his sister and father, too, for that matter, though there was a big difference between a family dinner, no matter how intime, and a private evening in, likely to get intimate.

He stretched out on the sofa and considered that possibility. He hoped, for her sake, that it was happening. It had been hard for her, on the Peggy, to get any. People were afraid of her father, or trying to get influence with him. But here she didn't have a father, or influence. Here, Apollo had those things, though most people didn't seem to be afraid of Adama, and it didn't much look like either of them let family influence have any sway either. Bojay sighed again. It was very probable that Sheba was hoping to get a bit of both, though; she'd never been without and she missed the intangibles almost as much as she missed her actual father, or so it seemed sometimes. She'd probably have gone to the captain's tonight even if she wasn't at least partly gone on him.

Hades, he'd probably have gone himself. If he was honest with himself—and the one thing his old man had ever said to him that even faintly smacked of paternal advice was: I don't care if you're honest with your mother, or your teachers, or your friends, or even me, though if I ever catch you lying I'll break your astrum (a statement he'd had no trouble believing) but you ought to be honest to yourself if only so's you can keep your lies straight—he would have gone if he thought the captain wanted to frack. Even though the notion of himself and Apollo was improbable at best and, what was Sheba's word?, sick-making at worst. He sighed and sat up.

He wasn't sure what to do with himself. In general, and tonight in specific. He could always go and look up Hereward, see if the tech officer wanted to go to the Club, get drunk. But that wasn't what he really wanted to do. What he wanted to do couldn't involve Hereward. Or, probably, the O Club, though getting drunk might fit. What he wanted to do was get laid.

He looked at the thought and knew it was true. He hadn't had sex in sectares, hadn't even thought about it, and now, quite suddenly it seemed, he wanted to. Needed to.

The edge had been off Mao's death for a while even before the Galactica, and now, where nothing reminded him of his lover, even the ache was receding, hidden in the general misery of everything lost. And right now he had to admit that part of that, a not very small part, was physical. He missed Mao; he probably always would; but he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in lonely celibacy. He wanted to get laid. He missed Mao's laugh and his gentle wit and his dragon-tile obsession and his wide-ranging imagination; he missed his sparkling dark eyes and his rough black hair and his golden skin; but he also missed his mouth and his hands and his cock. And he couldn't replace the laughter, the imagination, the person, that was true, but surely to the gods there was in this fleet another mouth, another pair of hands, and a cock that could do for him what Mao's had.

Surely somewhere.

And if he could sit here on Sheba's sofa and even half-way fantasize about Apollo of all people, then it was long past time that he get out and find them.

He remembered something he'd heard in the locker room a few times. A place on the Rising Star, that recreational vessel that was allowed not only to exist, but to sell anything anybody could want to buy, within the law. Bojay doubted Adama approved, but the Council insisted on pretending the fleet was still a republic, and Adama went along with it for whatever reason. A place on the lower levels somewhere, called... Cibola. That was it. Cibola—The Golden City—a place dedicated to getting laid. Dedicated only to getting laid, if he'd heard right. Alcohol and sex, men only. Anonymous. "Sounds like a great idea if you could get women to go along with it," one of the other pilots had said with a snigger. Not exactly a... he hesitated over the adjective and then said, What the hell. He wasn't looking for a meaningful encounter. He didn't want to find a lover. He wanted someone to frack him. He wanted sex, plain and simple. And from what he'd heard, the Club Cibola was the place.

He wrote on the bottom of the note Sheba had left him: Came, drank some ale, went. Hope you had a lovely evening. Later—B

Then he left.

It took Bojay twenty centons of looking around the Star's lower levels to find the Club Cibola. It was down a darkened corridor forwards, no lights or display. On the outside it was unprepossessing, a dark rust-colored door with the golden silhouette of a domed building on it and the words "Club Cibola - Members Only" and below that, in smaller letters, "Enter". He looked around but didn't see any other door, so he pushed for this one.

The room beyond was pitch black though the lit outlines of two doors were apparent ahead of him. He took a step and then turned his head sharply, raising his hand in front of his face as a beam of light hit him. He blinked in the sharper blackness. "Na ne? What the hell?"

"Sorry for that, sir," a voice came from a speaker somewhere. "I see you're not a member. Were you desirous of joining?"

"...Yes," Bojay said after a moment, still blinking.

"Fine, sir. If you'll please take a mask from the drawer and come through the right-hand door?"

Before he could ask what drawer, the lights around the doors came up enough to show a small cabinet between them and rows of lockers on the walls. "A mask?" he asked, looking into the drawer.

"The Club Cibola maintains complete anonymity, sir. I have not seen your face."

Just my retinas, Bojay thought, but since he was here it seemed foolish to back out. He pulled out a couple of the masks; there were two kinds, as far as he could see, in various colors: some hoods and some strips of soft cloth with eyeholes. Depends on how anonymous you want to be, he decided. Personally, he was losing his hair fast enough. He picked up a dark strip of cloth and tied it on. Settling it, he pushed for the door.

In this room a man was standing beside a small table with two chairs. He wore a black and gold jacket, and a custom half-face mask, black with the club's insignia on the cheeks. "Welcome to the Club Cibola, sir," he said. "If you'll have a seat?"

Bojay sat a bit warily, and the man did too.

"This is a members only club, sir. Joining is simple, a one-time membership fee of fifty cubits, but we do have some rules that you must abide by. If you break them, you're out, and you can't get back in. We maintain complete anonymity—"

"Then how do you prevent me from rejoining?" Bojay couldn't help asking.

"After you've agreed to abide by the rules, we'll take a retinal scan. You aren't registered; it's how we knew to stop you. The scans stay in our database, secured, behind a firewall, enciphered. They never leave, and the only thing they're used for is identification on a trinary level: member, non-member, barred. If you're thrown out, your scan is marked. Now, the rules are simple. One, complete anonymity. All our members wear masks. At all times. No questions should be asked nor information volunteered which could lead to any identification. If you think you recognize someone, don't say so. If at any time you feel someone's trying to learn who you are, report them to an employee. This includes attempts to set up liaisons outside the Club. We can't prevent that, of course, but we discourage it. Two: the bar is cash, no tab. We can't run tabs if we're going to not know who you are. Three: employees are not available to do anything but serve drinks and settle disputes. You'll know them because they, too, are masked, but in Club livery like mine; this is for their protection, to prevent members from bothering them outside the Club. Four: anything you want to do with any other member or members is fine so long as all consent and no one ends up requiring medical attention, or worse. Having to call emergency medtechs puts a damper on the atmosphere for the other members. Having to call security would probably close us down. And Five: 'No' is acceptable as an answer to anything suggested by one member to another. You may say it and you must accept it. Violence of any sort is not permitted. Nor are weapons. If you have one, you may store it in the foyer in a locker before entering. Now," he pulled a retinal scanner out of his hip pack, "if the Rules are acceptable?"

Bojay paused. The setup certainly precluded any chance of attachments, which was a good thing, but... "What happens if your database gets into the wrong hands?"

"Sir," the man said with a hint of smugness, "the Club Cibola was originally a Sagittan establishment. If we could run there without the SPPE ever getting one single member's name, we can run here."

"I suppose so," said Bojay. Fifty cubits; he'd spent more than that on drinks for someone before (well, once before) and not even gotten laid. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Sorting through the parallepipeds he put down two twenty-fours and two ones. Then he paused. Currently, as he understood it, there was nothing inherently illegal in the concept of the club, but who knew what a politician would do? Or a religious nut? Or a religious politician, the worst there was? "What would prevent a PPE, or an FPE I suppose, from joining and then arresting someone?"

"Simplicity's self, sir," the man said, his Sagittan S's obvious now. "He would have to make his arrest inside the Club, else he'd have no evidence. And if he tried that, well..." A supple shrug. "He would find it much easier said than done. Violence isn't permitted to the members, but the employees sometimes have no choice."

Bojay grinned. "Okay," he let go of the money. "I'm in."

"One moment, sir." He held the scanner up. By the time Bojay had stopped blinking from the light, the cubits had disappeared and the man was gesturing at the door behind him. "Welcome, sir. Enjoy the Club Cibola experience."

It took Bojay about two centons to find a seat and get a drink from one of the black-and-gold-clad servers. It took about six to adjust to being in a smoky, music filled room full of people wearing masks, although a good percentage of them were wearing very little else. And it took him about two more to be asked, "Hey, wanna frack? I'm lookin' for a top."

"No," he shook his head.

Two men who were passing stopped at that. "Bottoms?" one of them said.

It was that simple.

And it stayed that simple: a plain room, sex without words beyond instructions, physical pleasure. No frills, no complications.

As he looked out the window on the shuttle back to the battlestar, he fingered the soft cloth in his pocket and knew he'd be going back. "Sorry, Mao," he whispered to the stars. "Can't help it. It's nothing to do with us..."

He didn't get an answer.

But then he hadn't expected one. From anyone.

"Hey, Starbuck!"

The blond turned his head at the hail and came over to sit next to Boomer. They had plenty of time before the briefing started, especially since Apollo didn't seem to be here yet. Or Sheba, Boomer had noticed, though his own concerns were occupying most of his mind.

"Hey, Boom-Boom," Starbuck said. He looked rested. Those bright eyes flicked over Boomer and he said, "You look like hell. Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

"I'm not even going to ask about you," Boomer said. "I thought you said you were going to the O Club."

Starbuck shrugged. "I lied. Didn't want Apollo wasting time with me that he needed to spend patching things up with Sheba."

Boomer shook his head. "Apollo doesn't think spending time with you is wasting it."

"Really? That's not what he says to me." But Starbuck wasn't serious.

"No. Just shows how deluded he is."

Starbuck laughed. "Anyway, she was a bit miffed that he blew past her in the landing bay, so I smoothed her feathers down and sent him home to call her. I hope he did."

"You are utterly unbelievable."

Starbuck shook his head. "Rule number one: don't get between a man and his wife, 'cause she has the capstone."

Boomer snorted. "Maybe, but they aren't married yet. Sagan, Bucko, it's only been, what? Three sectons?"

"Yeah. But he was smitten from micron one, and that's the way he falls. Hard and fast."

Boomer thought about Serina. "True enough," he said and then wished he hadn't.

Starbuck shrugged. "So, he wants her, and she's... well, she'll be good for him."

"You think so?"

"He does... And she likes him. It'll work out, as long as he doesn't screw it up. Which you must admit he's quite capable of doing."

"Yes, he is. Maybe because it's not what he really wants?" Boomer ventured.

Starbuck cut him off. "Don't start with me, Boomer. Who's more like Serina, her or me?"

"Well..." That was sort of unarguable.

"The man wants a wife. I don't qualify. Sheba does, and she wants the job."

Boomer regarded his friend compassionately but recognized the warning signs. Starbuck was done talking about this. It was too bad, but it was Starbuck. And he supposed the blond had a point: it wasn't like Apollo ever had looked at a man, any man, or that he hadn't had his chances... He reverted back to his original complaint. "Well, whatever. You said you were going to the O Club."

Starbuck grinned. "You said you were going to bed. What? You couldn't sleep so you came looking for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I could sleep. For a while. But when I woke up it wasn't quite ten, so I went to the club for a drink. You weren't there."

The other man shrugged. "Never went. Had other plans but I didn't want to mention them in case they fell through."

Boomer leaned back in his chair. "But they didn't?"

"Nope," the blond said self-satisfiedly. "Worked out just fine."

"I thought you looked pleased with yourself."

Starbuck nearly preened. "You can be the first to know. Cassie and I are back together."

Boomer bit down on his first reaction, which was After the way she treated you? You really are a fracking masochist! and instead said, "That's nice."

Starbuck narrowed those blue eyes at him. "But?" he prompted.

"But?" Boomer shook his head. "No buts. It's nice. I'm glad."

"Yeah? You sound distinctly underwhelmed."

And you sound definitely on the defensive, old buddy. But I am not going there. Not today. Maybe not ever. He shrugged. "Sorry. Got other things on my mind. You aren't the center of the universe, you know."

"Since when?" Then he sobered. "You wanna talk about it?"

Boomer shrugged. "Later, after the briefing?"

"Sure." Starbuck slapped his shoulder. "Any time. Least I can do."

His tone was light but he meant it, Boomer knew. You didn't stay friends with him a dozen yahrens just because he made you laugh and lost your money. Well, somehow that helped, he thought, grinning, though it was beyond explanation.

So when they both finally got free, Boomer some three centares late after having been dragged into one of those long meetings that made Starbuck glad he wasn't in line for a squadron himself, Starbuck snagged them a corner table in the O Club and leaned forward. "So? I thought you'd be planning where to take Athena. Or did you want some suggestions?"

Boomer sighed and drank half his ale. "Weren't you paying any attention last night? To somebody besides Apollo? Or Cassie?"

"I always pay attention," Starbuck said, "to everybody. Don't even try to tell me you weren't sitting there trying to get up the nerve to ask her out. It was obvious. It was in fact so obvious that if you really haven't asked her yet she's probably been plotting ways to corner you somewhere and find out why the Hades not."

"Hah." Boomer finished his ale. "You weren't paying any attention to her, then."

"What are you—Wait a centon. Are you talking about Omega?"

Against his better judgment Boomer was encouraged. Starbuck looked, and sounded, incredulous. Still, he'd seen them with his own eyes. "You saw her. The centon he came in—"

"Boomer, Boomer, Boomer." Starbuck shook his head. "Yes. She walked right up to him and shook her finger in his face and lectured him. And then she went home instead of waiting for him to come out. Not to mention not hugging or kissing him... Boomer, she was treating him like she'd have treated me. Or like you would have."

Boomer thought about that. "You know, you're right."

"Of course I am. Don't forget, I dated her."

"I am trying to forget that," Boomer interrupted.

Starbuck grinned. "We weren't serious."

"You asked her to marry you!"

Starbuck shrugged. "She said 'no'. Besides, it was right after the Destruction. Everyone was a little crazy... though thankfully she wasn't crazy enough to say yes. Anyway, she was friends with him back then, too. Has been ever since she came on board. But it's no more than that."

"You're sure?"

"I know what it's like to date someone who's using you to get someone else jealous, and I know what it's like to date someone who's thinking about someone else. She was neither. She's not even remotely in love with him. Ask her out."

"Huh." Boomer leaned back. He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind for more than a few centons at a time all day. But he'd always come back to seeing her with the tall flag-lieutenant, both of them so elegant in their blue uniforms, so obviously belonging together. But if Starbuck was right... "You're sure?"

His friend smiled at him. "I'm sure. Go for it, Boomer. You'd be good together. You're about as far from me as there is, after all."

Boomer grinned but his heart wasn't entirely in it. Poor Starbuck. It was so easy to take him at face value, but Boomer knew better. For all his surface fickleness, he'd been steadfast in his heart for eight yahrens. Cassie didn't deserve him.

But that wasn't his business, Starbuck had made that clear enough. So he just grinned and said, "I will, then."

"Now's a good time," Starbuck said.

"Oh? You have plans tonight?" Boomer teased him.

"I'd like to," Starbuck answered in kind.

So Boomer gathered up his courage and called her from the club's comm. "I was wondering—"

"Come on," Starbuck mouthed at him.

Boomer waved at him in irritation and turned his back. "I was wondering if you might like to go out to dinner."

"Tonight?" She paused, but before he could interpret her tone and choose between answers she said, "Yes. That would be nice, Boomer. I'll need to change. Would you like to come here? Or should I meet you... where? The shuttle bay?"

He had been thinking about the O Club, but he heard himself saying, "The shuttle bay. In a centare?"

"That'll be fine. See you then." She hung up.

"Frack," he said. "I need reservations."

Starbuck laughed. "Be firm, Boom-Boom, or she's gonna run you ragged."

"A little late for tonight, Starbuck."

"All right, don't worry. Uncle Starbuck is here and he'll fix it." The blond reached over and took the comm from him. "Lieutenant Starbuck... Tonight... No, it's not for me. Now, listen," his voice became cajoling. "I know you have a table; you always have a table. You won't turn Colonel Tigh away, will you?.. Well, then; Lieutenant Boomer can have that table as the colonel's not going to be able to make it... Of course. Would I forget you? Eight-fifty." He hung up. "You owe the maitre d' a forty-cubit tip when you get there. The Bower. Eight-fifty."

"Forty cubits?" Boomer protested. "I won't be able to buy dinner if I give him that much!"

Starbuck heaved a martyred sigh. "I thought you were the responsible one. You don't have a mere..." he did a quick sum in his head "...hundred and fifty cubits?"

"Mere? Starbuck, I'm not going to be able to keep this up!"

"Don't worry, she won't expect you to. But she'll appreciate the effort on the first date. Take it easy, buddy, you're gonna pass out."

"Not before I kill you, I won't."

"Ah, ah, ah," Starbuck waggled a finger at him. "If you kill me I won't be able to lend you any cash."

Boomer stared at him. "You've got cash?"

Starbuck shrugged. "Come on, you need to get cleaned up and changed."

Boomer followed him. "My life is out of my control, isn't it?"

Starbuck laughed. "Oh, yeah. Totally."

Athena came in without signalling and looked around her father's quarters. Funny how home-like they'd become when the first time she'd set foot in them they'd seemed so austere and empty. Of course, part of 'home-like' was the little boy whose caroling laugh filled up the emptiness and drove austerity out the airlock. Boxey was kneeling on the floor beside his grandfather's chair with Starbuck on the floor across the game table from him; the Trango board was spread out on the table and occupying the attention of all three. Apollo was some distance away, watching the game; still in uniform he'd probably come in too late to join them. He glanced up when the door opened and smiled at her, gesturing with his glass. She crossed over to join him, picking up a drink for herself along the way.

"Dinner's a bit late tonight," he said and kissed her cheek. "Just as well since both of us are, too."

She smiled at him. "Not too late, I hope; I'm starving."

"No, maybe fifteen centons more. Long day?"

"Long enough."

"Sit down, relax a bit." He gestured at the chair next to him.

"Where's Sheba?" she asked cunningly, already knowing that she was spending the evening with Bojay, keeping him company because this was the anniversary of his lover's death in some pointless fire-fight on the Delphinian homeworld.

"She said she couldn't make it tonight," Apollo answered. "She had something else to do, something she couldn't put off."

Athena looked at him closely. He didn't appear disturbed. Did that mean she'd told him and he just wasn't passing it on, or she hadn't but he didn't care? If she had told him she was with Bojay, she must have convinced him that there was nothing in it, he was entirely too serene. Athena wished she knew how much he knew... if he was this calm without knowing where Sheba was, either he was totally in completely trusting love and not showing his usual possessiveness (hah) or he wasn't at all.

"Why?" he asked before she could decide if she wanted to pursue it.

"Just wondering," she said easily, deciding not to. "She's been here for the last sectare. I was wondering if you two had had a spat."

"No," her brother laughed. "We haven't. Not a cross word... thanks to Starbuck apologizing for me the other evening." He nodded at the blond, still deep in the Trango game and apparently not paying any attention.

"I was wondering about that, too," Athena smiled. "What's he doing here? Not that I mind. Probably," she added darkly with a brooding glance at Adama.

"Father said he asked him to come. Don't be paranoid; he recognizes a lost cause. He said he's missed him, that's all. He likes him, too, you know."

"Yes. I have, too," she admitted. "It seemed wrong for him to be gone, but..." But she hadn't felt right about asking him to come.

"Yes," Apollo agreed. After a moment he added, "I'm glad he's here tonight: Boxey's been complaining he hasn't seen much of Starbuck in a while." He looked sideways at her. "You should have asked Boomer."

"Why do you say that?" she parried.

He laughed again. "I saw you the other night, coming back from the Star. At least I assumed so; you looked like you'd been somewhere expensive."

"We had," she nodded. "It was nice of him but silly."

"Silly?" He raised his eyebrows. "Theni, you aren't going to break Boomer's heart, are you?"

"What kind of question is that?" she snapped, not certain why.

"A reasonable one—"

"Reasonable?" she demanded. "What do you think I am, a lamia out to add another man's head to my trophy shelf?"

"No, of course not. But he's serious and you're calling him silly—"

"Apollo, that was our first date. Just because you can decide in an evening doesn't mean other people can, or even if it does it doesn't mean I can. Or do. I never thought of Boomer as a date till he called me that day. I don't know how I'm going to end up feeling about him. But I certainly have no intention of breaking his heart." She glowered at him. "Your neck, maybe."

"I'm sorry, Theni. I didn't mean... It's just... Boomer's my good friend."

"I know that." She lost her anger suddenly and laughed.

"What?" he asked warily.

"I was just thinking about you, mother-gallying all your pilots the way you are Boomer. No wonder you don't have any spare time."

He grinned ruefully. "I suppose your point is that he's a grown man?"

"Well, for Sagan's sake. I certainly hope so."

He shook his head, his green eyes light with laughter. "I've heard as much as I want to. He may be my friend, but you're my sister after all."

"You don't often act like my big brother, though. Thankfully."

"Now what do you mean by that?" he pretended to demand.

She poked him gently in the chest. "You haven't tried to interfere in my love life in a long time."

He caught her hand for a centon. "You don't exactly welcome my... attempted interventions."

She shook her head, laughing a little and leaving her hand where it was. "Who would? But you haven't tried in yahrens, except when I was dating Starbuck." She intended to add, jokingly, What? I'm not good enough for your friends?, but a sudden somber expression in his eyes stopped her.

"And I was right, wasn't I?" he said after a centon.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Apollo stared at her. "Maybe? You nearly put him out of commission for days."

"I was angry at him." Angrier than she'd ever been, before or since, and uncertain why, she'd taken it out on Starbuck without really thinking about what she was doing. He'd accepted her apologies, but it hadn't taken long for that relationship to fail, too.

"Why?" Apollo asked in that reasonable tone that made Athena want to smack him sometimes. Didn't he ever have emotions he didn't understand, couldn't chart, couldn't explain? Was he always so rational? "I mean," he went on, "if you didn't want to marry him, what difference did it make?"

But she was ready for him this time. She'd had sectares to figure it out, after all. "He'd just asked me to Seal with him! And not two whole sectons later there he is making out with some little tramp he picked up on a freighter!"

"I thought you liked Cassie."

"I do," she said impatiently. "That's not the issue."

"'Some little tramp'? The Lords watch out for Boomer."

She rolled her eyes and exhaled in exasperation. "I barely knew her then! And myabe you think it's reasonable for her to make out with Starbuck on twelve days' acquaintance, and maybe it even is, given him, but the point isn't her. It's him. It's him I was mad at."

"Still are, it sounds like."

She took a breath and used one of Omega's quick silent recitations for calming down. "No. I'm not still mad at him. Just at me for expecting something else."

"You're sure you're not still a little in love with him?"

"Starbuck? I'm not still in love with him, in fact I'm still not in love with him. That was the real problem with us, you know." Or do you? she wondered. You never did want him dating me... Who were you trying to keep single, Appy? Me? Or him? She cocked her head and looked at him. "That's the difference, isn't it?"

"What?"

"You're worried I'm going to break Boomer's heart; back then you thought Starbuck would break mine."

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Well, Starbuck can do that."

She looked at him again. Could he possibly not realize? No. He had to know—

"Then Boomer has a chance?"

"Boomer has a chance, of course he does," she answered, "though to get back to your suggestion, it's a bit early to bring him home to 'meet my parents', in a manner of speaking."

"That doesn't sound—"

"Apollo, we've had one date. Give it a rest. I like him, I really do, but," she added with malice aforethought, "don't expect us to announce anything anytime soon. If you're expecting someone to take the heat off you, look to Starbuck. He'll be happy to oblige. As usual."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His green eyes were wary. "Starbuck's not interested in Sheba."

Lords. She had to laugh. "No, idiot brother. I was talking about attention, not your girlfriend. I'm assuming you can get away from her on your own, if you want to."

"Oh. Of course you were."

"Next time we can all three bring dates. Sheba, Boomer, and Cassie."

"Cassie?" There was a couple of microns' flicker of something in those green eyes and then he smiled. "You mean they've made up? That's great."

Is it? she thought sourly and wondered why. Starbuck had certainly made it clear he wanted to get back with the blonde, and she'd done her share of crying into her ale at Athena's table about her incredibly stupid decision to leave him for Cain... and since Cain was dead and, presumably, no longer cared, and Apollo apparently never had or at least never would... "Yes," she heard herself saying, "they have. Possibly even for good this time."

"Well, well, well. I'll have to tell Father he'll need to put an extra leaf in the table next time."

He wouldn't, of course, the table was already big enough for ten... She chuckled. "Now we just have to find Boxey a girlfriend. And Father."

Apollo stared at her in horror. "Boxey's only six, and Father can't—one of these days I am going to terminate you. And I'll get off, too."

"You're so easy," she riposted.

"I'm going where I'll be appreciated," he said but spoiled the effect by adding, "Coming?"

"No," she shook her head. "I've got a couple of things to think about. I'll be along in a centon or two."

"I hope one of those things is Boomer."

"Yes, okay, one of them is. Now get."

She watched him head over to harass his nearest and dearest, wondering briefly if Sheba had ever seen him in this mood, one he didn't often share outside the family, and sighed to herself. She turned around on the chair and rested her chin on hands crossed over its back to watch the menfolk. Funny, she'd almost called them 'her' menfolk. Her family. And looking likely to be all the family she was going to have.

She didn't love Starbuck. She didn't think anybody who really got to know him could love him, not wanting-to-Seal-with-him love. Oh, maybe if they were the self-sacrificing walk-on-me kind, the I-don't-mind-if-you-don't-love-me type. She wasn't. Starbuck was a like a third brother, she loved him dearly, but she'd never love him.

The question was: would she ever love anybody?

She didn't want to end up feeling about Boomer the way she did, more or less, about all the boys and men she'd ever tried to establish a relationship with. Eamon, Denys, River, Miroslav... Starbuck, though since he'd been in her life before, was Apollo's best friend, she'd stayed his friend. Or maybe because he didn't really want her any more than she'd ended up wanting him?

Whatever, she wanted to fall in love with Boomer.

Still, she'd meant what she'd said to Apollo; more, she didn't want to fall for somebody in a single evening. Falling in love that fast was just asking for serious differences of opinion on things that really mattered to you. And then, unless you had a certain kind of mind—a mind which, like dark eyes, might run in her family but had definitely skipped her—you'd have to fight a lot. Or stop talking about things that counted. And either one, it seemed to her, would doom you.

Doom, she snorted silently. Don't get so melodramatic, Athena. Besides, she knew Boomer. Not as well as Starbuck, of course, but he'd been a visitor to their house on occasional furlons since he and Apollo had been stationed together even earlier. There would probably be no big surprises from him, beyond of course that he suddenly wanted to date her. Maybe that was why she felt as if she were holding back; maybe she mistrusted his sudden desire, feared it would vanish as suddenly as it had come.

Or maybe there was just something wrong with her.

Oh, damn it all to the back of the seventh hell, she thought abruptly and went to join the others. She and Boomer would be just fine.

Just fine.

Athena suppressed a yawn and stared at her boards. She was tired. At least she wasn't hung over. She never was. She smiled slightly, remembering how unfair Apollo thought that about her and Zac: both of them had inherited Grandfather Lykos' head. Straight through their mother, though Apollo probably didn't ever think about Ila as a drinker. And she wasn't, in the sense of a drunk, but she did drink on occasion. Apollo had the Adaman head, or lack of one more like, and as he didn't enjoy being out of control even a little he didn't drink much.

At the moment Athena was wishing she didn't. Or at least hadn't the last couple of days. Though apparently there was more to it than just being drunk, which was a relief. Iblis had been messing with them, with their minds.

Athena wasn't entirely clear on the last few days, but then no one seemed to be, or nearly no one. Athena didn't enjoy that. She'd never blacked out from drinking in her life, and she hated the notion that she'd been out there doing things she couldn't remember. At least she wasn't alone in the boat: half the people she met had hangovers, and half were avoiding someone, and the two groups had major overlap. Virtually everyone's experiences could be summed up by the old uni phrase, 'I must have had a great time last night, I don't remember a thing', though most people actually had some, though vague, memories.

Of course, Apollo could remember it all. Except for being dead.

She shivered involuntarily. They'd lost him and gotten him back and not even known it. Sheba had told her at dinner. Adama hadn't been surprised; obviously he'd been told earlier, in the official debriefing. He'd looked at her with concern when she found out, and Apollo had, too, with that 'they-told-me-you-cried-on-the-bridge-for-Zac' look... Well, she would have cried for Apollo, if not on the bridge, but she wasn't on the bridge... well, not then.

She laughed a little to herself. Apollo could do this to her all the time, make her angry at him and worried over him at the same time. She'd have missed him like hell if he were dead, and it would just about have killed Adama. But... He wasn't Zac. Apollo was eight yahrens older than she. Zac was his baby brother, and he was so very tolerant of them both back then. But she and Zac were only a yahren apart, product of their father's three-yahren tour on Caprica with the Military Institute. They were close... Athena had held his hands when he first began walking, taught him to read, climbed trees with him, swum in the ocean at Natacapra, ridden equines... Oh. She clenched her jaw and angrily swiped at her eyes. She was not going to cry now. Over anybody.

And even with tears running down her face she'd done her job. She was no less a professional than her brother or father... And Tigh had wept on the bridge, and no one thought less of him.

She shook her head and did a careful scan of all her boards, getting herself back under control. She slid a sideways glance backwards at Omega, but he wasn't looking at her. She wanted to be like him on duty, all contained and imperturbable. She shook her head; she had a long way to go. She ducked her head, smiling, suddenly wondering where he'd been. Wherever, he was cool and collected now. How much does he remember? she wondered.

She supposed it didn't really matter. Tigh and her father had set the tone: the last few days were an aberration; the things that had happened had been an attack on them by the forces of darkness; no one was to be blamed for anything they'd done. But she wanted to know what she'd done, if nothing else.

She rubbed her arm gently.

And who with...

With some effort, she stopped that train of thought; it wasn't likely to be any more fruitful now than it had been yesterday. At least Iblis was... dead. Or whatever. And Jolly and the other pilots they'd lost had been returned to them. She didn't understand why they'd been taken in the first place, but they were back and none the worse for being gone. And her father didn't seem worried about it. And since he'd been proven right about the rest of it...

She'd wondered why he was so stubborn. Signs and Wonders, after all. Baltar captured. The agroship brimful of fruit. But then last night she'd been browsing the Word, looking for something to explain what had happened, and she'd run across And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming: Even him, whose coming is after the working of The Evil One with all power and signs and lying wonders... How were you supposed to know?

It was beyond her. At least it was over.

And why did that make her feel just a little melancholy instead of all joy? She found herself rubbing her arm again, over the little bruises someone's fingers had left.

Forget it, Athena, she told herself firmly. Whoever it was, he doesn't remember, and it doesn't count anyway.

And maybe it was actually using the pronoun, but suddenly a hazy recollection swam out of her foggy memory. Pale skin, a gently rounded body, small breasts firm yet soft, clinging hands, pink nipples hard against her tongue, a warm yielding... Oh, gods. Was I that drunk?

She touched her sleeve again. The fingermarks fit her hand... She clenched her hand. Iblis. Damn him. Now she was grateful she couldn't remember more. She closed her eyes and summoned up a counter-image: Boomer's strong dark body, his large powerful hands, his lean chest, the hard angularity of his masculinity... Tonight he was staying.

Sheba signalled at the men's barracks door. After a few centons it slid open to reveal a short pilot with dark red, almost brown, hair. She couldn't remember his name, which annoyed her; how hard was it to remember names? Other people did it all the time. He waited, looking impatient. "Hi," she said. "Is Bojay here?"

He stared at her a centon more out of stormy dark brown eyes, then turned abruptly. "Bojay! Visitor."

After a couple of centons he was there, out of uniform, in that scruffy outfit he'd been given when he came over from the Peggy and never gotten rid of. She couldn't get used to it: Mao had been a jungle-cock for fine feathers and brilliant colors, but even cast into his shade Boj had always been very neatly put together. After Molecay, of course, pilots had practically lived in uniform but every now and then you had to let loose a little, pull your Eighthday best on over your pressure suit and turn the music up loud... He spoke before she could. "Sheba? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a little company," she said. Convincing myself you really are alive. Again. "Unless you had plans?"

"Nothing much," he said, letting the door shut behind him. "I was going over to the Star, but that can wait. You want to go get a drink, or?"

"Come to my place," she said. "I've got ambrosa and a little Libran Delight."

"Twist my arm." He held it out and then, as they started walking, put it over her shoulders and hugged her briefly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh."

"I am," she insisted. "I'm not the one who got disappeared. Or killed."

"No..." He was quiet until they got inside her quarters. While she got down the bottle and poured into two mismatched glasses he leaned on the counter that separated her small front room from her tiny serving room and said, "You have a good time last night?"

She handed him a glass and sat on the sofa, putting the bottle on the low kava table in easy reach. He sat down beside her and put his feet up on the table; she kicked off her shoes and tucked hers underneath her. "Yes," she said. "I did. In spite of everything."

"Why don't I think you mean the child?"

She sighed and took a long drink. "Boxey's all right. He's sort of growing on me."

"Good thing," he observed.

"Yes," she smiled. "I suppose so."

"So?"

"So?"

"So," he raised an eyebrow over a skeptical hazel eye. "What's everything? You know: that your good time was in spite of?"

"Oh. You know, just me getting him shot."

"I didn't hear about that."

"Oh." She looked up at him. "I suppose they didn't release all the details..."

"If one of them was that it was your fault Iblis killed Apollo," his tone said he didn't want to be convinced that Apollo had indeed come back from the dead but was, "then, no. They didn't. Believe me, I'd have heard that."

She laughed a little unhappily. "I suppose you would have. But I did. It was my fault."

"He asked you to dinner last night with his family. Doesn't sound like he thinks so. Unless... Where's he tonight?"

"He's with Starbuck," she shrugged. "That's all."

"Instead of you?"

"I don't mind. I don't own him. And Starbuck's his best friend. I wouldn't want to get between them even if I could; I don't want him trying to get between us, after all."

He raised his eyebrows. "Even if you could?"

"I couldn't. Not now." She shrugged. "Someday, maybe, though it wouldn't be pretty. But I don't really want to. Starbuck's a nice man and I don't want to hurt him. Or deprive Apollo of someone who loves him enough to die for him."

"You know—?"

"That Starbuck loves him?" She smiled at him. "Of course I know. If it wasn't fairly obvious to start with, he told the universe back on the Ship of Lights. If you'd been there instead of ... wherever," she reached out to touch him, to make sure he was back, "you'd have seen it. Anybody would have. He offered to die for him."

"Heard you did, too."

She sighed. "It wasn't exactly the same thing, Boj. It was my fault he was dead. I fell for Iblis, and then I pushed to see the truth... and Apollo died for it."

He put his arm around her and pulled her up against him. "Don't blame yourself, Sheba. From what I hear, everybody fell for Iblis."

"They didn't all go off with him."

"From what I hear, anybody he'd asked to would have. He happened to ask you. Not your fault."

"Not anybody."

"Well, maybe not Apollo," he agreed. "If Iblis was Diabolus, then that," he paused. "Isn't Adama supposed to be descended from the Lords of Kobol?"

She looked at him gratefully. It wasn't something she'd thought of. Still, "Starbuck didn't."

He shrugged. "Starbuck's in love with him. Has been for yahrens. That probably helped. Besides, he's like me. Has a little problem with authority figures."

"Even benevolent avuncular ones?" Though she didn't think avuncular was the right word for Iblis.

He smiled wryly. "Especially them." Something in his tone told her he did.

She sighed and leaned a little closer to him. "Maybe you're right."

"I know I am. You're a little lost now, that's all. Need to get your feet underneath you, get used to things as they are. Then you'll be okay."

"Gods, I hope so," she said wearily. "Things just hurt so much, as they are."

"Oh, girl, don't I know it."

They sat quietly together for a while.

"I'm guessing his family don't think it was your fault," he offered finally. "Or you wouldn't have had a good time with them. Or—he didn't tell them?"

"He told his father, I know for sure, I was there. So I didn't have to. And I told Athena; she brushed it off, saying no harm, no foul, and anyway everyone was a little crazy... Which," she admitted, "was true. But it was my fault."

"If they don't think so, and Starbuck doesn't blame you, let it go, girl. They'd hold you to it if it was real. You're just borrowing trouble."

"And I've got enough without doing that?"

"Absolutely."

She sighed. "I think I was just the biggest idiot on the battlestar."

"New feeling," he teased lightly.

She elbowed him. "Very new, thank you. And I don't intend to get used to it."

"You won't. Anyway, from what I hear, you were hardly alone."

She looked at him. "I missed you."

"Sorry. I didn't plan it."

"I know... Boj, what was it like? Where you were?"

He shook his head. For a moment, something moved in his eyes, something almost haunted. She'd never seen anything like it and she'd seen a lot in those clear hazel depths. She caught his hand in hers as he answered, "I can't say."

"Boj?"

"I don't know," he said with frustration. "I can't really remember. None of us can. I remember ordering a four-point peel-off and... that's it. After that it's just this... nothingness."

"You lost all those days?"

"No. That would be like there was no time gone. Like we went straight from evasive manuevers to the landing bay. But we didn't... we were someplace. There's a... hole. A gap. I know it, I know we were somewhere, but I can't remember a frackin' thing." He sat up and poured another drink. "None of us can. Some of us don't... they don't have that hole. Most of them. Jolly and I got good and drunk last night talking about it." He laughed shortly. "Didn't help the old memory any."

"You're back," she said. "You're all right. That's what counts."

"I suppose." He didn't sound convinced.

"They were angels, I think," she offered.

As she'd half guessed he would, he snorted. "Angels? Might have helped if they'd dropped by with a warning beforehand."

She smiled. "I don't think angels do. They mostly come around after to tell you your city's about to be wiped out, don't they?"

He smiled reluctantly. "Yeah... I guess I'd rather be here with a hole in my memory than not."

"Boj, don't talk like that, please."

"Sorry, sweetheart. I don't mean it." But his eyes were still bleak.

"Boj." She tried not to sound pleading. "If you and Jolly were drinking together last night..."

"Jolly's okay," he conceded.

"But?"

"You know."

And she did. Athena was okay, and so (amazingly) was Cassie. But neither of them were Freya or Isobel. "What about Hereward?"

"He's made friends here. And we weren't that close before anyway."

"No..." That was true. And he had always been a bit prickly, hard to get to know. Not that she was going to put it like that tonight. "You are an acquired taste."

He laughed. "So you don't mind Apollo being out with Starbuck?"

"No. I told you—Oh. No. Apollo's not in love with him. How long has he had to do something about it, and he hasn't? I feel sorry for him in a way."

"Starbuck?"

"Yes." She shook her head. "You should have seen him on that ship, Boj. He was so grief-stricken, like—" She paused before saying, like you. "Like he'd lost his reason for living. And then, when Apollo was brought back to us, he was like joy itself. I was feeling so guilty, I didn't even think about him when I kissed Apollo. And he kissed me back. And then I did look at Starbuck, and he was just so happy Apollo was alive he didn't care. He wants Apollo to marry me if that's what Apollo wants."

"It must be hard on Bucko." His tone was unreadable. "But at least Apollo is alive."

"Bojay—"

He smiled. "That's good for you both. I'm glad for you." His eyes were bright.

Damn. She'd known three sectons ago, when she'd sat up all night with him drinking and talking about Mao, that he was hurting still. He'd told her about a club he'd found on the Star, worried but not sure what about, as drunks sometimes are. She'd hated the idea of the club but hadn't said so; Bojay's life was miserable enough, after all.

"Boj," she said. "You said you were going to the Rising Star. Are you planning on that still?"

He blinked and looked away, trying to think of an answer.

"Stay here tonight," she said.

"Sheba," he started.

"I mean it. I can't stand the thought of you going off again, lost among strangers. Stay here."

He smiled sadly at her. "I wish it wasn't going to be a stranger, myself. But," he shrugged. "I'm not exactly wading knee-deep in offers."

"I just made you one."

This time the smile was more amused. "I know. But lately... I miss Mao, but I want to get laid."

"I know that. Stay here. You close your eyes and I'll make you forget I'm a woman."

"Sheba."

"I mean it," she said. "I know I could, and so do you."

"No," he shook his head, reaching out to thread his fingers through her hair; he liked it long, and yet he'd told her once he'd shield her from her father if she cropped it off. Someday she just might go through with it. "Thank you, sweetheart; I love the offer. But no. If nothing else it'd screw up you and Apollo in a major probably not fixable way if he found out."

"I don't plan on telling him," she said, wondering why the possibility of losing Apollo didn't bother her more than it did. Didn't bother her more than letting Boj go off for another meaningless encounter with someone who didn't even know who he was. Weren't you supposed to care more about your lover than you did about your best friend? Though she and Apollo weren't lovers, not yet, and Apollo and Starbuck... Apollo cared more about him than he did her.

"No," he said again. "If he found out, or someone else... Besides, it would probably screw us up."

"Nothing could screw us up," she stated, but she knew he was going to go. She reached out and touched his cheek. "Please—" She wasn't sure what she wanted to say. She settled on, "Be careful."

"Hey," he smiled at her. "It's a perfectly civilized club."

"Like Hades," she riposted, and knew she meant it more ways than one. "Just watch out for yourself, Boj. Don't lose your soul there."

"Not likely," he said. "I don't seem to carry it around with me anymore." She flinched and he saw it. "I'm sorry, Sheba, I don't mean to distress you. It's all right, really; I'm better. I am."

She sighed. "Just don't you forget where I live."

"I won't," he said. "Promise."

And then he was gone. She sank back onto the sofa and poured herself another drink. She wasn't doing her men any good lately. Any good at all.

Starbuck raised his foot and dragged one of Apollo's old tech journals off the pile, then put his feet up on the table, ankles crossed and heel on the journal. Apollo had gotten even fussier about his furniture since he'd gotten married, didn't want Boxey picking up bad habits, but he couldn't complain about that journal.

"Starbuck! You're destroying that journal. Get your feet off of it—and don't put them on the table, either. Oh... Just don't move." Apollo vanished back inside the service room.

Starbuck froze obediently, his feet five or six centimetrons off the table. "You do realize that it's got to be ten yahrens out of date?"

Apollo came out and put the drinks down on the table and then stuck a towel under Starbuck's feet. "Of course I do," he said, settling down on the couch. "That's why I'm saving it, for Sagan's sake."

Starbuck snickered.

"Not because it's out of date," Apollo said. "Because it's an invaluable resource." He smoothed out the cover and placed the journal back on its stack.

"Don't I even get credit for saving the finish on the table?"

"You'd get more credit if you'd keep your feet where they belonged."

Starbuck laughed out loud. "It's not usually my feet people say that about," he explained to Apollo's raised eyebrows.

"Oh, for..." His friend shook his head. "You're worse than Boxey."

"Hey, I'll accept more intense, but not everybody sees this obsession with furniture as the good, you know. It's not like this thing—" he thumped the towel-covered surface with his bootheel "— is a priceless antique, or even a treasure that's been in your family for dozens of yahrens. It's just a standard QM-issue table."

"It's the principle of the thing. And I admit you were a lot more careful when you were at home. Though," he added with a grin, "I think that was because you were scared of my mother."

"I wasn't scared of Ila," Starbuck corrected him. "I just didn't want to upset her."

"But you'll upset me?"

"Somehow that's so very different."

They sat quietly for a few centons, drinking ale.

"So," Starbuck said, "what's really got you upset?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this isn't about a wrinkle on a tech journal or a scuff on a table. What is it? The whole being-dead thing?"

A long pause, then, "No." Apollo's green glance came sideways at him and then he smiled a little. "No, seriously, Starbuck. That part doesn't bother me. I admit that's weird, but... Maybe I only believe it intellectually. I was dead. They brought me back. I mean, doctors do it all the time, don't they?"

Starbuck thought of a dozen ways that what had happened on the Ship of Light was oh so very different from what happened in a life center, but he didn't say any of them. After all, he didn't want Apollo having nightmares over it; it was enough that he did. "Yes."

"And I don't seem any the worse for wear, either. So, no, that's not bothering me."

"Then what is? Come on, Apollo, you just said 'that part' doesn't bother you. What part does?"

Apollo sighed and leaned back against the cushions, resting his head on the couch back and staring up at the ceiling. "Sheba."

Ah. "You know, she was very upset you were dead. Very. And while she was kinda sorta the, what do you call it, proximate cause of his zapping you, she didn't want him to. She was just trying to find out the truth. It wasn't her fault."

"What was she doing there in the first place?" Apollo demanded of the ceiling. "Why was she with him? And don't give me that look, I know what was going on... I just don't know why."

Starbuck kept his tone under control: a little on the light side, without losing the concern. "Got the lost your girl to a better man blues? Oh, wait: a worse man. Actually, a worse supernatural being. In fact, the Prince of Darkness, ruler of the seven hells. You didn't stand a chance."

Apollo didn't say anything, but Starbuck didn't mind. Though they weren't touching they were close enough that he could feel the change in the air between them, the shifting of the cushions, as Apollo relaxed, the tension beginning to drain out of that lean body.

"I'm not saying she's completely blameless," he went on, "but virtually everyone on this battlestar was under his spell."

"You weren't," Apollo observed.

Starbuck shrugged. My object-of-adoration slot is already filled, thank you, was not the right thing to say. "It's opposites that attract, isn't it?"

"Starbuck," Apollo protested. "Don't talk like that."

"Okay." He felt unreasonably warmed by the order. "But I could see through him. Takes one to know one, though I'm nowhere near his league, and I just mean the smooth-talking charming front he was putting on."

Apollo shook his head. "I wish you wouldn't," he said without force. But with meaning.

"The point I'm trying to make is, Sheba's human. She's a nice, ordinary, good person who takes people at face value, at least at first. She made a bad mistake with him, but so did most people. And she got over it; she wanted to see the truth. He was losing her, Apollo, and he knew it. That's why he had to kill her, while she was still his."

"Hmmm."

"And she offered to die in your place, just like you jumped in the way to save her. That means something, Apollo."

"So did you."

"I've known you sixty times as long as she has. You're my best friend. Are you hers?"

"...No."

"No. It's different."

"Yes." Apollo had that tone in his voice again, the wondering I-can't-believe-it tone.

"So, you're not going to hold this against her, right?"

"No," Apollo agreed. "You're right. I mean, he is the Father of Lies, isn't he?"

"Exactly." Starbuck took a long drink. Weren't things supposed to get easier when you faced facts and stopped lying to yourself? All he knew was, 'things', meaning 'Apollo in love with Sheba', weren't any easier than Apollo in love with Serina had been. But at least Sheba didn't mind him, didn't mind him spending time with Apollo. "So, you're going to call her?"

Apollo laughed. "You don't write that Advice to the Lovelorn column in the fleet rag, do you, by any chance? Yes, Starbuck, I'll call her. Just not tonight. Tonight I want to just sit here and do nothing except drink ale and relax."

"Sounds like a plan." He sat up, swinging his feet off the table. "I'll get some more."

"Good. Starbuck—thanks."

"Don't mention it." He headed for the service room, smiling to himself.

Omega looked at himself in the mirror. He looked fine, he decided, considering where he was going. His hair was good, and his clothes... They were the most nondescript he owned, but that didn't mean cheap, which would be to the good tonight. He closed his eyes just for a moment.

"You're the only man I know who washes daggets in a fifty-cubit shirt."

"I happen to like wearing good clothes. Is there any legitimate reason I shouldn't?"

"None in the worlds, big guy."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that..."

Omega sighed, glancing at the picture of the grey-eyed redhead laughing at him from the table next to his bed. "If you were here," he said softly, "you could call me that in public."

Ruaraidh, of course, didn't answer, just looked at him over the head of a massive gold-ribboned dagget that weighed almost as much as he had. It was a still picture, the only one Omega had left. He'd had more, including a hologram, but two sectares ago he'd come back from the Club Cibola drunk and, if truth were told, more than a little disgusted with himself, and the sound of Ruaraidh's lost voice (don't forget to come home, a ghràidh) had been the last straw. Fortunately this shot had been in a different album, the one Ruaraidh had given him of the daggets, and had escaped destruction. When Omega had found it the next day he'd nearly cried with relief.

But he couldn't go home, because home wasn't there: not his parents' place on Natacapra, or his own townhouse in Caprica City, or Red Cervus Kennels out in West Lillicap. And Ruaraidh was dead. Omega hoped he'd died in the first attack; he could make himself sick thinking of him dying slowly of injuries or hunger, or being taken prisoner, or serving some twisted Cylon purpose. And that wasn't counting the occasional nightmare that featured his death by the jaws of his great gentle cervhounds, driven to desperation by hunger... Much better to think of Ruaraidh dead right off, best if he'd not even had the news on, not even known what was happening.

Stop worrying about me. You'll make yourself crazy.

He laughed shortly. "Like I'm not already?"

No answer. He touched the picture gently and then swung away from it, sharply, to leave the room.

Megs?

He paused, his hand on the door switch.

You're a lot like Lucky, here, you know. Your pedigree may go back seventy-three hundred yahrens, but you're only human after all.

He shook his head, shutting out the soft voice that wasn't really there, the words he'd heard before in a better time. "You were supposed to be safe," he said savagely.

It's not your fault that I wasn't. That we weren't.

"I know that."

Silence. In the room and in his head. He opened the door and left.

On the shuttle he looked out the window into the darkness and thought. Usually when he went to the Club, he was wishing he wasn't, that he had the willpower to stay away and the nerve to actually make a decision: get on with his life or not. But tonight that wasn't on his mind. Tonight he needed the Club Cibola on a whole different level, needed the astringent honesty of plain sex to take the taste of the last few days out of his mouth, the sickly sweetness of too much alcohol and out-of-control indulgence. He needed to do this because he chose to.

He could go back to hating it later, after all.

But when he got there, he found himself simply sipping old ambrosa and watching. There were fewer men here than usual, but otherwise it was business as usual for a late evening. He turned down a threesome, as he always did, but somehow nothing else seemed to appeal either. Maybe tonight just coming here was enough. Another drink and then...

A sharpish tenor he hadn't heard before asked someone at the table behind him a question. It was phrased in the usual Cibolan style: I'm looking for... But it was an odd question. Distinctly odd. So odd that Omega couldn't help turning around to see who'd asked it. Blue-grey eyes met his, an oddly clear color against the dark blue mask, and the slender figure in the nondescript jacket and trousers moved to his table. Good shoulders, slim hips, long legs, and those clear eyes...

"I'm looking for someone to go to bed with," he repeated.

Go to bed with... Omega found himself on his feet without conscious volition.

The door had barely latched shut behind them when the man moved to kiss him. Omega sighed into his mouth and held him close; he hadn't kissed, really kissed, in so long it was almost enough by itself. Almost. The lean body pressing against his wanted more, promised more; hands slid his jacket off his shoulders and he let go long enough for his own hands to slip out of the sleeves. Those hands, strong and sure, made their way under his shirt, warm on his skin, and lips and tongue caressed his throat.

The rest of their clothes came off slowly and the man pulled him down onto the bed. They hadn't spoken, hadn't made an arrangement, but Omega could tell what he wanted and was happy to give it to him. He took some time getting there, caressing the rangy body offered up to him. A soldier, he thought, unable to keep his mind from drawing conclusions from the scars on shoulder and thigh, plasma weapon burns and surgical interventions, but then the strong hand in his hair distracted him from forbidden curiosity and brought him back to the matter at hand. One last kiss on the scarred thigh and then he took the man's cock in his mouth, working him until he came, thrusting and moaning, a hot explosion in Omega's mouth. Then he reached for the lube in the bedside drawer and found himself pulled in for more kisses. He paused, momentarily unsure, and the man moved his talented mouth down along Omega's body, teasing and sucking. Omega was ready to fall back and let the other take over when he felt the lube slipped into his hand. The other didn't need a lot of prepping, which was just as well; Omega positioned the long legs on his shoulders and pushed inside, seeking his own deliverance. It came with a cry and a hand clasping his with bruising force. He collapsed, trembling, on top of the man, feeling arms come around him, stroking and soothing. After a few centons the man reached for the towels next to the bed and they cleaned each other, still in silence, with gentle strokes. Then Omega kissed him and sat up.

The man reached out, at the last micron changing the movement to a caress of his shoulder. "Do you have to go so soon?" His voice was neutral, but his eyes...

Don't stay, big guy, Ruaraidh's voice whispered in the back of his mind. It'll just lead to trouble... But the other man's eyes wouldn't let go of him and Omega found himself lying back down and gathering him up, holding him close. It was the complete antithesis of the Cibola experience, but he couldn't resist it. Cibola only took the edge off. This, even if it was only for tonight, was what he craved. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the man's hair. If someone else wanted the room, well, they could... they could frack in the hall. That was the Cibola experience.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he woke. The other man's chrono alarm had gone off and he was already up and dressing. He glanced at Omega and said, "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you... I have to be on duty by five-fifty, so I have to get back to the Galactica." He paused, probably realizing he'd just violated a rule by saying something that could identify him, then shrugged.

"That's all right," Omega said. "I'm surprised we didn't get turfed out."

He smiled briefly; it was a nice smile and made Omega wish he could see his face. "It's Fourthday," he said. "Not many people off, I guess." He picked up his jacket and stood.

"I suppose not," Omega said, thinking about that.

The man paused at the door and then visibly decided to say it. "This was nice. Thanks." And then he was gone.

Omega waited a few more centons before he dressed and left, making sure to be late for the shuttle the man would have caught. No sense making a bad decision worse... but as he waited for the next shuttle he felt better than he had in sectares.

And how crazy is that? he wondered, but he had no answers.

Adama looked down the length of the table. He was well aware that Ila would have shaken her head and ruthlessly rearranged his seating plans. But he was satisfied that they were as good as they could be. Athena was in her mother's place at the far end of the table, with Boomer to her right and Boxey on her left. Next to Boomer sat Apollo, with Sheba between him and Adama. And on Adama's right was Cassiopeia, with Starbuck between her and Boxey. Couples together, and Boxey far enough from Apollo that he wouldn't feel obliged to ride herd on him, but not out from under his eye. Besides, Boxey could chatter quite happily to Starbuck, and Athena got along well with him and could quell him when he needed it.

He supposed he could have put Apollo at the far end and balanced the table a bit better, but a table never felt right to him with a man on both ends. Someday perhaps Apollo and Sheba... Or Athena and Boomer, perhaps. That was another consideration; Boomer was not yet truly comfortable dining with his Commander. He was better off not having to make table talk with him. Besides, Adama could admit to himself at least, he enjoyed having a beautiful woman on either hand.

Ila would have told him he could have that and not put couples together. But, were he Boomer, he wouldn't want to see Athena next to Starbuck. And she wouldn't want to sit next to her brother. Apollo would prefer not to have to make conversation all evening with Cassiopeia, and asking Starbuck and Sheba to sit next to each other was cruel.

Adama sighed internally. He was at least passing fond of everyone at this meal, and much more than that of most of them. And he could not deny that, even with everyone sitting with their chosen companions, there was tension in this room. And it wasn't merely the tension you got whenever you put Starbuck, Apollo, and either of them's current girlfriend in the same place. This was a strain you really didn't need a touch of psi to pick up, just yahrens of experience watching young officers...

And even Boomer and Athena seemed affected by it, so it was probably not something left over from the fight Starbuck had had with his friends over Chameleon...

Chameleon. Adam let his mind wander along that track for a moment. If you believed that heredity meant anything, and Adama believed it meant a great deal, it was hard to believe that Chameleon and Starbuck were not related after all. It wasn't so much a physical resemblance—there hadn't been one, really, barring the eyes, their color and expressions—but the old man had been so very like Starbuck... Apollo had been worried, on several counts, but on one of them at least Adama had been able, he hoped, to ease his son's mind: walking on the wrong side of the law Chameleon had been, but his heart was in the right place. And Starbuck had had the benefit of being raised well. Had Chameleon been his father, and had Starbuck grown up under his tutelage, well, things would have been very different. Now? Starbuck was, despite his shortcomings, a fine young man. And whoever his parents had been, they'd clearly produced a son of fine qualities: bravery, intelligence, passion, and abiding loyalty; the sort of things that couldn't be taught. Even if Chameleon had proved to be his kin, Starbuck was the man he was and nothing would change that.

His mind, as it did when he let it wander, returned to its original path. Starbuck would have made a fine son-in-law; it was clear he wasn't courting Athena for her money. Even before the Destruction he'd been preferable to at least two of Athena's previous boyfriends, and Ila and he had had their quiet hopes. Now, of course, none of that mattered at all, and Starbuck was an even better match, but Athena had turned him down. It was probably just as well, Adama had to admit; he wasn't sure the two of them would have dealt well together without the admittedly mixed blessing of long absences to make their hearts grow, if not fonder, at least less exasperated. Boomer would probably make his headstrong daughter a better husband; he seemed more... was there a positive way to say tractable, Adama wondered. And yet, tonight...

Tonight the only truly happy person at the table was Boxey. Everyone else was pretending. Including, he had to admit, himself, using his yahrens of experience of social dining to flirt a bit with his neighbors while paying them virtually no real attention. Even Sheba, his old friend's daughter and quite probably, soon enough, his daughter-in-law, couldn't hold his attention. Not really. Except as she was part of the tension shimmering just under the surface like those deadly jungle piscids hiding in a cool river...

Adama chuckled appreciatively at the story Cassiopeia had just finished telling him. She was an accomplished raconteur; he supposed she'd been trained in that art as well as others less appropriate for the dinner table. At least for the dinner table of a stodgy old Kobolian such as himself. Still, she was a beautiful woman, the most beautiful at the table, he supposed, though his daughter was nothing to sneeze at, as they'd said in his youth. But Cassiopeia had elements of beauty Athena didn't; she was a graceful, delicate flower, fair and fragile, with huge wistful dark blue eyes and a way of looking at you confidingly as if she needed your protection, while Athena's beauty was darker, fiercer, stronger, the beauty of a flame, or a pardos, or a finely crafted blade. Nothing confiding about her, and no intention of ever asking for help, let alone protection. Of course, Cassiopeia's fragility was all seeming, he was sure, but none the less appealing for that. He never quite trusted what he saw in her, but that didn't make it an unpleasant fiction. And of course he was sure Starbuck could hold his own; sterling his character might be, but Adama wasn't deceived by those big blue eyes, either.

But Starbuck was a fine pilot. And Cassiopeia was a fine medtech. Adama would never forget the unprecedented sight of Salik taking on Tigh, like a stout digger-dagget barking at a Great Dagg startled nearly out of its dignity. I don't care if she is a civilian! I certainly don't care what her profession was! If you think we can be doctors to this whole fleet with a staff figured for a battlestar's crew, colonel, you're sadly mistaken, and I won't give up anyone who can help. And before you say she'll need training, let me point out that anyone we recruit will...

But tonight, she was as content to talk to him as Starbuck. And Starbuck seemed a bit off his game as well. And his own children...

Adama made up his mind. Taking advantage of Cassiopeia's manners he led her into beginning another, and he hoped lengthy, anecdote, and turned his attention to the table.

Ila wouldn't have approved of this, either, but he was more than just a father and a friend. He was the commander, and the well-being of his strike captain and his best pilots was his legitimate concern. The same for his ops and support staff, for that matter. He wasn't even sure this would work; contrary to what Ila had thought, he wasn't that good at it. Bending spoons was one thing, but spoons had no minds of their own. Still he felt he had to try. Summoning a skill he hadn't used in yahrens he reached out over the table and listened...

Apollo, as expected, was simply not there, all of his own talent used to wrap his mind inside a shield of privacy so strong it had never allowed him to do anything else. Sheba, her mind a coruscation of fresh grief and bright strength, was focusing on Apollo but feeling as though he wasn't returning her emotions, as though he still loved someone else... But her determination was nothing compared to that which blazed in Athena, fed on a fierce denial he couldn't get close enough to to identify. Starbuck was layer on layer, a puzzle too complex for his solving, though he could sense love and resignation in almost equal measure. Boomer was a deep stillness filled with regret and longing, but he was too unfamiliar for easy reading, as was Cassiopeia, all bright edges and almost as many layers as Starbuck...

Adama felt an almost electric jolt as small fingers gently touched his hand. In the split-micron before his mind closed itself he sensed her, love and fear and worry and despair and all too strong to tolerate, let alone sort through and make sense of. It was why he didn't do this.

"Commander?" Cassiopeia's voice blended concerns personal and professional. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, my dear," he said. "Perhaps a bit tired, which is the only way I can explain letting my mind wander away from you for even a moment."

She smiled, but those cerulean eyes were still appraising. Her hand slid unobtrusively to curl around his wrist; he let her check his pulse, confident she'd find it normal. After a centon she nodded and took her hand back. "I'm not surprised," she said. "You don't get enough rest."

"So everyone tells me," he said. "But we don't live in restful times."

"No," she agreed. "We don't. Still, you should take care of yourself, commander. We'd all be in a great deal of trouble if anything were to happen to you."

"You would manage without me if you had to, I'm sure."

"Perhaps. But we don't want to." She smiled that enchanting smile at him. He could understand Cain. He could even understand Starbuck.

And he knew tonight he'd dream of Ila.

If only she could help him with their children. Because he didn't know what to do. He didn't know at all.

Bojay tied on his mask and tugged on his jacket. It was a new one and this was the first time he'd worn it. He'd nearly forgotten what a new jacket felt like, slightly stiff still. He hadn't had one in... Well. Since Molecay certainly and probably for a couple or four sectares before that. Not counting that old tan jacket someone had given him, he didn't know who—he'd been unconscious when the Galacticans had had their clothes drive—and that had been nowhere near new, so you couldn't count it, really.

But yesterday he'd gone to the Exchange and picked out this dark blue jacket. He knew why he'd chosen the color, it matched the mask, but he wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided he needed the jacket. He could, and did usually, do his drinking in uniform, unless he was with Sheba and she wanted to be inconspicuous, which she did sometimes. And in those cases, that old tan jacket was a good choice. This one, new and with the silver buttons and the blue and silver embroidery on the cuffs and along the low Arian collar, this one wasn't inconspicuous. It wasn't flashy, but... He shook his head, tugged on the hem one more time, and then smoothed the lapel and stepped inside the Club.

He paused next to the door for a centon. After his eyes adjusted, he looked around the floor, searching for a certain figure. Not finding him, he made his way to an empty table for two, shaking his head at three offers on the way. He moved one of the chairs slightly to get a better look at the door, ordered ambrosa from the waiter who stopped next to him, and settled in to wait.

And who was he kidding? Didn't know why he'd bought the jacket... Didn't know why he'd gone through the racks at the Exchange looking for that Arian style Mao had liked him in, with the yoke cut to emphasize the line of his shoulder and the short waist that showed off his astrum... He knew perfectly well. Just like he knew why he was saying no to guys who'd probably give him a good time.

Him.

He stared into the amber liquid in his glass. What had he told himself when he'd come here the first time? He wasn't looking for a meaningful encounter. He didn't want to find a lover. He believed it at the time, but even if it had been true then... He'd come here once or twice a secton for the last two and half sectares, and the last six times he'd gone to bed with the same man. That wasn't exactly the Cibola experience, as He had said once. But here he was, waiting, shaking his head curtly at anybody who thought about stopping, just barely not checking his chrono like he'd been stood up, and feeling that sick, exciting trembling in his gut, half anticipation and half apprehension, that he hadn't felt for a long damn time, even for combat which had used to call it up every time he strapped on a Viper. It was like the first sectons of dating Mao, always getting there early and waiting, wondering if tonight was when the other man wouldn't show up. Only worse.

Because this time he didn't even know who the other man was.

He took a deep breath and drank half his ambrosa. If the other man never showed up again he'd never know why. Had his wife caught him? Had he died? Had his work schedule changed (assuming he worked)? Had he just gotten bored with it all? Bojay had started only coming here on Fourthday when he wasn't on second shift and Seventhday. So far He'd always been here, but for all Bojay knew He was here three other days a secton and engaging in the Cibola experience up to the hilt, so to speak. For all he knew, sleeping with Bojay was His way of... who knew? He was Caprican, and well-born, He couldn't hide either of those things, and who knew?

And just now, who cared?

He had to laugh at himself if only a little. What have you got yourself into, lieutenant? He took another drink and then paused with the glass halfway back to the table as he saw that already familiar figure heading purposefully towards him. He smiled. What indeed? Whatever it was, he didn't want it to end.

The other man came to a stop beside the empty chair, resting his hand on the back of it. "Is this seat free?"

"Yes, go ahead."

The other man sat down and raised his hand to a waiter already heading his way; some things no mask could hide, Bojay thought, and that air of breeding and money was one of them; even if nowadays it was all rather meaningless, old habits obviously died hard. In waiters anyway.

Those dark eyes turned toward him. "Buy you another?" The Cibola dance had begun.

"One, yes. Thanks." And Bojay would have given anything to know how much of the dance was necessary and how much wasn't. What the man would say if he told him how he was feeling. Because he couldn't stop the dance without knowing the answer. At this moment in his life, he needed this man too much to lose him.

He'd seen the look in Sheba's eyes when he'd said, "I guess I'd rather be here with a hole in my memory than not." She'd been scared. His "Sorry, sweetheart. I don't mean it" hadn't really convinced her. Probably because he did mean it, at least a little. Or he had at the time. Some nights he'd sat in the darkness holding his blaster and wondering...

He hadn't done that in a few sectons now. And now he scared himself sometimes. So he wasn't risking the best thing he'd found since he'd lost almost everything. He knew the steps; he would dance the dance.

"Nice night," the other man observed. "The stars are quite present and the air filtration is almost crisp, like Leafturn."

Bojay laughed. "Yes," he said. "It's virtually spring-like."

"I was thinking autumn—" He paused, then smiled slightly. Another thing given away.

For them both, Bojay realized, and mostly for him. Leafturn was spring in the southern hemispheres, and for some odd reason on most of the Colonial worlds those had the least amount of land. Close on to five sixths of the Colonial population had been northerners... Well, that was hardly a significant give-away compared to some things they'd let slip.

"I like that jacket," He said. "It suits you."

Bojay felt his breath catch. He glanced away before answering. "Thanks."

The other man finished his drink. "I was looking," he said, "for someone to go to bed with."

"You found him," Bojay said, finishing his own and standing up. The other man fell in behind him as he threaded his way between the tables towards the rooms at the back.

"Oh, yes," Bojay heard from behind him, "I like that jacket. Very much." He grinned, and then it occurred to him how odd it was, really, to pick out clothes to wear with the object of getting out of them as soon as possible. But then, he hadn't actually picked out what he was going to wear in over a yahren now. On the Peggy that hadn't mattered, all his civvies were good and he hadn't had the chance to pick up... mourning. He broke stride for a micron. That had been it, he supposed now. Mourning. No time or place for that on the Peggy.

He went through the door of the first empty room he came to. Mourning. Well, then, no wonder, he thought. He hadn't forgotten Mao, but even in highest Aquarian society a yahren was as long as you got before people were telling you to just get on with it. Back home six sectares was considered more than enough... and it had been eleven the first time he'd come here. Just under a yahren the first time he'd met Him, if you could call this meeting. He laughed softly as he shut the door, sliding the locking strip.

"What?" said the other man, leaning in with an arm on the door, a quarter of a metron taller.

"It is spring."

The other man paused, his dark eyes distracted for a micron. "Well, technically," he said, "it's—"

"Technically," Bojay interrupted, "we're in the middle of damn-all and it's nothing."

He smiled, that slow smile that already did funny things to Bojay's self-possession. "Eloquently put. But then?"

"Spring. Bonfires and festivals and spending all night under the stars."

"Ummm." This time the taller man didn't pause. After a long and satisfying kiss, he murmured in Bojay's ear, "I'm a city boy, myself. But that sounds very promising." Another kiss. "Very promising indeed."

Bojay had been working on shirt fastenings when he could think of it, and now he pulled His jacket and shirt off together, baring the other man's torso. He had an athletic body, tuned with lean firm muscles that overlaid his powerful frame; it was the body of a man who took care of himself, and it was a responsive body. Bojay liked it, liked the way he could affect it, liked the way it could affect him, too.

His clothes joined the man's on the floor as they stripped each other, slowly at first but more quickly as their blood heated and their mouths and hands moved over each other's body, hungry and needy. Then the other man was on his back on the bed as Bojay crouched over him. Another kiss, deep and long, and then Bojay began making his way down the body under him, surrendered to him, wanting him. The man's hands caught at the sheet, twisting as he fought to stay in control long enough to say, "The hounds of spring are on winter's traces..."

Bojay ignored that trace of an expensive education and devoted himself to prolonging the moan it had turned into, nibbling gently while his fingers teased. There were no more words then, just sounds, panting "ohs" and moans that finally culminated in a howl as he came, shuddering under Bojay's hands holding his hips.

And then his fingers were preparing the way and the man found words again. "Yes," he said, "gods, yes, now. Please," and then they were both beyond words.

After, as they again defied custom and held each other, the man drifted into sleep. Bojay lay awake a while, listening in the darkness to the heartbeat under his ear, like music. It had been a long time since he'd heard music, or perhaps more truthfully since he'd listened to it. He'd gone through all the motions, going to the O Club and, since the Peggy was lost, here to the Star as was expected, even here to the Club, and there was always music. But all he'd noticed for a long time was the liquor. And then the men. And now the man... But music was in his blood, and now the blood of the man he was beginning to fear he couldn't do without was singing a song to him, a song he hadn't thought of in yahrens.

You know it's true: there's not much you can do, but just try and ride it through... Bojay sighed to himself and felt the other man's arm tighten a bit, as if even asleep he was attuned to his bedmate. The rest of the song played in his head, sad and yet hopeful: ...and let love carry you, 'cause only love can bring you down, and only love brings you back around... With every drop of life inside us and every heart we've left behind us, everywhere you'll find it's only love, only love...

"Maybe so," he whispered into the blackness.

Boomer came into the ready room carrying the files Apollo had wanted to look at and found Athena chatting with Starbuck. He was slouched in a chair looking up at her where she was sitting on the edge of the table leaning back on her braced arms. Her dark hair was piled on her shoulders like a cloud. It wasn't black like her brothers' or father's but a dusky brown; the day of the fire, when he'd suddenly realized exactly how wonderful she was, how brave and how beautiful, it had reminded him of a stellar cloud. Today it still did, but for some reason she looked less like a woman and more like an icon, hair like a nebula and eyes like young stars, pale and cold and far away. He stood in the doorway and slowly accepted the fact that for some sectons now she'd been getting colder and farther away from him without actually doing anything to become that way. In fact, the only time she seemed a woman of flesh and blood, someone warm and close, was when they were making love. Even afterwards, even if she stayed inside his arms, she seemed to ebb away like a tide following a call too strong for him to overcome.

She was closer to Starbuck right now than she'd been to him in a long time.

As he watched, she laughed at something the blond said, tilting her head back in abandon. Then, as her laughter subsided and she shook her head slightly, she caught sight of him. The smile stayed, but in his hyper-sensitive mood he was sure it had become a little forced. "Oh, hi, lammie-boo," she said, straightening and holding out her hand to him.

He crossed to them, glad his hands were full so he didn't have to return the hug she'd have offered otherwise; she'd been getting more publicly demonstrative at the same time that she was withdrawing. He wondered if she felt he was the one receding. He smiled. "Hi. The colonel know you're off the bridge?"

Her smile turned into something more real. "Yes," she said. "More to the point, so does Omega. But I'm just about out of time, so I'm glad you showed up. I was telling Starbuck, Cassie thought it would be nice for the four of us to have dinner for a change. It's too late for reservations anywhere, but the O Club is a nice place to eat, too. So I said yes, unless you've got something else?"

For a couple of microns he thought about saying no. But there wasn't any good reason to, and Starbuck knew that, and dinner with Starbuck and Cassie would be fun... "Sounds good to me," he said.

"Great," she smiled. "We'll see you tonight, then."

They watched her walk out and then Starbuck said, "Sorry. She set it up with Cass, so I couldn't say no."

"Sorry?" Boomer blinked at him, genuinely unsure what he was apologizing for.

"You look like you'd rather dine a deux."

"No, I don't mind dinner with you two."

"Really?" Starbuck eyed him with the speculative look Boomer had learned to fear yahrens ago. He started to say he needed to get to Apollo's office but Starbuck spoke before he could. "Look, buddy, for a guy who's started dropping by the BOQ just to change clothes—"

"That's a gross exaggeration!"

"Yeah? Maybe," Starbuck admitted, then closed in for the kill. "But you said it: it's an exaggeration, not a fiction. And you know what? That usually makes a guy happy. And you're not happy."

Boomer cursed the fate that had given him a friend with eyes like a raptor and the hunting instincts of a pardos. Sure, Starbuck was a much better friend than enemy, and Boomer had always been very fond of him, but sometimes he wished the blond was just a little denser, a little less observant, and a lot less inclined to meddle.

Sometimes.

On the other hand, he did want someone to feel sorry for him, someone to listen to him—the role that was his so often, few people seemed to guess he might like to switch places once in a while. And the couple of times he'd unloaded on Starbuck, he'd never breathed a word of it to anyone else. Boomer hesitated, then met the skeptical, worried blue eyes staring at him and sighed loudly. "I've been happier, that's a fact."

"Hah! I knew it. I don't understand it, but I knew it. So, you and me and grog after we get off."

"What about dinner?"

"Nice try, but we get off at two and nobody eats dinner at two. Well, nobody except weirdish fighter pilots. But Ops is offset by two centares, as you well know, and Cass is on till six, I think, this secton—"

"You think?" he asked.

"Look, I'm not the unhappy one. We've got plenty of time before dinner, especially if we go in uniform, which I was planning on because Cass likes me in uniform."

Ordinarily Boomer would have given voice to the comment that presented itself at that remark, but he wasn't going to. Starbuck had had a bad secton himself and didn't need cracks about his girlfriend. "I don't think they'll like it if we show up drunk."

"Drunk?" Starbuck asked. "I said grog. Are you that bad off?"

"No," he denied it reflexively.

"Then no problem," the blond said cheerfully. "Now you'd better scoot before Apollo pins your ears back."

"It's not my fault I'm late."

"That's right. Blame his sister."

"I'll blame you," Boomer promised, heading off.

After shift he found Starbuck waiting for him. They took their drinks to a table in the back of the O Club bar; one advantage to the early shift the Wing was on was that there were few people in there this time of day.

"Okay," Starbuck said after they'd both had a couple of swallows of grog. "Tell Uncle Starbuck your problem."

Boomer looked at his drink, unwilling to put it into words. Once he'd done that, it would be real and he'd have to deal with it.

"Come on," Starbuck coaxed. "What's the problem? You're not happy, and you're dating one of the most beautiful women on the battlestar. Sagan, in the whole fleet. And I know you're getting laid—"

"Starbuck."

"Okay, so you are serious," Starbuck took the rebuke as proof of that. "I happen to know she is, but if you are, too, that can't be it."

"How do you know?" Boomer hated feeling jealous.

"She talks to Cass," Starbuck said. "Cass talks to me. Come on, Boomer, Athena and I were over sectares ago. If we were ever really on, which sometimes I doubt. She never was in love with me, I know that much."

"She's not..." Boomer paused, staring at the wall.

"She's not what?"

"In love with me, either," he admitted.

Another pause. "She's not in love with anybody else," Starbuck offered.

"That's hardly the point. How long can you stay in love with somebody who's not in love with you?"

Those blue eyes looked candidly at him and he swallowed a curse.

"I mean, most people..." He tried again. "I mean..."

"Maybe you're just more sensible than me," Starbuck said. "But my point is, if you love her and you Seal with her—"

"She'll come to love me? Maybe. More likely not; more likely she'd come to hate me. And why would she Seal with me anyway if she doesn't love me?"

Starbuck shrugged. "Maybe she's lonely. Maybe she's given up looking. Maybe... Hades, Boomer, I don't know. All I know is she told Cassie that if you asked her she'd probably say yes. So you're home free."

"Home free? Probably say yes is Home free?"

Starbuck shrugged. "Well, she probably wouldn't have told Cass if she didn't know Cass would tell me and I'd tell you... My guess is, it's a nudge. Ask her."

"I don't want to ask her if she doesn't love me." Boomer heard himself say that and knew it was true. All of it. He and Athena were just not meant for each other and better to break it off while they were still on speaking terms. "And she doesn't. So..."

Starbuck shrugged again, pushing his mug around on the table in a little circle. "I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"You want to get married, she's willing, now you won't."

"Starbuck, she's not in love with me."

"So? Like I said, she's not in love with anybody else, either."

"Starbuck..." Boomer stopped. "Oh, what's the use?"

"Look," the blond said, "I'm not saying you should ask her—"

"Yes, you are!" Boomer protested incredulously. "You just said, 'ask her'!"

"Well..." Starbuck paused, then grinned crookedly. "That was then, this is now."

"Only you would dare use that for a centon ago." Boomer shook his head. "And I know, I know, a centon ago isn't now... So don't bother defending yourself, buddy; just tell me what you are saying. Now."

"Well, look. You're in love with her, right? And," he held up a hand, "don't tell me what she's feeling, 'cause that's not what I asked. You," he pointed at Boomer, "are in love with her, right?"

Boomer hesitated. He'd meant what he'd said earlier; he wasn't sure he was still in love with her because he didn't think he was built to love one-sidedly. But, on the other hand... He just didn't know if he was built to see her every day feeling like this, either, and not... He wasn't used to being hit upside the head by his emotions and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. Short of asking if he could get assigned to one of the frigates, that is, and that really had no appeal. Unlike Athena. Even now. Maybe...

"Boom-Boom?"

He hauled his mind back from where it had gone. "Yes," he said.

"Yes, you heard me say your name, or yes, you're in love with her?"

"Sometimes I love her so much it hurts," he admitted. "When I think I'm losing her... But, Starbuck, if she's gone—"

"She's not gone. She's right here. Dragging you to dinner and—other places, and believe me, I know: if she wanted to dump you, you'd be bagged and curbed by now."

"Starbuck—"

"So," he overrode Boomer's protest. "You love her. She's not in love with anyone else, and she's willing to date you. All I'm saying is, don't stop now. It's only been a couple of sectares, right? Just because Apollo goes down hard and fast doesn't mean his sister will. Give it time. You're worth having and she may come to realize that. If you walk away while she's still uncertain, you'll never know."

"And if I give it more time and she finally does dump me?"

Starbuck sighed softly, but he didn't look away. "Only you know whether that'll hurt worse than not trying. You're usually as tenacious as an Arian cold-caller smelling a sale. But it's your life."

Boomer slumped back in his chair. "Is it? Sometimes I wonder."

Starbuck laughed shortly. "Well, that's what happens when you get serious about somebody. Anybody, let alone someone like Athena."

"I suppose you're right about that."

"Oh, I know I am. Loving someone takes your independence first thing." After a brief pause, he added, "Not that that's a bad thing. Or so I've heard."

Boomer sighed. "We're a pair, aren't we?"

"Hey," Starbuck protested pro forma, "I'm not the unhappy one. Me and Cass are fine."

Boomer didn't push it. "Glad somebody is."

This hadn't been such a good idea, after all, Cassie was forced to admit to herself about halfway through dinner. Boomer and Starbuck were friends, and she didn't want to try to keep Starbuck away from his friends, especially if Apollo was going to get married on him again. She'd barely noticed the first time, since she hadn't been interested in Starbuck, but it had taken a toll on him that she hadn't been able to help becoming aware of as she got in deeper with him. It might even have been part of why she'd gone running back to Cain: at least he didn't have anybody but his daughter. And his career, of course.

She closed the door on Cain, firmly, and went back to Starbuck. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to keep his friends, and to set up a pattern where they could be together even after things changed. After he became the single man. Or even after he got married himself... she wanted him to know that if he decided to join Apollo and Boomer in wedded bliss she'd do her best to make it as close to that for him as she could.

And that part was working. It was the other goal that was falling apart before her eyes. In fact, what she was seeing might render the first goal moot.

Because Boomer and Athena were working way too hard at it.

She'd hoped to put her own little doubts to rest by seeing them together; hoped to be able to tell herself that yes, Athena's hesitancies were just normal jitters. Hoped to put her own desires down with a powerful dose of seeing-it-with-her-own-eyes. Instead, what she was seeing was Athena trying to convince everyone that she loved Boomer, and Boomer trying to convince himself that she wasn't out of his reach.

She sighed softly to herself, covering it with her glass of iced water. She liked Boomer well enough; he'd never indicated by word or action that he even ever thought about her past, though by the same token he'd never shown any interest in her. But he apparently wasn't who Athena really wanted. She hated to meddle, but it would have been (will be, she corrected herself) hard enough to watch Athena settle down happily; she couldn't watch her make a mistake. She'd give Boomer some time to figure it out himself, but if she had to... Starbuck was still fond of Athena himself, he could—

She choked on the water. Starbuck's hands deftly removed the glass from hers and pounded her firmly on the back. "You okay, Cass?" he asked.

She looked into his blue eyes. "Yes, thanks," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm fine." Across the table Athena's pale eyes were concerned. Cassie felt her own eyes falter and drop; she covered it by taking another drink and a deep breath. When she'd steadied herself as she'd been trained to do, she announced that she wanted dessert. "Something chocolate."

And when Athena said, "Ummmm. Now and later," with an arch look at Boomer, Cassie knew she was right about half of it, anyway.

Surely the gods couldn't have senses of humors this warped. Athena didn't seem the slightest bit interested in Omega whenever they talked; in fact, she seemed to consider him as a cross between Cassie herself and her brother. But she wasn't in love with Boomer, and she wasn't in love with him in that desperately positive way that said there was somebody else... And why wouldn't she mention somebody else in those late night girls-together talks unless...

She looked back up at Starbuck. She didn't love him, exactly, but she so very nearly did. There were so many things about him that were lovable. Like the concern in his eyes at this moment. She smiled at him and picked up the conversational thread she'd dropped earlier. He smiled back, relaxing.

He was fond of Athena, probably as fond of her, almost, as he was of Cassie herself. If not fonder, she reminded herself; he'd asked Athena to Seal with him. It was Athena who'd broken it off, if rather raggedly. If Athena was regretting that, if Athena wanted him back... He'd be happy with Athena, if she loved him. Happier, probably, wouldn't he? Sure, he'd be settling, still, but... And Athena, she knew how he felt about Apollo. If she'd come to realize that that didn't matter to her, that she wanted him anyway...

Cassie felt her heart behaving like something out of an old fay-tale, turning to something very like stone. She didn't love Starbuck but he was her best chance at anything like happiness. But she couldn't hold him if Athena wanted him. Even if Athena wouldn't ask. She couldn't...

She'd known it was going to be hard to see Athena happy.

She hadn't known it was going to be this hard.

She reached for the last little straw floating on the surface of the lake where she was drowning and reminded herself that she could be wrong. Just because all the pieces fit didn't mean there weren't bits from two puzzles. There were other men on the battlestar Athena would think she couldn't have, after all, married men and, and, the colonel, and... well, others. There were plenty of others. Don't go off half-cocked and dump Starbuck before you know Athena wants him, she told herself. Find out first.

"Do you want to come in?" Cassie asked him at the door. She always asked him unless she really didn't want him, which was something he'd always picked up on anyway. He'd figured out a long time ago that his waiting to be asked was something she liked. For that matter, he liked hearing it out loud that she wanted him, so he supposed it was one of those win-win situations. Of course, though some people wouldn't have believed it, he didn't always say yes, and when he did he didn't always sleep with her. There were other things in life.

But he said yes tonight, though he was fairly sure she wanted to talk first. Or just. Something was bothering her. Several somethings, actually, he thought; he'd seen one of them hit her between the eyes at dinner, though he had no clue as to its nature. They'd been talking about children, about Boxey and Boomer's nephew and Zac, and he'd contributed a couple of anecdotes about kids he'd known, and Athena had wondered about bringing kids into the circumscribed life of the Fleet, but unless Cass thought he was hankering after his own kids, which he'd made it pretty clear to her, he thought, he wasn't, he didn't see how that could be it.

And something had been bothering her for several days now—suddenly Starbuck felt the floor drop out from under his feet. What if she were in that half of a half of a percent of birth control failures? If she was pregnant they'd have to get married. It would have the virtue of making up his mind for him, but he wasn't at all sure he wanted to, not like that. Calm down, Bucko, he told himself, that's probably not it at all.

She asked him if he wanted some tea. He said yes, thinking it might help her to have something to do. He leaned up against the counter in her service room and watched her neat movements in the small space. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe a little blonde girl would be nice. Maybe... He couldn't wait, so he nudged her a little. "You thinking about what Athena was saying?"

"Athena?" she turned sharply, spilling some tea on the counter.

"About babies," he said, taken a bit aback.

She stared at him searchingly for a centon and then laughed. "Oh, no. I'm not pregnant."

And now that it wasn't looming over him, he kind of missed the idea. Before he said something irrevocable, he made himself ask, "Then what's on your mind, Cass?"

She paused, then put the kettle on the burner and turned to him, her deep eyes troubled. "There is something," she said.

"What is it?"

"Starbuck, I have to tell you something."

"You sure?"

She blinked.

"People are always telling other people things," he said. "Usually it's to make themselves feel better."

"No, Starbuck," she said.

"No, not you. I mean, you don't take any pleasure in hurting me, I know that," he gave her a smile. "Hurting yourself, that's different. Like having to tell me about Cain..." He reached out and touched her cheek gently. "Maybe you just think... anyway. Have to tell me something means I'm not going to like hearing it any more than you're going to like saying it. You and I, we're beyond that. Or maybe we never got that far. But whichever, you don't have to tell me anything. We're fine as we are."

"It's not about me. Or you. Well," she paused, biting her lip for a moment. That made him want to kiss her. He waited. "It's about Chameleon—"

She broke off because he'd moved his hand very quickly to rest his fingers on her lips. "No, Cass," he said. "I don't want to hear it. Not from you. He'll tell me... whatever it is. Or he won't."

"Starbuck," she said, or he thought that's what she said, her lips moving under his fingers.

He turned his hand, catching her delicate jaw in it, leaving his thumb on her lips. "No, Cass," he repeated. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever it is, you shouldn't tell me. He will if he wants me to know. And if he doesn't, well. Then he won't tell me, and I'll have to choose which possibility to believe, and he'll have to live with my choice. But you shouldn't get in the middle of this."

She pulled away from him and he let her go, and they both knew he was. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to be so much at the physical mercy of your lover, wondered sometimes if women thought about it, wondered how they couldn't... It argued a certain difference in outlook if nothing else. And it probably explained some women he knew. He reined in his mind back in, wondering why it had to always go skittering around like that. He'd be so much happier if it would just stay where he told it, not run off thinking about any fracking thing it wanted to.

She interrupted that old and fruitless complaint. "I am in the middle of it, Starbuck."

What had that old charmer said to her, Starbuck wondered. He'd known for days, ever since the test results came back, that Cass was hiding something from him, but he couldn't blame her. He'd put her in the way, telling Chameleon what he had. It hadn't even been true; oh, sure, he'd thought occasionally of sealing with Cass, and he might just do it when Apollo did with Sheba, but she wasn't the only woman he'd ever thought of sealing with. She was the fourth, if you counted Abby from Umbra Ten, sweet Abby dead now these... good lords, could it be fourteen yahrens? He shook Abby from his mind with the ease of long practice—she barely hurt at all by now—and said, "No, you're not. Not really. No, Cass, listen: whatever he told you he only told you because you're a medtech and you already knew something, right?"

She considered that. He held his breath while she did. Truth was, he didn't want to hear whatever it was, because there were only two things it could be and he'd hate them both. And it wasn't like they hadn't crossed his mind already...

"You're right," she said. "I don't think he'd have told me anything if I weren't the medtech."

"Then," he said, feeling relieved, "you don't actually know anything. It's a professional confidence. Keep it. Whatever it is, if it ever comes out, or never for that matter, I won't blame you."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure. And if I change my mind, which maybe I will if he dies or disappears again, I'll let you know. But it's on him, whatever it is. It's not on you, and he didn't have the right to make you feel like you were taking sides." He caressed her cheek again. "Don't worry about it, Cass. It's between him and me, whatever it is."

She caught his hand in hers and brought it to her lips. He let her, then lifted a finger to brush a tear away from her long lashes. "I mean it, Cass. Whatever he told you, forget it. I don't want you to tell me, though I love that you wanted to."

"Star." Her voice broke and he kissed whatever else she'd been going to say off her lips.

He had the presence of mind to turn off the burner before he picked her up.

Boomer got to his feet, a bit unsteadily. "Good night, gentlemen," he said.

"You going, Boom-Boom?" Starbuck, carefully refilling his glass, had apparently missed Boomer's last statement, Apollo realized.

Boomer reached out and tousled the blond's hair, something Apollo had wanted to do since he first met him. "Yes, I am," he said. "Some of us have to be on duty in the morning."

Starbuck blinked up at him. "We're all in Blue," he pointed out after a moment.

Boomer laughed. "One of us is the captain, though, and he can arrange his schedule anyway he likes. And you aren't reinstated yet, Bucko, and I fully expect you to milk that for every micron of off-time you can get. I would."

"You would not."

"After that? I certainly would. I'd figure they owed me."

"I owe you," Starbuck said. "Both of you."

"You'd do the same for us," Boomer said with that little embarrassed smile he always had in circumstances like this. "Maybe not as well," he added, leveraging his refusal to be thanked into his customary humor.

"Probably not." Starbuck refused to be amused.

"Hey, come on, buddy. You're out, exonerated, everybody falling over their own feet to say they're sorry. I know it was hard but don't dwell on it. I mean, that's your motto, isn't it?"

Starbuck blinked up at him and then a wry grin tugged at his lips. "Yeah," he said. "Dust under the feet of the gods or something like that. I'd say at least I found out who my friends were if I hadn't already known who they were."

"Narrow definition of friendship, there, Bucko."

Both Apollo and Starbuck stared at him.

He shrugged slightly. "Plenty of people who are your friends think you'd kill someone before you let him kill you."

That seemed to be a new idea for Starbuck. Apollo watched him mull it over. "And that I'd lie about it?" he asked finally.

"Well, honestly, Starbuck, being your friend doesn't preclude one from thinking you'd lie about something. In fact, it kind of predisposes one to think you will."

Starbuck laughed shortly. "You didn't."

Boomer sighed and sat on his heels to look straight into Starbuck's eyes. "Knowing you well enough to know what you will and what you won't lie about, that's not something you let a lot of people do. Me, I've known you a dozen yahrens, and you don't fool me much anymore. If Ortega had drawn on you, I hope you'd be the one standing, but I don't think you'd lie about it, and if you did I don't think you'd be that clumsy, and either way I don't think it would roll off you like, what's the saying? water off an anaseran? But may I remind you it was less than half a day before you went on trial? A lot of people couldn't even decide if they were guilty in that length of time."

"You think?"

"You know," Boomer said, slapping his shoulder. "So stop being such a sulky Saggy about it. You're depressing Apollo on his night of triumph." He stood up back up, then stretched. "Now I am leaving. Don't come back to the BOQ tonight, okay? Those friends you haven't got will want to celebrate and I need my beauty sleep. This was a hades of a day all the way around."

Starbuck made a rude noise, but he relaxed against the wall.

Apollo watched Boomer leave, trying to decide whether he was gladder that he'd come or that he was going. It was ridiculous to be jealous of Boomer, who had after all known Starbuck four yahrens, or was it five, more than he had. But lately it seemed that between Cassie and Sheba he wasn't getting much time with the other pilot, and Boomer seemed to be there as often as not.

"Am I?" Starbuck interrupted those selfish thoughts.

"Are you what?"

"Depressing you on your night of triumph?"

"How could I be depressed? You're here, like Boomer said, out and exonerated and, well, here."

"Not in a very good mood, though."

Apollo resisted the urge to put his hand on Starbuck's head. As much as he'd had to drink, and as strongly as he'd been scared today, it was just not a good idea. The prospect of failure had never carried such a high price tag, never terrified him as much as it had today. Starbuck, convicted. Starbuck, dead, because he'd never survive on the Prison Barge. He stared straight ahead in the dimness of his quarters and said, "I don't give a snitrat's snout what kind of mood you're in. You're here to be in a mood; that's enough for me."

Starbuck sighed gustily and then got to his feet. Before Apollo could say anything, though, the blond dropped heavily into Boomer's vacated spot on the couch and swung his feet up onto the kava table. "Oh, sorry," he said and took them off again, then laid his head on the back of the couch. "I don't know why I'm so irritable. I ought to be grateful."

"You were. You still are. It's just all catching up to you," Apollo said. "It hasn't been twenty centares yet since we were on the Rising Star playing Triad."

"Sagan. Feels like twenty sectares."

"And you spent most of it cooped up."

Starbuck snorted. "I still can't believe I'm not being brought up on charges for breaking out of the brig."

"You went back," Apollo said. "Besides, you're innocent."

"Not of that," the blond pointed out.

"True. And I'm supposed to punish you. Consider yourself severely chastised." He paused, remembered, and added, "And your pay's being docked for the vid unit."

And that made Starbuck laugh. "It was worth it just to put my fist into Zara's face, if only vicariously."

"I thought she had... an interest in you?"

Starbuck grinned. "Why do you think she was gloating about my brilliant career being all over?"

"You turned her down?" Apollo asked.

"Of course I did. Please. A reporter?"

Apollo couldn't think what to say.

"Oh, Sagan, I didn't mean... It's just, she's not my type."

"I know what you meant," Apollo said. "Zara's nothing like Serina. Not that Serina had better have been your type, mind you," he added with mock ferocity.

"I liked Serina."

"I know." She hadn't liked him much, though, unlike Sheba. Or perhaps she just had thought he took up too much of Apollo's time.

"She wasn't my type, but she was yours... I was sorry she died."

And how he'd wished for just a tiny sign of gladness. He was glad the room was dark. "I know you were."

"And I'm glad you've found someone else."

"Well," Apollo temporized, despite his intentions. "We're not exactly promised yet."

"I know. But you're at least getting out of your quarters again."

And how to explain that one reason he'd started seeing Sheba was that Starbuck had broken up with Cassie? Not the only one, of course, but... "Speaking of getting out of my quarters—"

"You tired? I could go to Cass's, that's where I was supposed to be tonight anyway—"

"No," Apollo said quickly. "I was about to offer you the couch if you wanted it. But I'm not tired anyway. Though I expect you'd rather go to Cassiopeia's..." His voice trailed off as the bitterness in Starbuck's registered, that and the verb mood. "But stay a while anyway."

"Okay." Starbuck sighed and reached over the end of the couch for the bottle. He held it up to Apollo, who nodded and extended his glass. He didn't drink much, but tonight was different. Starbuck set the bottle down on one of the tech journals on the table and leaned back again. "I might never move again."

"That could be awkward." Apollo was proud of that tone. "And Boxey might have a few questions."

"Which reminds me: what was that damn-fool stunt you pulled with Baltar, anyway?"

"Besides what proved your innocence, you mean?"

"You could have found a safer way to do it," Starbuck said accusingly. "Not only does Boxey need you, but we do. The Fleet, I mean. Plus you could have gotten killed out there and I'd have, we'd all have been just sitting there listening."

For just a moment Apollo flashed back to Sheba's telling him the same thing, as he stood with her in the turbolift, making his way from the landing bay to the Tribunal Hall. "You could have gotten yourself killed, you know."

"Are you going to tell me I shouldn't have done it?"

"No." She'd smiled ruefully at him. "How can I say that to you when I know perfectly well I'd be just as reckless for Bojay?"

And he still hadn't sorted everything that little exchange meant. But he put it out of his mind for the moment. "I thought the prize was worth the risk."

"What makes you think I want you to die for me?"

"I don't remember asking your permission." And then it struck him funny, and he chuckled. "Look, Starbuck, I appreciate it, but I feel the same way about you. I couldn't let them find you guilty just because I wasn't willing to run a little risk."

"Little," Starbuck grumbled, sounding a bit embarrassed.

"Well, I doubted Baltar would let me die."

"Apollo, Baltar would let you die a dozen times any given day, and two dozen on First Day."

"Not if he was going to go next. Which he would have. Believe me, he wished he had some alternate course of action, but I made sure he knew he didn't."

"Mmmmph. I wish I didn't owe him my life."

"You don't. You owe me. Or rather, I'm starting to pay you back."

"That's what wingmates do... I'm not keeping track."

"I know."

There was a comfortable silence which Starbuck finally broke. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. But for what?"

"Believing me."

"That was easy enough."

"Apparently not. You and Boomer were the only ones who did."

Apollo hadn't realized how much that had rankled. "Starbuck—"

"I was the one locked up, Apollo. I was the one watching Zara and Sire So-long on IFB. Gods, you know what, don't you? I'm going to be running into people for sectares who saw them blandly discussing my obvious guilt and inevitable punishment and missed my being proved innocent."

"No, you won't," Apollo reassured him. "IFB gave that even bigger play. Baltar, conspiracies, a framed hero, blackmail, children left behind... it had everything."

"I probably rated a sentence... Gods, I hate vidjournalism."

"It did leave a few things to be desired."

"Yeah. So does the whole damned justice system, if you ask me... And I gotta tell you, it didn't do my morale any good that the commander didn't believe me."

"Starbuck, he believed you," Apollo protested.

"Yeah? Funny way he had of showing it."

"He has to follow the law." Apollo found it odd to be defending his father when he'd been arguing with him on this very point just centares ago. "And the law follows the evidence."

"And by the evidence I was guilty. I know, I've heard it. Solon dropped by to give me a last chance to plead self-defense, you know. He quoted it to me: 'Witnesses may lie or be mistaken but the circumstances do not.' Fracking circumstances can obviously be falsified, though."

"Starbuck—"

"You and Boomer were the only ones who didn't believe the circumstances. You believed me. You damn near got killed believing me."

"Father believed you," Apollo said more forcefully. "He just couldn't do anything. And Athena believed you; there wasn't anything she could do either. I'm sure there were others. Plenty of them."

"You didn't mention Cass."

Uh-oh. "I didn't talk to Cassie." He had talked to Athena, and she'd been coldly furious. But his little sister was the 'damn the charged plasma, flank speed ahead' type, who'd be happier breaking her man out of prison than seeing him plead to get off in the first place. Starbuck's blonde was a lot less confrontational.

"I did. She wanted me to plead self-defense."

Apollo took a moment to think before he answered. "She was probably afraid you'd be wrongfully convicted."

"She was afraid I'd done it."

"Did she say she thought you had?" If she had... but if she hadn't said it, even if she'd thought it, Starbuck could be brought to forget it once he'd calmed down. He didn't carry grudges; he'd said once that Life hands you enough baggage without you adding your own. Of course, he lumped goals and standards in there, too... Apollo shook that thought off, too, and concentrated on his goal, the irony of his trying to fix Starbuck's love life not lost on him though he refused to think about it just now.

Starbuck hesitated. "Well... No. But she didn't deny it."

"Starbuck, she'd just seen you have a nasty altercation with Ortega, and maybe you don't carry grudges but he sure as Hades did. And she had to be worried about the evidence. Not to mention what Solon would make her say in Tribunal. You know that didn't help you."

"Yeah," Starbuck said, "despite the lack of correlation between unsealed sex and premeditated termination. Not that I think Yadro's ever been laid in his whole life."

Apollo rather doubted it, too, all things considered. The commander of the Fleet's lone frigate was a dried up martinet and very unpopular with everyone. He had almost certainly accepted Starbuck's lack of 'morals' as proof he could kill, and while Captain Memnet wasn't so close-minded, he was a stickler for correct behavior. It was unfortunate that the only command-grade officers in the Fleet were his father and those two...

"It would have been better," Starbuck added, "if she'd just said it straight out. But Solon's enough to put anybody's back up."

"Sheba said Cassie was miserable." Funny how Sheba had come around to liking Cassie after making no secret of her dislike—hatred was probably closer, if he were honest—at first. But then, Cassie had saved Bojay's life, and with Cain gone there wasn't anything to come between the women...

He could think that because Starbuck had said automatically, "It wasn't her fault," and then fallen silent.

"Did you tell her that?" Apollo nudged after a centon.

"I didn't tell her anything." Starbuck laid his head back again. "I guess I should."

"Yes, you probably should." He could do this; he could pay Starbuck back for keeping him in Sheba's good graces when he got preoccupied or annoyed. "Maybe you should call her."

"She's probably asleep."

"You really think so?"

Starbuck looked at him in the dimness, then stood up and punched Cassie's number into the comm unit.

It rang twice, then, "Yes?"

"Cass," he said with a little questioning rise.

"Starbuck?" That came out sleepily.

"Sorry. You're asleep—" He reached to cut the comm off; Apollo moved to stop him but Cassie's voice did it first.

"No." She sounded wide awake now. "No. If you want to talk, please."

He hesitated. "Actually..."

"Come over if you want." Her voice had softened.

"I'll be there in a little bit."

"Good."

He did cut it off then and stood, looking at Apollo a bit uncertainly.

Before he could say anything, Apollo did. Before he could change his mind, say something to Starbuck that would cost him what he'd been more than willing to die to save. "Listen to her before you yell," he said. "Like Boomer said, it's been a hades of day for everyone."

Starbuck took a deep breath. "You're right, of course. I won't say thanks again, you're getting annoyed with it, but I want to... Get some sleep or you'll have a hangover tomorrow."

"Good night, Starbuck."

"Good night, Pol." And then he was gone.

Apollo leaned against the wall for a centon, and then went to bed. The morning would come too soon.

Starbuck was mildly surprised that by the time he reached the corridor where Cassie's quarters were he hadn't been accosted by anyone from IFB. They had swarmed him after the Tribunal; with Boomer flanking him and answering half the questions he'd been able to keep his temper and say "No comment" until Apollo had shown up, drawing the fire. He hadn't thought about it when he left Apollo's quarters, but halfway down the corridor it had occurred to him that someone might be lying in wait. Perhaps Boomer had told them he was staying all night. Oh well, if Apollo was ambushed in the morning he'd know how to handle them.

He could not believe he'd made that crack about reporters, though. He thought he'd recovered from it well enough; he was sure Apollo didn't know how very much he and Serina had not liked each other...

"Apollo doesn't know what you are, but I do; I've seen eyes like yours around the studios far too often. You keep your distance from him, and from my son, or there'll be trouble like you've never seen, understand me?"

He'd understood her, all right. He'd been fairly sure Apollo did, in fact, know "what he was", and he'd also been fairly sure that Apollo would never believe he'd be a danger to Boxey, but he'd seen more than one man cut his coat to suit his cloth after he'd gotten Sealed and he'd known Apollo would hate scandal. He hadn't exactly intended to get himself killed, but it had crossed his mind on the basestar that it would solve a lot of problems. Then fracking Baltar hadn't obliged, and Serina had died...

Baltar. Gods, he would almost rather be dead than owe his life to Baltar. And this made twice. At least it had never been at his asking... just that some god or gods really had it in for him. He didn't know which he hated more, those gods, or Baltar, or journalists. Oh, and Solon. Typical Opposer rhetoric, his astrum. Adama was gutsy enough to vote his conscience even after Solon had all but said on IFB that if he voted innocent it would be because he was biased, but it was a crawlon's play. And toothy little Zara: "it seems to this reporter that, barring a miracle, Lieutenant Starbuck's brilliant career will pass into history." Well, here's your fracking miracle, sweetheart; go light a candle, why don't you? And please don't worry about apologizing, I know you were just calling it like you saw it. He'd meant it, about putting his fist through her face. He meant it about them all. They were crowding the Cylons for first place. Just once he'd like to hate somebody he could put his hands on.

But there wasn't anybody outside Cassie's, either. He tried to be glad of that as he keyed himself in, and he hoped it didn't mean she'd talked to them earlier and sent them off any way but with a pulex in their ear. All things considered, she really had been upset enough as it was without Zara and Co. knocking at her door to discuss her "very close friendship" with him. Of course, she wasn't the only one... Boomer had been right. And the day wasn't over yet, much as he wished it were.

Her tiny front room was dark, but as the door shut behind him he heard her voice. "Starbuck?"

She was standing in the door to her sleeping room, one light on behind her, haloing her pale hair and leaving her face in shadow. She was wearing that dark knee-length tunic she slept in and her whole posture was tentative. He couldn't tell for sure, but he'd bet she was biting her lower lip.

He always wanted to kiss her when she did that.

"Starbuck?" she said again. "Are you all right?"

A dozen answers flashed through his mind, and none were true, and all were, and he couldn't bring himself to say any of them.

"Don't talk, Cass," he said. "Let's not... There have been too many words today, too many words. I don't want any more words. Not tonight."

She held out her hand. "Then come to bed, Star," she said.

So he did.

And though there were other words lying between them, words they'd have to deal with—"No matter what I love you." "I love you too."—for right now the wordlessness in which he held her close and the wordless croon with which she stroked him until he slept were all he wanted.

In the morning he woke to her gently shaking his shoulder. "What?" he asked.

"You're going to be late."

He looked at his wristchrono, which he hadn't taken off, and started to get up, then changed his mind. "No," he said. "Sagan, Boomer was right. I'm taking today off."

"Just like that?"

"Apollo knows where I am. If he wants me, he can come get me." He heard the words and closed his eyes for a moment before rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "What about you?" he asked.

"I'm on break today."

"Good," he said. "If you don't mind me cluttering up your quarters, I mean."

"I've never minded that," she said with a little smile.

He closed his eyes again, reaching out blindly to pull her closer. "Good."

When he woke again, she was up and he could smell kava in the air. He looked at his chrono; three centares had gone by. It was definitely time to get up.

He took a quick turbowash and pulled on the shirt and trousers he kept there and went into her serving room, so tiny there was barely room for a table for two, and no room for both the fooder and cooker doors to be open. Cassie was there, wearing what he recognized as one of his old shirts, dark blue over a pair of scruffy tan trousers. "Good morning," she said, handing him kava. "Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," he said, though the kava was welcome. He sat down and she joined him, wrapping her hands around the cup. He recognized the signs and almost asked for breakfast, but that would just be... postponing the inevitable.

"We need to talk, Starbuck. At least, I need to. I said some things yesterday I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Cass," he said; he didn't want to talk about it. Talking just made things so you couldn't ignore them. Not talking was better. Like last night. She was different, though, she always wanted to talk. He tried to cut to the chase. "I know why you wanted me to plead self-defense."

"If you say you didn't do it I believe you." "You don't really believe me. All of you want to believe me but you have your doubts." "Will you plead self-defense—even if you didn't do it?"

"I'm sorry, Starbuck," her voice cut into his thoughts. "I really am. I shouldn't have asked you to do that. But I was afraid."

"That I'd killed him?"

"That they were going to kill you." She touched his cheek briefly. "You'd never last in prison."

He paused. He'd been going to ask her again if she had believed him, but what was the point, really? Boomer was right, he would have killed Ortega rather than die himself if he'd been in that situation. None of his friends thought him some cold-blooded monster who'd use a laser to settle what his fists couldn't. So it came down to Cassie thinking, or maybe thinking, or probably thinking, that he'd lied. And what could possibly make her think he'd do a thing like that? Better not to even get started on that.

"It's all right, Cass," he said finally. "Let's just put it behind us."

"I wish we could," she said. "But too much happened yesterday to just pretend it didn't."

"Cass—"

"I'm talking about before Ortega got killed."

He remembered: he and Ortega had been about a micron away from a genuine fight when Cassie had shown up, laying down the law, threatening to report them both, get them grounded... He laughed suddenly.

"What's funny?"

He subsided to a wry grin. "I told you you were postponing the inevitable, didn't I?" As if either of them could forget that phrase, or how Solon had made it sound. "But, well, maybe I gave Karibdis a nice convenient patsy, but if I'd still been there when he came by—"

"He'd probably have shot you both and made it look like you killed each other," Cassie said acerbically, "and that's how it would have gone down in the records."

"You're probably right," he admitted. "It was over in less than ten centons—"

"That's barely enough time to turbowash and dress!"

"Or fight."

"Yes," she said softly. "That's what I'm talking about."

"You're asking a lot."

"I'm going to ask more. Be on it or don't try to see me later."

He shrugged. "You were trying to keep me out of trouble. I knew that yesterday, it's why I showed up after all."

"In a tearing hurry to get off the Star. Trying to get away before Ortega told everyone you were, what's the term?"

"It doesn't matter what the term is. I'm not, you don't, and I just..." His voice trailed off. Maybe if he was in love with her, he wouldn't have minded the ultimatum, but he wasn't and he had. But he'd caved to it. At least when he'd shown up she hadn't looked like she'd expected him to, and then he'd realized that he'd set a bad precedent but hadn't known what to do, and then Apollo and Boomer had shown up and the day had gone straight to Hades. Without passing 'Go' and definitely without collecting two hundred sixteen cubits.

"I'm sorry. I had no right to say that to you."

"It's all right, Cass. I know you were just trying to keep me out of trouble," he said again. "It's not an easy job, that, I don't know why you took it on."

"Somebody has to," she said with a shadow of her impish smile, the one that made him know he'd met his match—and liked it. Then she sobered. "But, well, the thing is, Starbuck, I was halfway hoping you'd get mad at me."

"What?"

"Yesterday wasn't a good day for me. I know, it was much worse for you, but what I meant was... I didn't show up well at all."

"I guess neither of us did," he said.

She shrugged. "I think it's to your credit a boray like Ortega didn't like you, or you him. And you stood your trial and were vindicated, so anything else that happened won't be remembered long."

Won't it, he thought. Apollo's disappointed eyes were going to be with him for a while, even though the eyes themselves had gone from disappointment to relief to joy.

"But I mean me. And not about Ortega. About us. I didn't have the right to talk to you like that, but, well," she made a little moue and a smaller noise of frustration. "Well, the thing is, I thought Athena was in love with you."

"You thought what?"

"Well, she's not in love with Boomer, and I thought—

"Athena's not in love with me, and she never has been."

"Never?"

And he could understand that; the brunette had certainly acted jealous when he was dating them both, sectares ago. But that was just the Adaman possessive streak coming out in her, he thought, or possibly that wicked Adaman sense of humor that ran closer to the surface in her than the men of her family, the surviving men anyway. It wasn't love, or she'd have Sealed with him when he asked instead of telling him he was too likely to get killed for her to want to get involved with him. He could still remember how that get involved had made him feel: he'd thought they were involved already. "Never," he said, shaking it off; after all, he hadn't been in love with her, no more than he was with Cassie now. "What made you think she was?"

"She's in love with someone," she said, "and she hasn't told me who, so I thought..." She shrugged.

The concept of an Athena who'd let friendship get in the way of love boggled his mind for a moment, then he realized what Cassie was saying. "So you were going to get out of the way?"

"Well, yes."

"Cass," he said firmly, "I don't love Athena, except maybe like a sister. Okay, sort of," he backtracked. "But that's it. If she did love me, that would be all the more reason for me to stay away from her. You understand what I'm saying? We'd end up at each other's throats."

"I thought you'd be happier with someone who was in love with you." She sounded shaken by his vehemence.

"I can't fall in love with her. It's not going to happen; my heart belongs to someone else, and you know that, and I can't get it back to give her or anyone."

Cassie's soft sad voice: "Whatever happens I love you." And his: "I love you too."

It wasn't the same. He hoped it wasn't. He plowed on, "It's not like telling Boomer to keep trying, 'cause maybe she'll fall for him. If she's really in love with someone else, Boomer shouldn't. And if it was me, which it's not," and he was sure of that, if nothing else, "she shouldn't. I mean," he scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "I mean, being in love with someone who's in love with someone else is a recipe for disaster. Well, sealing with them is, anyway. I won't do that. Not with someone who's in love with me."

"I hadn't thought of it like that. You're right. And you're right it's not you, too."

Well, he'd been sure of it but it was a relief to hear anyway.

"I talked to her yesterday, and it was obvious. Oh, she was sure you were innocent, and she was angry and scared and all that, but she wasn't any of it the way she would be if she was in love." She sighed. "I'm glad I didn't leave you with nowhere to go. I won't do that again, I promise."

He reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear and then cupped his hand over her cheek. She leaned against his touch, her eyes on his. "Look, Cass," he said carefully, "I know we're not... but we're good the way we are, aren't we? Since everything else is the way it is?"

She smiled at him, and he caught himself hoping, just a little, that whoever it was had broken her heart never showed back up, because it would hurt to get out of the way and let her go. Only knowing how easily he would go himself if the miracle ever took place made him sure he would for her happiness' sake. "Yes," she said softly. "We are. All things considered."

"And all things have to be considered, don't they?"

"Yes," the smile was getting more impish. "They certainly do."

"And I think we should consider that we had plans for last night that sort of got derailed. Didn't we?"

She was definitely one of the more mischievous Fay now. "Did we? I suppose we did. But don't you have to go on duty?"

"Like I said, Apollo knows where I am. If he hasn't called yet, I'm assuming I have the day off."

"You know what they say about assumptions, don't you?"

"Hey, didn't I earn a reward?"

"Well," the tip of her pink tongue poked through her lips for a moment. "I suppose you did, at that. What did you have in mind?"

"I'll think of something," he said, leaning over the corner of the table and kissing her.

"I'll bet you will," she said. "Come to bed, Starbuck."

So he did.

Athena followed Omega off the bridge, but waited until they were in the corridor before speaking to him. "Could I buy you a drink?" she asked.

"I wouldn't say no."

"Good," she smiled. "I've got a bottle of Father's good nectar that he gave me when I made Operations Officer last sectare. Kylary '39. It's certainly better than anything they'll offer us in the Club bar."

"Kylary '39? I can't think when I last had Kylary of any vintage, let alone the '39. I definitely won't say no to that," he said, smiling back.

"I was hoping you'd feel that way. Bribes are hard to come by nowadays."

"That will do. Not that you have to resort to bribery, though now you've promised me Kylary it would be rude not to follow through, mind you," he added, gently teasing. "Why this sudden craving for my company?"

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" she realized.

"I actually didn't mean—"

"I know," she said. "It's not like we don't see each other virtually every day, after all. I was just thinking, it's been a while since we spent any time just us two together. And besides, I want to ask your advice."

"Really?" He looked surprised but gratified.

She was glad. She wasn't much in the habit of asking advice. But she needed to, because she really couldn't decide what to do about her life. And it wasn't a feeling she liked much, either.

But having decided she needed someone to help her sort though the tangled mess her life had become, she couldn't think of anyone better than Omega. Even if he had no constructive advice to offer (and she couldn't imagine that), he'd understand the question. He'd understand the idiom of the question. You could actually say words like "duty" and "responsibilities" and "should" and "expectations" to him without either feeling like an alien or getting defensive.

Of course, you could with Apollo as well, but she couldn't ask him about this. For one thing, it would make him uncomfortable to talk about it, it cut so close to his bone. And it wasn't as though she didn't know what he thought: his whole life was a demonstration of his surrender of "want" to "should". It was unfair to ask him to tell her she could do what he couldn't, even if that was what he'd say, which it might not be. But if it was, well, it would just be locking the door even harder on any hopes he might still cherish in the depths of his soul... and that would be cruel. She loved him too much to ask him.

"It's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid, but it's not too bad." She keyed open her door and waved him in ahead of her. "I'll get the nectar," she said. "Make yourself at home." Then she laughed.

"What?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I always think of 'Love at First Bite' when I hear that," she said. "When the vampyr takes her at her word and cleans up her place."

"Your place isn't quite that bad," he said gravely.

"Oh, please," she said, "if you want to clean it up, by all means do so."

He laughed. "Perhaps some other time."

When she brought out the bottle and the glasses he was sitting on her newly-cleared couch, all her books and papers now stacked on one end of the kava table. Her quarters weren't really the disaster area Apollo always called them, but there was no doubt she was considerably less compulsively neat than he. She like to think of her rooms as "lived in". At least they weren't sterile.

And, she thought as she watched Omega open the bottle, Boomer had never seemed dismayed by her clutter. It was one of his many nice qualities. She sighed. Boomer had so many nice qualities and she liked so many things about him. She just didn't like him. Well, no, not exactly that; she liked him. Liked more than she had Eamon, or River, for that matter. But only that. Only liked.

Or at least liked. It all depended on what you could expect, didn't it?

She realized Omega was holding a glass out for her. "Sorry," she said, taking it from him. "Must've been a million parsecs away."

"That's all right." He leaned back into the corner of the little couch, his body turned slightly towards her, one ankle on the other knee. "What did you want to ask me about?"

She took a drink, the deep ruby nectar sliding easily down her throat leaving a warmth and a slight taste of nut and fruit behind. "Suppose," she said, "that you decided—well, it's me, of course, but the generic 'you'—suppose you decided, or maybe realized is a better word, that everything you were expected to do was not what you really wanted to do, I mean really deep down inside you desired to do."

"Everything?"

She chuckled. "Well, no. Not everything. Just... the really basic things. The fundamental things."

"You want to resign your commission and become an actress?"

"No," she shook her head. "Though, frankly, I'm not at all sure that the service is the life I'd have chosen for myself back in upper school. But certainly now I've no desire to quit. No serious desire, any way. Service is the way of life I was brought up to, I suppose, and that part of the expectations I can meet."

"Ah," he said. "So it's more that you're afraid you can't meet expectations than that you don't want to?"

"Well, a little. A lot," she admitted. "But I can meet them, I think, just badly and without grace and certainly without enjoying it. I just don't know if rejecting it is, well, acceptable."

"To whom?"

"Anyone, really." She laughed almost angrily and picked up the bottle, filling both glasses. "Oh, I know, I've heard all the 'to thine own self be true; and it follows, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man' stuff, the 'follow your own star'..." She shrugged and drank. "But while you're letting the chips fall where they may, someone's got to clean up after you."

"And some of us actually hate making others do that."

"Yes." She shrugged. "Is it so impossible to want to do what you're supposed to? Even if it's not what you want to do?"

"No," he said. "It's not impossible at all."

"Needing to please people—"

He interrupted her. "I doubt you need to please others, at least not in a pathological way. And I'm sure it's not 'people' in general. You want to please a certain few, and why not? Going through life doing only what makes you feel good at the moment is sociopathic."

She laughed. "Where were you when I had the prototype of this argument back in upper school?"

"What was that? Five yahrens ago? On the Hesperian Dream. Or possibly here, depending on exactly when it was." He smiled, then said, "It often requires more courage to do what you should than it would to do what you will. At the very least you rarely find yourself defending 'it's what I want to do' as much as you do 'it's what I should do'. But," he shrugged elegantly, "what's sometimes overlooked is that living within the expectations of others can be what you want."

"Was it for you?" she asked.

He paused, thinking. "I was fortunate," he said. "I did want to do most of what I was expected to do, and much of what I wanted to do wasn't unexpected. I mean, it wasn't," he paused again, this time clearly looking for the word.

"I know what you mean," she said. "They didn't object."

"Yes," he said. "The restrictions only are if you want to wander outside them. And I wasn't the only son, or the oldest." His gaze drifted to the distance for a centon, then came back to her. "I'd like to be sure I know what I'm talking about."

She looked down into the dark red nectar. "My whole life I've felt... out of step. When I was little I sometimes wished I were a boy. I got over that, and I'm quite happy being a woman, but..." She took a deep breath. "I've never really enjoyed being with a man as much as I thought I should have. I'd about decided I was just cold when, well, Iblis." She had to snicker at the look in his dark eyes. "No, I don't mean that. What I mean is, sometime in there I was with a woman, I don't remember who, and even through that muddled memory I know that was right." She looked up. "It's who I am."

"But not who you're supposed to be."

"No," she felt grateful for his calm. Of course, she'd picked him to tell this to because she was sure he'd understand, but still it was good to be right about it. "No matter how hard I try, I can't make it feel right."

"You shouldn't try."

"But—"

"First," he raised a finger and she fell silent, "there's a huge difference between not doing what you want and doing what you don't want. Not fulfilling all the expectations is not the same as disregarding them."

"That's true," she realized. "Father wouldn't want me to marry someone I didn't love even if I were, well, normal."

"You're perfectly normal," he said as sharply as she'd ever heard him say anything. "You may not be in the larger of the groups, but you're normal. Not," he retreated to safer ground, "that I'm biased or anything."

"No, you're right. At least I hope you are." She poured more wine for them and then asked, "And second?"

"Are you sure the expectations are as narrow as you think?"

"What do you mean?

"I've worked with your father for five yahrens now. Yes, he's quite pleased by your presumptive sealing and the prospect of grandchildren, but I'm not by any means convinced that he wouldn't be just as happy—well," he corrected himself conscientiously, "nearly so, if you were partnered with a woman, as long as you were happy."

"Maybe so. I hope so. But would the service?"

"The service is your father," he pointed out.

"That's unfair."

He knew what she meant. Shrugging, he said, "Perhaps. But he altered regulations when he made your brother's promised his wingman. You would not be asking him to do that much, simply make it clear that one's private life need not impact upon one's ability to carry out one's duties."

"I suppose so. But I can't bear the thought of hurting him again. He's had so much this past yahren, not even a whole yahren. And I know he's hardly the only one who's lost, but... he's not only the commander—you said it. He's not just the service now, he's the fleet. He's the Colonies. And he's my father. And I can avoid hurting him, at least now."

Omega nodded. "That's true. You're still young; you have lots of time ahead of you."

"I certainly hope so. But I don't need to tell him I'm flit."

"There is something else you should think about."

"Oh?"

"If you choose to live your life fulfilling the wants or the expectations of others, that choice is valid. No one can fault you for choosing that way over any other, not if they are honest about your right to choose. But it is an entirely different thing to bring another into that life under false pretences."

And that was it, really, wasn't it, she realized. That was what was bothering her probably the most. Lying to Boomer about what she wanted. She sighed. "You're right." Then she added, "How did you—no, never mind."

"I was fortunate," he said again. "I met someone who was willing to live within the bounds. But I was always honest with him."

"And it was different," she said. "You wanted him."

"Gods, yes."

"I'm sorry." She was; she hadn't meant to stir up old and clearly painful memories.

"It's all right," he said. "I don't mind thinking about him." He smiled ruefully. "I don't so much anymore, in point of fact. But yes, it was different. To be honest with you, I don't actually know what I'd have done if he hadn't been willing to accomodate himself to me. But—"

"But," she realized, "it was completely different, wasn't it? I mean, you were dealing with the truth. You weren't asking him to live a lie that he thought was true. And asking him to live a lie knowing it's a lie..." Her voice trailed off, and she only realized she'd changed who she was talking about when Omega answered her.

"He might be willing to do it. But you owe it to him to tell him that's what he'll be doing."

"And if he is willing, he deserves not to have to. Besides," she added pragmatically, "that kind of willingness would probably get on my nerves so fast it wouldn't be funny. If it lasted."

He smiled at that, then laughed. "I must admit I don't think you'd be happy with a doormat for very long."

"He should know his place," she agreed, "but that really wouldn't be under my feet." Then she sobered. "And he wouldn't be a he, for that matter."

Omega nodded. He poured the last of the wine, filling the glasses nearly to the top. After a few silent but comfortable centons he said, "At any rate, you don't have to face a solitary life. You may find someone."

"A secret affair?" she asked lightly. "Why not? I know there are others who do, some not even so secretly, though they do have the advantage of being straight."

"You may find secrecy more chafing than you might imagine, given the circumstances we now live under."

"Have you?" she asked curiously, and then immediately said, "No, I'm sorry. I've had too much nectar, I must have; that's none of my business."

He half-smiled. "I have, I think, and I am. Again, I think."

She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm so glad for you."

"Thanks."

"Anybody I know?" She caught the expression in his eyes. "No, sorry; that is none of my business."

After a brief pause he shrugged. "I'm not the only one involved; when I can tell you I will."

"I've always been far too nosy," she said. "Just ask my brother; he'll be glad to tell you."

He smiled. "I know how seriously to take brothers."

She laughed. "Being one, you mean?"

"Having them, I meant," he said with dignity.

"I'm sure." Their eyes met and then they both began laughing. "I suppose," she said when she could, "sisters are not much more reliable."

"In my experience," he agreed.

He stayed a little while longer, but Boomer was coming for dinner and she needed to get ready for the evening. When he left she hugged him. "Thank you," she said. "I really appreciate everything you said."

"I hope it was helpful."

"It was," she said. "I know what I have to do now."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "If you want to talk again—"

"I know your comm-number," she said. "But I'll be okay. Thanks."

He paused, then said, "Call if you need to talk," and left.

She let the door shut behind him and leaned against it for a minute. Then she straightened. She had things to do.

Omega walked towards the O Club dining room, hoping his advice had been good. He'd gotten out of the habit of giving it, not that she'd been in the habit of asking him for it. Or indeed of asking anyone, certainly not about her personal life. He doubted she asked so much as what color dress to buy even of her father or brother. At least the one still alive—she might have the younger one, the one she'd spoken of so fondly until the Day of Destruction and then almost never again, or at least in his hearing. Not even today.

He hoped he'd helped her achieve the confidence with which she'd said good-bye to him, helped her decide her future, and hoped, too, that it was the right decision. Advice was hard, especially when one's own life was in disarray, as his was. Although the temptation to align another's was strong the fact was that he was particularly vulnerable to the charge of not following his own advice. To the question: "So why don't you?"

She hadn't asked him that, but he was thinking it now, and he kept thinking about it as he ate whatever it was he had ordered. As she had pointed out, his situation and hers weren't analogous, of course, but he was, even as she, conforming to the expectations of others. He always had. Different ones, now, of course, but...

How many times now had he sat quietly while the colonel and the commander had argued about the Rising Star? And merely about the propriety of letting off-duty officers go there at all, let alone not putting the bulk of it off-limits. Or even shutting it down completely and turning it into more refugee housing, as one or two on the Council wanted to do. Tigh wouldn't have minded that, though it wasn't his agenda to tell civilians what to do. It was the commander who insisted that there needed to be somewhere where Warriors could relax, let off steam away from the military environment. Better that, he would say in his gentle but inflexible way, than that they act as humans will act and do it in a manner that undermines discipline. "We are a people who have suffered a massive bereavement, Tigh," he would say. "We need to be focussed and disciplined, yes, but would you have us become like the crew of the Pegasus?"

That was always a Capstone, of course, given Tigh's experience on the lost battlestar. But the colonel had been able to get several establishments made off-limits to uniformed Warriors, and a few more to all. Fortunately for Omega's peace of mind, the Club Cibola was not on that short list, though only because nothing had ever spilled over outside its doors. It was definitely on the colonel's watch list, though the places he complained about were the ones where Warriors got drunk, fleeced, or into fights.

Still, for Athena's sake if nothing else—for the commander's sake, perhaps he should speak up. Perhaps he should drop a word where the colonel would have to find it. It was true, what he he'd said to Athena: the commander was the fleet. But no man could carry the weight of his entire people alone. Adama depended on Tigh, on his support and his friendship. If the colonel were predisposed to come down in favor of the traditional way of handling openly flit Warriors, it would be better if he were warned of the facts about the commander's daughter. Tigh wouldn't want to distress the commander. On any level.

And he might not be so predisposed, for that matter. Omega had never heard him say one way or the other. Not that the topic had ever come up; this was the flagship of the First Fleet, after all, and anybody assigned to it had a clean record. Or, he allowed himself a moment's internal chuckling, at least anyone who wasn't a combat fighter pilot. And even then they weren't openly flit. That wasn't, of course, to say they were straight: he wasn't, for example, but no one in the Galactica's current crew complement was open.

There had been... he couldn't remember the name now, a pilot just before Apollo had transferred here. But he hadn't stayed; he'd put in his resignation and it had been accepted. No one else had ever told the Service they were, just as he himself hadn't. If you wanted to progress beyond Officer, Flight or Engineering or Operations or whatever—or beyond corporal for that matter—then you didn't. You just compartmented your life and went on with it.

As he had done. He turned his glass in his hand and watched the light sparkle on the liquid within. From a position on the Sang to command of the bridge of the Hesper to the bridge of the Galactica to his own frigate in fifteen yahrens: it was a good career, a very good career. That he didn't actually have the frigate was beside the point; the posting had been announced. Ruaraidh had taken him to the islands to celebrate...

But he wouldn't have been there when Omega had taken command of the Akkadia Expectant, as he had never been there for anything that Omega wouldn't have gotten if he'd acknowledged Ruaraidh's existance. He accepted that, they both did: it was the way things were done in the Service. Everyone accepted it. You knew going in how things were.

He put the glass down. Because of course that wasn't always true. Athena couldn't be the only youngster caught up in the war who had understood themself too late to make a decision before putting on the uniform. And now the option of resignation simply wasn't there. Promotions would be few and far between unless things changed drastically, but it seemed very wrong for her never to get any further ahead. For her sake and for the Fleet's. And even more wrong for her never to have the chance of any sort of private life, because as things now stood there was no way to have any meaningful relationship and keep it a secret, only a hole-in-the-corner thing, and he found his sensitivity rebelling at that for Athena. His own life was probably irrevocably screwed up, but hers shouldn't be.

And maybe, the thought whispered in the back of his mind, if they relax things for her, it'll convince your soldier his career's not on the line. He shook his head. Not likely; grunts—and he thought that was the man was—were hung up on flitness in their own special way. Whatever Command said, an infantry officer who said he was flit would probably be shooting down his career. But not so on the bridge, not if the colonel and the commander enforced the regs and not the unwritten rules.

For that matter, he thought, the regs were already not being enforced. And hadn't been since the day Adama had put Serina into the strike wing, let alone made her the captain's wingmate... That needed to be addressed, too, and it made a good opportunity for settling several things.

And no better time than now, he decided. Standing up, he headed for the bridge.

As he'd expected, Tigh was still there. The colonel straightened from the display he was examining and waited for him to make his way across the floor. As soon as he was close enough to be spoken to, Tigh said, "I thought I told you to take at least a entire day off not a whole shift ago."

"Yes, sir, you did."

"Then why are you back?"

"Colonel, something's come up that I need to discuss with you."

Tigh raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"In private, sir."

Tigh gave him a long look and then turned to Charis, second shift's ICOB officer. "I'll be in the ready room."

"I thought we might leave the bridge, sir."

Tigh, already two paces away, stopped and turned around. "The ready room isn't the bridge," he said, but fortunately he didn't sound annoyed, more a little bemused.

"I thought perhaps we might pretend we thought Charis could take care of the bridge and go somewhere else entirely."

Charis, who couldn't help but overhear them, blushed up the back of her neck. Tigh saw it, too, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he didn't let it get any further. "Very well," he said. "Lieutenant Charis, you have the bridge."

"Yes, sir," she said, turning and saluting.

Tigh returned it gravely and led the way off the bridge, Omega at his heel. In the corridor he paused to let Omega come up beside him and asked, "Is this personal and confidential, Omega?"

"Not personal, sir; it's a matter of ship's morale and discipline."

"Confidential, then... let's go to my quarters." He pushed for the turbolift which was always held there and got in. "I suppose," he added, "we do tend to hover."

"It's probably because we don't have much else to do."

"Probably. I daresay we need to make sure both Charis and Tellerat understand we don't doubt their abilities, even if we do to some degree."

"Yes, sir." Charis was capable enough, but Tellerat had been promoted right after the battle of Cimtar and was really not ready to have the ship himself. On the plus side, he knew it. On the minus, he was more ready than anyone else with enough time in grade. But that was an old problem, one much discussed already, and one without a solution until Athena was promotable. And by then, of course, the problem would be what to do with Tellerat...

"I agree," Tigh said, not surprisingly. They'd worked together for five yahrens, after all, and they'd had that particular discussion sectonly, if not oftener, for nearly ten sectares. They knew what each other thought, and about more than that. The colonel added, "But that's a problem that will have to keep a while yet." There was a faint rising intonation in his voice.

"Yes, sir," Omega agreed promptly.

The lift door opened and Tigh led the way to his quarters, keying open the door and gesturing. Junior officers first in, last out was a rule that applied only to vehicles; Tigh was being a host. Omega wondered if it was conscious or habit. "I'll get us something to drink," the colonel said, and that was that answered.

Omega glanced around the room as he waited. It was, of course, larger than his quarters, and less austere. He'd never have guessed the colonel to be fond of decorative art, but dozens of bijou little statuettes were scattered on every available surface. Many dozens... one caught his eye and he carefully picked it up, startled once it was in his hand to discover that it was not the glowing piece of porcelain it resembled but instead some light wood, painted in jewel-tones and gilt. Barely a dozen centimetrons tall, yet the wistful expression on the child's face had been caught even more clearly than in the porcelain copy—well, original he supposed, or at least authorized copy—that his father had given his mother for her birthday over twenty yahrens ago, and every buckle and strap on the pony's tack was clear, every braided lock and fold in cloth... She reminds me of Hestia his mother had said, and She reminds me of you, the first time I ever saw you, his father...

"Do you like it?"

He put it down and turned to the colonel. "Yes, very much."

"It's my wife's," Tigh said, holding out a glass of nectar. "Rosé is fine, I hope? Or there's ale," he added a bit deprecatingly and lifted his own glass to show.

"This is fine," Omega said automatically; trust the colonel to have drawn his own conclusions about such things. "Your wife's?" There had been a note of pride in Tigh's voice. "She carved this? These?"

Tigh smiled, a mix of pride and sadness. "Yes. After she'd done the preliminary sketches she always worked it out in wood."

"These are originals?"

"Yes. Once production on a piece was done, she always sent it to me. I suppose hardly any of the ones she sold survived."

"She was brilliant," Omega said honestly. "We had this one, my parents did."

"Really?" Tigh was pleased.

"I didn't know your wife was the artist. I wish I had; I could have told her in person."

"Did you ever meet my wife?"

"Yes, sir, I did. Twice. At General Staff College functions."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you did." Tigh looked around the room. "She was... shy of discussing her work." He blinked and looked down into his ale. "I used to have only the latest one or two out, but..." He shrugged. "Still, you didn't come here to discuss artwork, or at least I'd be surprised if you did."

"No, sir." Omega followed him to the chairs in front of the vid unit and sat down after he did.

"So, what is it?"

"I wanted to talk with you about personal relationships. Amongst the crew," he added.

"Ah. In what way?"

"They're young and they're healthy and they're isolated," Omega said. Tigh nodded. He continued, "They have no families at home and no furlons to civilian worlds. They have each other. The shock is passing and the mourning is over—and they're human."

"Why do you think I've agreed to let the Rising Star keep functioning? The commander's right, humans will act like humans and this way things can be contained off the battlestar."

"Sex could be, if that was all there was. But in the long run it won't be, and shouldn't be, if the crew's emotional health is to be maintained. If they're going to have meaningful emotional relationships to go along with the sex," he shrugged, "they're going to turn to each other. In fact, the emotional ties that already exist will probably turn into sex for a lot of people."

"Fraternization?"

"Of course. Though not necessarily across rank structures, more likely among wingmates and teammates."

Tigh canted his head and said, "Since we let women fly combat."

"Women have been in operations and support for centuries," Omega pointed out.

"I suppose you're right. I don't like fraternization, though; it's bad for morale."

"Under normal circumstances I would agree with you. But these aren't normal—or, rather, what's 'normal' has changed. You can't have a wife, or a husband, back home any longer. And the commander set a precedent when he let the Strike Captain's promised be his wingman."

Tigh grunted softly; he'd opposed that decision when it was made, but Adama had stood firm. Omega thought the commander had hoped it would ease his son's mind about having his wife flying combat missions if he could be with her. How that would have turned out, who knew?

"I don't say it was a good decision," he conceded, "but it is a precedent."

"Yes." Tigh thought about it for a moment and then said, "What I really don't like about that is chain-of-command."

"And that of course is still going on."

"Yes." Tigh shook his head. "The commander approves of that as well; though there may be other factors in play."

"There may. But precedent has been set and confirmed."

"So, then," Tigh said, raising his eyebrows, "if precedent is already set, what is you think we need to do?"

"Make a statement," Omega answered. "Publish an actual modification of regulations in acknowledgement of the new reality."

"New reality." Tigh pronounced the words as if they were leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "I suppose that's what it is, at that. At least if we quantify what's acceptable and what isn't, we can contain the more destructive behaviors. Officer-enlisted relationships, for instance."

"And it needs a direct reference to something you alluded to before, but then ignored."

"And that would be?"

"Same-sex relationships."

That hung in the air for a few centons. When Tigh finally answered neither his expression nor his tone betrayed his point of view. "You think we have that problem?"

Omega shrugged. "The flit, like the poor, we have always with us. Like the straight they no longer have partners at home, nor chances to find any out of the fleet. And the main incentive they've always had to be circumspect is gone."

"Oh?"

"They no longer have their careers to consider."

"No," Tigh agreed consideringly. "That's true."

"Flight officers might make lieutenant, or engineer officers, but lieutenants have no promotions to look forward too. Even tech sergeants or corporals understand that they're going nowhere," Omega drove home the point. "We have to keep the structure of the fleet intact; we can't maintain order otherwise."

"I see that." Tigh was silent for another centon or two. "So you're of the opinion that we're going to have wingmates sleeping with each other?"

"I'm of the opinion that we already have wingmates sleeping with each other. What we're going to have is wingmates who don't particularly care who knows about it." After a moment he added, "I'm also of the opinion that fighter pilots are not the only people we should be considering."

"And now we come to it?"

"Sir?"

"Why you wanted to talk to me tonight. You did say something had 'come up', after all. You've been very good about not naming any names, but I know who you left the bridge with. I've known her all her life, but I wouldn't have guessed this was the reason she hasn't made a go out of any of the chances she's had... Is she going to tell her father?"

Omega didn't bother to deny it. He'd heard the rumors that Tigh had sold his soul to the forces of darkness and while he didn't believe that for a micron, he did understand what had started them. The colonel was rarely caught wrong-footed. "Not immediately, possibly not even soon. But she won't lie to him forever."

"No. Well, that does add a new dimension to it, even if it shouldn't."

"Yes." Omega hesitated and then said, "The commander's well-being is of paramount importance."

"You never said a truer word. But—did she ask you for advice?"

"Yes."

"About telling him?"

"Yes. I'm not sure what I had to say made much difference there." He shrugged. "Especially since I don't actually know what he thinks."

"If she asks you again, be definite: Adama would be far more hurt by her fearing to tell him the truth than he would by whatever the truth would be. His expectations are stringent for their professional behavior, but as far as their private lives go, he wants them to be happy. As he was."

"I thought so."

"As long as whoever's she picked is a decent woman..." Tigh managed to keep that from turning into a question.

Omega smiled slightly. "She hasn't picked anyone. She told me that she's simply done with trying to find a man."

"That might set his mind at ease right there." Tigh sighed and shook his head. "We're going to want to promote her as soon as it's decently possible, you know that. Of course you do. Have I told you lately how very glad I am you're still on this ship?"

"Thank you," Omega said. "And yes, I do know it. It's one of the reasons I decided to tell you. I want her promoted, too."

"I'll put something together for the end of sectare meeting, and get it to you for your input in a couple of days. I suppose I should ask Apollo for his, as well."

"Probably."

"He may be more a problem to her than her father," said Tigh, and then he shook his head. "And that was indiscreet of me, and I pray you don't repeat it to anyone."

"I'm rather hoping this entire conversation stays here myself."

Tigh smiled then, his teeth very white in his dark face, an unusual sight. "Oh, I think that can be arranged quite easily."

Omega smiled back. "Thank you."

Tigh grunted again. "Another glass?" he offered, and when he'd come back and sat down again he said, "I don't mind telling you, since things are staying here, that I was more than a bit surprised by what you said earlier. I'd been expecting to hear that you and Athena were going to be involved as soon as she'd finished getting rid of Lieutenant Boomer."

"We're truly just good friends," Omega trotted out the tabvid line.

Tigh smiled. "I suppose so. Do you mind my asking you, then?"

"Sir?"

"What you're doing about your emotional health?" He shrugged slightly, smiled even more so. "I do have a vested interest in it."

Omega shrugged. "I don't mind your asking, sir, but I'm not doing much of anything at the moment."

"I met your parents once, probably at the same thing where you met Ruu. But..." He let that trail off.

"I wasn't married," Omega said carefully. He wasn't going to lie, and he expected the colonel had guessed the truth. But what was happening now still wasn't his to tell anyone. "I had my career." And he still has his.

"Did you?" Tigh looked at him for a long moment. "I see. Only your career?" His voice was unexpectedly soft. He'd clearly guessed.

"There was someone, but," he shrugged as surface-casual as Tigh had been when he'd spoken of putting out all his wife's artwork.

"I am sorry," Tigh said, and then offered, "I had no children, you know, but Ruu and I were married a long time. Over seventy yahrens."

"I'm sorry," Omega said in turn.

"Yes..." Tigh picked up his ale. "The old reality had its flaws, Omega, I don't pretend it didn't. But I infinitely prefer it to the new one."

"I can drink to that."

So they did. Many times.

Boomer headed toward Athena's quarters and his dinner-date with a mix of trepidation and resolution. He'd woken up that morning knowing he had to break up with her, and now. He wasn't sure exactly what had been the breaking point: one too many 'lammie-boos' or arch references to chocolate desserts or public embraces, most likely, but whatever it was, he'd passed it. She was not in love with him, and he wasn't in love with her any more. Being around her was awkward and strained and even sleeping with her was... okay, he'd have to admit he'd miss regular sex. But it wasn't a case of two people using each other to get laid, which would have been different (not that he was sure he'd be able to do that for very long but then again...). What was that old saying: men use love to get sex and women use sex to get love? If that was the case, Athena wasn't getting her end of the bargain.

He wished he hadn't let Starbuck talk him into continuing to date her a couple of sectares back. He should have broken it off then. In fact, he wished he hadn't let Starbuck talk him into dating her in the first place. The blond was a hopeless romantic, and just as hopeless at fixing people up. Boomer had been watching him try and fail since they'd met at the academy, and still he'd fallen for it. Idiot.

He was aware that his pace had been slowing ever since he had gotten off the turbolift. He had to break up with Athena, but he wasn't in the least looking forward to it. More than one person had told him he was crazy to date her. Not only was she the commander's daughter, which wasn't a bit like Sheba going after the commander's son, given the differences in the way fathers look at those who want to frack their daughters as opposed to those their sons want to frack, but she was Apollo's sister. And Apollo could be seven hells' worth of bastard when he wanted to, and messing with his sister might just give him that motivation. In fact, the only time there'd really been strain between him and Starbuck had been when Starbuck was dating Athena...

His steps slowed even more as her door came in sight. Worst of all though was Athena herself. It was definitely Galactica lore, the time she'd steam-purged Starbuck and Cassiopeia and very nearly put them both out of commission for a long time. Sure, she'd throttled it back and they'd gotten nothing worse than terrorized and first-degree burns, and somehow Starbuck had managed to charm his way into taking all the blame and yet remaining friends with her, but still... And Boomer didn't have Starbuck's natural charisma. At least he was just breaking up with her, not cheating on her. Maybe he'd live through it.

He realized he was standing still and sighed. "Come on, feet," he said out loud. "Do your duty. Onward to death or glory..." He laughed at himself and took the last two steps to signal at her door.

She answered, still in uniform. Good smells wafted through her tiny front room from the service room, though, and the combination of that with the way the uniform made her look, shining eyes and glowing skin and that cloud of dusky hair, set his worse nature to whispering that maybe he should wait and break up with her later. After dinner... or even in the morning... But his common sense asserted itself immediately. In the morning? As your last act in life!

She shut the door and they turned to face each other.

"There's something I have to say—" Boomer broke off because Athena had said it at the same time.

They both laughed a little. "Go ahead," she said.

"No, you first," he insisted, glad of a good excuse to put it off a few centons and then wishing he hadn't. What if she was preparing to propose to him, which he wouldn't put past her if she felt like it?

"Boomer," she said, "you're a wonderful man, and I mean that."

He almost passed out on the spot. Thank all the Lords of Kobol, she was breaking up with him! He was saved.

"But," she continued, "I'm sorry. I'm just not in love with you. And I won't ever be. So, I'm calling it quits with you. I think you know I'm right: we wouldn't ever work out."

"I do," he said. "I'm sorry about it, but I know you're right. I hope you find the right man someday, Athena, and I wish it had been me, but it's not, and, well—"

"You're glad I figured it out?" Her eyes were twinkling when she asked that, he was relieved to see.

"Was it that obvious? I'm sorry, but..." He found himself smiling at her, unable to resist her laughter. "I am, actually. We aren't working out."

"And I've been a bit over the top lately, haven't I? It's just because you're such a good catch," she said. "I couldn't believe I didn't want to land you." She sobered. "It's absolutely nothing you've done, Boomer, I want you to believe that. If things were different, if I were different, I'd snap you up in a heartbeat. But," she raised her eyebrows and shrugged with her palms up, "they're not. I'm glad you're not hurt."

"I would have been earlier," he admitted. "But we hung on too long. Now I'm just—" He broke off, appalled at what he had almost said.

She laughed. "Boomer, Boomer, Boomer! For future reference, that's not the best thing to say..." She grew serious again and put her hand on his arm. "But I'm glad to hear it. I hope we can stay friends with each other."

"I hope so too," he said and essayed a little joke of his own. "If only so your brother doesn't take it out on me."

"Don't worry," she told him. "It's me he'll be annoyed with. Will you stay for dinner anyway? Just friendly?"

"Well, it sure smells better than the anything the Officers' Mess will be serving," he said. "Thank you."

"I'm so glad you aren't angry," she said, heading to the service room.

"Not as glad as I am you aren't," he answered, but too softly for her to hear, and then followed her, feeling as if a whole new universe of possibilities had just opened up in front of him.

Apollo paused in front of the memo board outside the Wing offices and glared at the piece of paper hanging up next to the NCOD schedule. Offical Galactica letterhead, crisp clean anonymous laser printer, no signature...

Starhound Viper Preflight Checklist

1. Approach the spacecraft with a reckless, devil-may-care but confident attitude. This will make a favourable imprssion on the maintenance technical officer. Try not to trip over the air and electrical lines as this will not make a good impression upon the technical officer.
2. Ask the technical officer what day it is and mark it down in grease pencil upon the side of the spacecraft. Then ask what time it is and mark that down too. Caution: Do not stow your grease pencil in the afterburner.
3. Conduct your preflight inspection in a rapid but deliberate manner. Be sure to vigorously kick all the landing struts. When you come to a complicated part of the spacecraft like a wingtip or a pitot tube, stare at it seriously for several centons. This creates a favourable impression upon the technical officer and makes him think you know what you are doing. Try to avoid shaking your head and clucking your tongue as this worries the technical officer. Be sure to peer intently into the all exhaust vents, gun ports, and landing gear housings.
4. When you have finished the inspection, check the nose number of the spacecraft. Then proceed rapidly to your assigned spacecraft and repeat steps 1 through 3.

Apollo sighed. There was more. Much more.

9. Start the engine. Advance the throttle to military power and stand by for the technical officer's signals. When he begins waving frantically at you, resist the temptation to wave back. Rapidly rearrange the position of the throttle, levers, and buttons in the cockpit until the technical officer stops waving at you...

And yes, all right, it was amusing. He did have a sense of humor and he did think it was a clever parody. But parody belonged in magazines, not on Wing adminstrative (not "administrivia") boards. He had had a very bad day yesterday and he did not want to see something like this here.

The problem was there was no good way to deal with it. No one would admit it was his, and there was no way to find the author. True, a few clues pointed to someone from Libris, spelling and word choice, but that was easily imitated and so useless. If he brought it up in the morning briefing, he'd sound humorless and like a petty tyrant. If he mentioned it in the morning meeting on the bridge he'd sound like an incompetent humorless petty tyrant. And if he just ripped it down, well. He'd learned quickly back on the Acky-D in his first command that the thing about something like this was, there was undoubtedly a gross of prints hidden away, and if he ripped it down all one hundred and forty four times, someone, somewhere, had a disk and would just print up more. There was no way to win that fight.

He sighed again, shook his head ostentatiously in case someone was looking, and went into his office. Sitting down, he had to snicker. Move all the worn and shiny switches in the opposite direction to the way you found them originally. Avoid touching the switches that do not appear to have been moved before... It was funny.

He just wished they'd have the sense to route things like that around surreptitiously instead of posting them out in the open for God and Colonel Tigh to read.

He sighed again and reached for the first thing in his In-Box. What with everything happening the last few days, he hadn't gotten much done. And yesterday he hadn't gotten anything done. Well, no paperwork, anyway. He supposed Colonel Tigh wouldn't complain much if things were a bit late, considering they'd gotten the Council off their backs, and the bridge, and back where they belonged, and Baltar back where he belonged, and...

The slender sheaf of papers shook in his hand. He dropped them on the desk and clenched his fist, feeling the sharp pain of his fingernails biting into his palm. Yesterday had been too close. Much too close. He could have lost Sheba.

He could have lost Boomer.

He could have lost... He clenched his fist harder and deliberately steadied his breathing. Adama was fine. Adama was unhurt and well. He hadn't lost his father. He had just seen him, not twenty centons ago, at the morning meeting. He was fine. It was just...

He could have gotten himself killed. Baltar was a lunatic even if sometimes he seemed smoothly in control of himself; Apollo had sweated every micron of the time he'd had to trust Starbuck's life to him—and your own, the implacable little voice reminded him, just as Adama had yesterday. He shook his head, rejecting the comparison. It wasn't valid, if only because he'd known Karybdis would leave Baltar no choice. And because Adama was irreplaceable and not just to him.

He and Athena had united in yelling at their father for his incredible recklessness. Even Starbuck had put in a word or two before pulling himself up and leaving the family alone. They'd had to be a bit muted and restrained until Siress Tinia finally got the message and, long centons later, followed Starbuck out, but then Athena had really cut loose until she'd launched herself at Adama and cried all over him. Apollo had envied her women's vast range of acceptable emotional displays; he'd had to be content with a long hug once he'd stopped being angry.

A sudden thought struck him and he smiled. Try not to surrender to raving lunatics and get yourself held hostage as this worries your son... Too bad he wasn't creative enough for a whole list. Maybe he'd drop a word in Starbuck's ear and let that man find the author. Not that Adama would pay any attention to it. As Ila had said more than once, Apollo's own stubborn streak and overdeveloped sense of honor hadn't come from her side of the family.

He sighed again. At least the day's events had gotten the Council off Adama's back, and by extension the whole military's, at least for a while. It had been galling to listen to them patronize the commander—without whom not one fracking one of them would still be alive, for Sagan's sake—to see that Siress standing on the bridge, presuming to approve or disapprove of every order. Tigh had fumed and nearly gotten himself written up, and Apollo himself had thanked the Lords his own duty station was far enough away that he could pretend it wasn't happening at least some of the time. He'd envied Omega's personal style very much while it was going on: the man had never actually ignored Tinia but he'd somehow made it clear that her presence was outside the rhythms of operations and he'd never spoken to her until the crisis. Of course, Apollo understood that Omega was detached, always had been anyway and was now by virtue of not being Adama's son. Still, he wished he had that sort of skill.

He wished he could ignore Tinia.

But he hadn't been able to before and now he wasn't sure that was going to be at all possible.

After he and Athena had left their father's quarters the evening before he'd gone to hers and they'd sat up half the night talking. Neither one of them was ready for a step-mother. Neither one of them was sure how they'd feel if Adama wanted to remarry, neither of them wanted him to be unhappy, but even if they were ready for it (which they weren't if they were honest) they weren't ready for it to be Tinia. How they'd have felt about her if she hadn't been a prime mover in that aborted attempt to take over the Fleet—to re-establish civilian control over the lives and fates of the civilian population, he corrected himself conscientiously and then snorted. Felgarcarb. Not that he was in favor of a military dictatorship by any means, but this was hardly the time to pretend that the Council could run things, especially not with the Peace so raw in everyone's mind. Everyone in uniform, at any rate...

He sighed again. If only. The most futile two words in Standard. The fact was that Siress Tinia had been part of that, and had been the one to actually stand there dictating action (or lack of it) to the military while the situation went rapidly from very bad to much worse. And she'd been hostage with Adama, and they'd emerged anything but wary of each other. The sight of her eyeing Adama like, like, like... well, words failed him, but it hadn't been easy to keep quiet about even in the general euphoria of Adama not being dead and Baltar being re-arrested (and hopefully Reese's successor would be able to keep him locked up).

That thought made Apollo smile a little, though he quickly and guiltily stopped himself. Starbuck hadn't been so restrained: "It's an ill wind," he'd said when Reese's death after the Nomen's attack had been confirmed. Apollo couldn't bring himself to go that far, but he had to admit that it would be much more pleasant without that particular security boray around.

Tinia wasn't going away that easily, though, it looked like. He and Athena had decided to keep their mouths shut about her for the moment, to act as if they hadn't noticed a thing. It wasn't, after all, as though Adama was doing anything but being polite, even if it was in a genial manner like they hadn't seen before. ("He's flirting!" Athena had said in despair. "No, no, he's not," Apollo had insisted, but not convincingly.) And it wasn't as though Ila had been dead only a matter of sectons, either. It was over a yahren, after all, if only just over. But it was awkward.

Worst, Apollo knew he stood on very shaky ground when it came to protesting a widower's remarriage, and he was quite sure that saying, "But I'm thirty-two. You're a hundred and fourteen!" would not go over well. And after all he certainly hoped to live that long, if not even longer, and he hoped to be capable of passion the whole way. He could probably argue with more success that his son was only seven and needed two parents, but he doubted that he had the right to ask Adama to stay single just because his children were grown. But he would have thought that forty yahrens of marriage would make you wait longer to get married again.

Athena had said, thoughtfully, that maybe it was a compliment to their mother if indeed she'd made marriage so wonderful that Adama didn't want to live alone. Or maybe, she'd added, he was just in the habit of thinking of himself as married, or didn't believe in fooling around. And although she might well be right, even though Apollo didn't particularly want to think of Adama fooling around, sealed or not, what had struck him was how quiet Athena was.

He sighed yet again. His sister had been very quiet in the last couple of sectons, so quiet that his automatic "I knew I shouldn't have let Boomer date you!" had turned into "Are you all right, Thenie? I know you said it was your decision, but are you missing him?"

"And if I were, what?" She'd smiled up at him. "You'd order him back? Not everything is so simple... But thank you, Ap." And she'd kissed his cheek quickly. "I'm just thinking about my future, that's all."

"That would be depressing," he'd joked, but he was a bit worried about her. She wasn't depressed, exactly, but she hadn't been even to the O Club since the break up. He wished they were in the habit of confiding to each other. If again...

He shook his head briskly and picked up the papers he'd dropped earlier. Time to think about something he could actually do something about.

RFI: proposed revision to regulations, section forty-five-gamma. Forty-five Gamma? Fraternization? What was this about, Apollo wondered. He simply couldn't imagine Tigh deciding it was all right for officers and enlisted to see each other socially as the regs so coyly put it, so if he'd noticed that was happening in at least one, if not more, case ("If I get called on it, I'll resign my commission and go back to shuttles," Robin had said cheerfully, not knowing he was listening to her and Boomer. "There's a shortage there, too, after all." And she'd added, "I'll resign if Gi gets called on it, too."), then Apollo feared something fairly heavy-handed. Tigh had strong notions of... not right and wrong, exactly, but suitable and un-. It wasn't like he approved of it himself, but flight-corporals and -sergeants were an awkward hybrid at best and given the overall circumstances he'd decided to ignore it as long as he could. Lords knew they really couldn't afford to lose any Viper pilots.

He blew out a gusty breath. A nice fight with Tigh: that would be fun. He peeled off the note and read it, and the anticipation waned in favor of wariness.

Apollo: read over this and have your input ready by next Thirday, please. I'm aware this is going to have personal impact, but I strongly believe we have no choice at the moment, given all the circumstances. FYI, Omega agrees.—Tigh

Personal impact? What did that mean? Perhaps if he read it, he'd have some idea, he told himself, and he turned to the actual proposal. The first section was what he'd been worried about; though Tigh acknowledged that losing Warriors wasn't a good idea he was drafting regs diametrically opposed to fraternization across the officer/enlisted gap. Enlisted still got busted a grade; now officers would be reduced as well, instead of dismissed, and transferred to another ship, unless they were in a "mission critical billet" in which case it was the EM who got shipped out. If they were both MCB, then they got to be confined... Apollo shook his head. That might work with most jobs, but it was going to be hard to confine a pilot without getting most of the rest of them mad at you. Robin and Giles were both popular, and as an item, according to something he'd overheard before the speaker had seen him coming, even more so since Robin kept Giles too busy for him to get into trouble. But personal impact? Only if having half the wing hating him counted.

But when he moved on to the next section he wasn't so sure that was what Tigh had meant. In fact, he was sure it hadn't been: it was rather oblique for him, whereas this wasn't: a careful outline of every section in the Fleet to allow for chain-of-command relationships "where it would prove disruptive to ship's functions to transfer one of the parties involved". Schema were provided to show who the new rater and evaluator would be for the lower ranking member, including one in which Tigh rated any first-line bridge officer who became romantically involved with the ICOB or any squadron leader who became involved with the strike captain, and Adama rated any strike captain or ICOB who became involved with the Colonel.

Apollo baredly even noticed the final, short paragraph, which dealt with unsealed pregnancy (a hefty fine for taking oneself out of combat status if that applied but no other penalties), specified that adultery would still be subject to administrative action as conduct unbecoming, and stated that same-sex relationships were subject to the same regs as opposite-sex ones. He was staring at his unexpected reluctance to take advantage of asking Tigh to become Sheba's rater.

He wasn't sure why Tigh had written that note, but maybe he knew Apollo wasn't sure of his plans. Maybe he knew that once it was out Sheba would expect... Or... wait. He went back and reread that section. Was Athena hankering after Omega? He'd was her rater, and he was a stickler for regs... Well. If that was the case, then Apollo was all in favor of it. Anything to get Athena to settle down, and Omega was, if a bit dull, a good man from a good family. And maybe Athena needed, not dull but steady. Like Boomer, but... But why would Tigh think he needed to be warned about that? If that had in fact been a warning. He shook his head. He didn't know what Tigh thought, unless it was that he would be reluctant himself.

But he wasn't, he told himself. He was reluctant to presume, but that was all. Yes, his first passionate desire for Sheba had cooled, but after all that wasn't the sort of thing that really could last, was it? And Sheba wasn't like Serina, ready to meet passion with passion on such short notice. Sheba was cooler, more calculating—no, not that. More careful. Reckless a bit in the cockpit but, like him, cautious out of it. He was in fact glad to know that when he was ready to talk to her about getting serious, the whole fraternization issue would be a moot point. When. It had only been five sectares, after all.

And he wasn't going to think about what personal impact that last line might have had on him had things been different. Because they weren't different, and even if his, their, careers would no longer suffer, even if they could still stay in the service, there was still no way he could... And absolutely no way Starbuck was going to give up the exquisite Cassiopeia for another man. So there was no point in thinking about it.

None at all.

With the ease of long yahrens' practice he pulled his straying mind off his wingmate, knowing it would go back there tonight, and instead began trying to decide what in Sagan's name he could do about the Robin-Giles problem.

"Hey, buddy," Starbuck caught up with Boomer. "All recovered from your little excitement?"

"Little exci—" Boomer bit the rest of it off and glared at Starbuck. "That was as close to death as I've come in a while, and closer than I like getting."

Starbuck grinned at him. "You've been closer."

"Maybe. Like I said, it was closer than I like getting."

Starbuck sobered up a little. "You may have picked the wrong career, then."

Boomer sighed and opened his locker. "Tell me something I didn't figure out for myself yahrens ago."

Starbuck shook his head. "Perhaps it's for the best, though." He pulled off his jacket and elaborated, "I mean, nodding at Death from across the street a couple of times a secton is still better than having him drop in, right?"

"Where do you get these things?" Boomer asked, putting away his blaster.

"What? You think I couldn't think of something like that?"

"Yeah." Boomer waited, then added, patiently, "I mean, I do think you couldn't."

"Hmph," Starbuck feigned insult. "Well, as a matter of fact," he paused as he yanked off his tunic, "it's Libran. I got it from Giles." He pulled off his rank pins and tossed the tunic at the laundry chute, apparently not noticing when it hit the floor instead.

Boomer sat on his bunk to unbuckle his boots. "Libris must have been one weird place."

"Don't say that where Giles can hear you," Starbuck grinned, contorting himself to unbuckle his own boots without sitting.

Boomer caught himself looking around and was glad his skin was too dark to show a blush, at least easily. He bent over to put his boots away and peeled off his trousers. "He's not around much anymore," he said.

Starbuck tossed his pants after his tunic. "Speaking of which, has Apollo said anything to you about them?"

He didn't need the 'them' identified. "No. He's not supposed to know about them." He crossed over to the laundry chute and dropped his uniform down it; almost involuntarily he picked up the blond's and tossed it as well.

Starbuck snorted. "Of course he's not supposed to know, 'cause then he'd have to do something. But do you really think he hasn't noticed? This is Apollo we're talking about, and this is his wing, and Giles is even in his Own, remember? So has he said anything?"

"Why would he?"

"Because," Starbuck said, finally picking out a cream-colored shirt, "you're his wing second. He tells you things. Especially things about new regs that he might want you to do something about that he can't. Officially."

"If I had your spy network," Boomer said, taking out the first shirt he saw. One nice thing about being single again, he didn't have to worry about what he was going to wear. And he was single. Very firmly so.

Starbuck grinned at him. "You're too pure of heart, Boom-Boom."

The comment took him by surprise and it was almost a centon before he realized that Starbuck was responding to his remark about spies and not his thoughts. Of course, by then the blond had registered that something was amiss. Boomer sighed. Maybe he should transfer to a frigate, get away from Starbuck as well. Of course, unless he did it this very centon it wasn't going to help. He slammed his locker shut. "Pure or not," he said, "I'm thirsty. You coming?"

"Of course." Starbuck grabbed his shoes out of his locker and shut it. "But you're not getting away with it that easily."

"You keep telling me things I already know," sighed Boomer. "At least let me drink while you grill me."

Starbuck laughed, but Boomer knew that laugh. It was Starbuck's 'I'm on to you, don't think I'm not' laugh. He headed for the O Club, and transferring to that frigate looked like the best idea he'd ever had. Too bad he hadn't followed through on it that morning. But by the time they had found seats and started on their drinks, he'd thought of something. He spoke first.

"As a matter of fact, he did mention the new regs to me. He's not all that happy about them as far as that particular situation goes, because nothing much is changed."

"That's too bad," Starbuck said, sounding sincere. "I always did like Robin."

"Was she a Galactica pilot?"

Starbuck shook his head in mock sorrow. "Yes, she was. She'd been aboard for three yahrens." He didn't have to add, 'before Cimtar.' Everything was dated from the Destruction now, from when the worlds had ended. "I can't believe she never caught your eye, Boomer."

"Not all of us spend all our time looking around." Although maybe I should have.

Starbuck grinned. "Liar. You just don't admit to it."

Damned right. "I should think she could do better."

"Jealous?" Starbuck said lightly, then added in a more serious tone, "Nowadays, what's better than Giles? He's a Warrior, and a damned good pilot, and whatever else there was hardly matters anymore."

That was true enough, but it hadn't been what Boomer had meant, and he was a bit irritated at the misinterpretation. "You know I don't care about that."

"I know," Starbuck had the grace to look a little ashamed. "And I know Gi can be annoying, but I like him, too."

"Two of a kind."

"I like that," Starbuck replied with mock indignation and then dismissed the topic. "So if there's nothing new on that front, what's going on?"

"What makes you think anything is?" Boomer asked with malice aforethought.

"Oh, please, Boomer. This is me, remember? I can tell something's on your mind."

He took a drink and said, "Well, it's those regs. Not officer/other ranks, though."

"Not? What's the colonel playing at?"

"He's apparently realized that we've got a rather limited playing-around field."

"Meaning?"

"That he's easing up on within-rank-grade fraternization. Writing rules to move someone to a different rater if need be."

One thing about Starbuck: he faced things head on. Always had. "So there's no official barrier up between him and Sheba?" And it was typical of Starbuck that that 'him' needed no antecedent in his mind. "I mean, obviously back in the crisis the commander let him and Serina... but she could have gone into another squadron afterwards."

"Exactly," Boomer said and then tossed his anti-personnel weapon. "Also no barrier between him and you."

Starbuck stared at him. "What the frack is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said." He felt a bit bad, but Starbuck always cited policy when they did talk about it, and better aggravating him over this than letting him get wind of what had almost happened. Hadn't happened. "They're thinking about changing policy, letting flit officers get promoted to lieutenant and beyond."

"That's nice for them," Starbuck said, obstinately refusing to rise to the bait. "Not that I know any, that I know of—" Something flickered in his eyes but Boomer couldn't put his finger on it, and Starbuck was forging ahead anyway. "And that most emphatically includes Apollo, and you frackin' well know it. Why are you starting with me on this? What are you trying to distract me from? 'Cause you know perfectly well Apollo just isn't interested, not isn't interested in risking his career. He didn't have to get married to make Captain, and he doesn't have to get married now. He just wants to."

And Boomer heard himself say, "You couldn't prove it by me."

In the silence that followed that remark he thought, Great Sagan, why did you say that? And he remembered with frightening clarity what he'd been trying to forget since the previous afternoon: fiery brown eyes, long honey-colored hair, a sudden explosion of passion and an equally sudden recoiling and retreat... Lords and Ladies, Boomer, you are in a world of trouble.

"And what does that mean?" Starbuck demanded. Then, being Starbuck, he leapt to a conclusion close but not entirely correct. "What happened yesterday? What did you do?"

"Nothing," Boomer protested, because it too was so nearly true. What's a kiss, or two, more or less, anyway? "Not a thing. Just—"

"Just what? You and Sheba were together all day almost, hostages and... How could you do that to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him! Damn it, Starbuck, he wasn't even on my mind. I'm not you, I don't filter every action through how-will-Apollo-feel. And it's not like anything happened, anyway."

"Yeah? So what did that little remark mean? She tried it on, is that what you mean?" The blue eyes were blazing.

"Starbuck, keep your voice down, for the gods' sakes! And, no, I don't mean that. It's just—damnit, Starbuck, you know what it's like, coming so close to death. You know how it makes you feel. But nothing happened." And then, because he didn't want this blond fury after her, he added, which was nothing less than the truth, "And what did happen, which was nothing, she didn't start it and she did stop it."

"You wanted it to happen?"

"Sagan, why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut?" And he meant that, so sincerely that Starbuck quieted immediately, looking at him in silence for a couple of centons.

"Because," Starbuck's voice was calm, "your subconscious wanted it out in the open, that's why."

"Yeah? Well, my subconscious should be locked up."

"Too late... I thought you were in love with Athena."

"So did I. I guess I was wrong." He drained his glass and filled it from the pitcher. He'd figured it out this morning, flying picket. That sudden fall for Athena, it was mostly because she was there and available and not Apollo's new love. If she'd loved him back, he'd probably have gotten over Sheba, but she hadn't, and he hadn't, and as soon as Apollo started putting him and Sheba together on the same shift he'd fallen all the way. When they flew together it got worse. And yesterday... if they hadn't ended up hostages it was likely neither one of them would have paid enough attention to each other to realize his stunt with the security guards was showing off, for her. But they had, and so they had. And she hadn't been offended by it. Anything but... He sighed. "Leave me alone, Starbuck."

"No. You can't go after her. You can't steal Apollo's girlfriend."

"Look," he said, angry now, "I have absolutely no intention of getting in Apollo's way, but Sheba's not his property, you know. She's not available for stealing. If she goes, it'll be because she wants to."

"Well, she doesn't."

"Okay, then." Though it wasn't, of course, and even Starbuck knew it or he wouldn't have thought Boomer had a chance. Realizing that, Boomer lost his anger.

They stared at each other a centon or two, and then Starbuck's eyes grew troubled. "She doesn't, does she?"

Boomer sighed. "She didn't tell me she did. But, you know, it takes two. And I mean Apollo."

Those blue eyes flared. "What's that supposed to mean? You know he's serious."

"Do I?" He went on quickly. "More to the point, does she? Where was he last night?"

"Where were you?"

Boomer restrained his anger; he knew how Starbuck felt. He didn't understand it, but that wasn't new. "I went to the Star and got laid. And I don't know where she went, she didn't tell me and I didn't see her. But you tell me: where was he?"

"His father's," Starbuck said. "And then Athena's..."

"Yeah. The first is understandable, but the second? He was with his sister while his girlfriend was recovering from that? Would he have left you alone at a time like that? Would he have even left me?"

"What's that 'even'?"

Boomer shrugged, ignoring the attempt to deflect him. "I know what Apollo says, but I've got eyes."

"Are you starting again?"

"I'm not going there if you don't want to, but I don't have to to make my point. I'm not getting in his way, but if he's not there..." Boomer blew out a long breath. "Gods, Starbuck, I'm so confused right now. Could you just let me alone?"

"Sorry, Boom-Boom. I mean, I know you wouldn't... Are you serious?"

"I don't know. Yes," he added after a moment. "I think I fell for her almost as soon as he did. It's not important."

"Not much it's not. But it is one hell of a mess." He brooded over his glass.

Boomer hated seeing him like that. Personally, if he'd been carrying a torch for a guy for so long and finally heard that it wouldn't screw up his career plus that he might not be so interested in his girlfriend, he'd have been bubbling with happiness. Trust Starbuck to do it his own way. "Look," he said finally, "she probably went where she usually goes when she isn't with him or Athena. And you said there's nothing between her and Bojay, so..." And maybe he did understand Starbuck, at that.

"Bojay," Starbuck said. "Yeah, you're probably right." He shook his head and manufactured a smile. "Maybe I should point out to Apollo that he needs to spend a little more time with her if she's not going to laugh in his face when he proposes."

"I don't think she'd laugh," Boomer said and heard himself sounding so wistful it startled him.

"If we were in a vid," Starbuck said abruptly, "no one would believe us. Sorry, Boom-Boom."

"I'll survive."

"I know. But, well, I know."

"Forget it." He straightened in his seat. "Let's get drunk."

"Sounds like a plan," Starbuck agreed, waving at the waiter.

Athena raised her hand and signalled the waiter to bring them another round. Sheba's glass still had a couple of fingers in it; she raised it and downed the slightly citrus drink in a single swallow. After two yahrens of the same-old, same-old of the Peggy, life in the Last Fleet did have its compensations to go along with its problems. Civilized drinks were one. Actual time off was another. A future... well, to be honest she hadn't decided if that was a compensation or a problem. They'd all junked the concept of a future so thoroughly that it was still hard to adjust to having one.

Usually she was sure that her fear of committing to something that would last for decades was the reason she kept pulling back from Apollo and the future he offered. Sometimes, though, she thought he was offering for all the wrong reasons and that was what she was sensing, why she helped him never quite get to the point of putting it into words.

And now, of course, she was completely confused about everything. Maybe Bojay had the right idea, after all. Except that he, irritatingly, was now having second thoughts himself. Futures, again... She sighed. Not having one had made life so much simpler. Nothing had had any consequences.

Yesterday had been terrifyingly fraught with consequences.

After she'd suddenly remembered Apollo and pulled away from Boomer, seeing her confusion reflected in his dark eyes along with her desire, after she'd stammered some disjointed phrase or other and actually bolted out of the debriefing room, after she'd fetched up in her quarters, shaking and angry (though not sure at what, or whom), she'd called Apollo. Starbuck had answered, telling her that Apollo was at his father's and he didn't know if he'd be back. She'd left no message and called Bojay, who had shown up within centons.

"Come on," he'd said comfortably, "don't worry. I know you weren't combat track, but didn't you have Physiology of Stress?"

"I don't remember a course like that."

He'd smiled. "Well, maybe SMA didn't figure girls would get stressed."

She'd snorted. "More likely they didn't want to put notions in our heads. Gods forbid they actually give us any useful information."

He'd laughed; her complaints about the Sagittan educational system always amused him though he sympathized with her when she wished her father had put her up for his alma mater instead of the one her mother's family entitled her to. Of course, the Sagittans had taught her to fly... "Anyway," Bojay had added, "you've been stressed. You know what it is."

"The reflex to procreate before going out and actually succeeding in getting yourself killed the next time?" She'd shaken her head. "With Boomer, though? Just because he was there?"

"Probably not," he'd grown serious. "He'd been through it, too. And you like Boomer, right? I mean, you seem to get along with him."

"I do, of course. But..."

"No buts, girl. You like him, and he was there, and Apollo wasn't. Isn't, I suppose, since you've settled for me."

"He's at his father's," she'd said, avoiding that sidepath. "I called."

He'd shrugged. "Don't worry. It wouldn't have counted, anyway."

"I don't think Apollo would agree with. Or Boomer," she'd realized.

"Or you." He'd hugged her. "It's okay, Sheba. You didn't do anything to be ashamed of. You're only human, after all."

She'd relaxed in his hold, and realized that she didn't want to talk about it any more. It was too recent, too jumbled. She needed some perspective on it, some distance to give it clarity. So she'd turned the subject a little, and they'd spent the next few centares drinking and discussing exactly what Cain would have done with the whole notion of the Council trying to run things.

It wasn't until she had woken up in the morning to find Bojay still there, sound asleep and looking as uncomplicated and innocent as someone already losing his hair and in need of a shave could, that she had realized it was his night for going to the Rising Star and meeting his... whatever you called it. 'Lover' sounded so personal, but it was the same man every time, and Boj actually seemed to know stuff about him, like where he was from and what books he liked to read, so 'sex partner' seemed a bit impersonal. Gods, she'd realized then, she really wanted 'lover' to be the right word. She'd seen the look in Boj's eyes when he had been coaxed to talk about the man and it was the same sort of look she'd seen there when he'd been with Mao.

Of course, he'd been with Mao openly, not once or twice a secton in secret. But that wasn't possible here. Still, she'd thought, he could at least know the man's name. Was that asking so much? She'd sighed and brushed his hair back off his face. She'd have missed him like nobody's business but maybe he'd have been better off on the Peggy, where her father ran things his own way and the hell with the service even before Molecay. Been happier somewhere where he could fall in love again without all this peripheral felgarcarb when Mao stopped being a hurt and became a good memory. Somewhere where he was valued for his whole self, not just the part that someone thought was acceptable.

"Hey." She'd missed his waking up. "What's up?"

"Actually, I was thinking about you and Mao," she'd said.

"Really?" He'd yawned and shaken his head. "Whatever for?"

"You were supposed to go to that club last night, weren't you? I'm sorry."

He'd looked at his chrono, running his hand through his hair and automatically smoothing it back down. "No problem." He'd sat up and stretched. "It's not like we have a standing date or anything. He'll figure I was on duty."

"I hope so. I didn't mean to make you miss it."

"It won't kill me. You know I'm here for you when you need it."

"I know." That seemed so inadequate, looking back, but there hadn't been anything else to say.

After a moment he'd said, "So why were you thinking about Mao? Just general nostalgia, or you still disapproving of my private life?"

"I am not. Well, not exactly. I just think you deserve... different."

He'd shrugged. "Not every commander is your dad."

"He always said you and Mao were two of his best pilots."

"We were," he'd nodded; like most pilots, there was no false modesty there. "But he was a force of nature, your dad. Made his own rules. He should never have promoted us to lieutenant."

"He thought that was stupid. And you know it: why else did he make you captain and acting Wing after Volodymyr died? It wasn't like there wasn't anybody else. He hadn't confirmed it because he didn't want to take you out of a Viper and put you behind a desk. After he came over here and saw Apollo double-hatting as wing commander and squadron leader he meant to make you do the same—" She'd had to laugh at his expression. Punching him lightly, she'd said, "It would have been an honor, you idiot."

"Sounds like it would have been twice as much work," he'd grumbled, but under it he'd been pleased. She'd been saving it for a moment when he needed bucking up a bit, and she hoped this was the right one. She was so glad he was thinking about the future again. Sooner or later a squadron leader spot would open up here, and she'd make sure Apollo knew Bojay was overqualified for the job. And nobody from the Peggy, not even Glyn and Silas who were morally opposed to homosexuality, would breathe a word that would jeopardize any of their futures.

"It's not like Apollo has much free time, seems like," Bojay had added.

"What you mean," she'd said, "is that he doesn't spend it all with me. You are aware that we aren't promised yet? In fact, we've only known each other half a yahren."

"And you know he met and married his first wife in a sixth that."

"And a lot of people think that was too fast," she'd answered, and he'd read her tone and changed the subject, and then he'd had to leave to get ready to go on shift. She hoped... actually, she wasn't sure what she hoped. That he was right and missing an evening hadn't ruined his affair, she supposed, but she had never reconciled herself to it. She hated it, in fact, and even though she knew that here on the Galactica he'd have to be circumspect, and she was angrier on his behalf than he was over that, she couldn't help believing that he'd be happier if he could do the simple things again, just eat dinner with his lover.

She sighed. Worrying over Bojay's future was easier than worrying over her own, but it wouldn't help, not either of them.

"What's that for?" Athena's voice startled her; she'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone. "Problems?"

Sheba looked across the table into the other woman's pale blue eyes. They were usually a trio on these girls' nights out, but this secton was the one where the three of them were all on different shifts. She didn't mind, really, though she thought Athena was more comfortable with Cassie there. For herself, though she'd come to like Cassie well enough, there was always a bit of forcing required. And tonight she was glad the blonde wasn't there for another reason: she wasn't sure how they could talk about Apollo and Boomer without Starbuck coming into it. And if Cassie was serious about Starbuck... Oh for, she thought. How do things get so complicated, anyway?

"You could say that," she said. "But when couldn't you?"

Athena laughed. "How true that is." She paused, then asked, "Anything I can help you with? Need my brother explained, for instance?"

"I might take you up on that sometime," Sheba replied. "But actually... If I can get personal?"

"Of course you can. Friends are allowed to ask personal questions." Her smile was impish.

Sheba turned her glass around a couple of times, trying to decide. If she asked, she'd have to talk about it. But getting drunk hadn't helped, and neither had thinking about it on her own, and what had especially not helped was listening to Boomer's voice over channel two when they'd been on patrol. Avoiding him afterwards had been easy, because he was avoiding her, but the few times during the day when they'd had to be in the same room... Maybe, she thought, maybe Athena's answer would settle it.

"Why did you break up with Boomer?"

Athena blinked startled blue eyes. Clearly that hadn't been the question she'd been expecting. "Why did I—Why?"

"Well, I mean, was it something he did? Is there something about him—"

"Boomer? No," Athena shook her head decisively. "There's nothing wrong with Boomer; he's a perfectly wonderful man..." Her voice trailed off and she cocked her head to one side. "He is, actually. Our breakup had nothing to do with him at all. You don't find him nice? Or you do?"

"I don't know. Oh, of course I know, he's very nice, I've always thought so. It's just... lately I've noticed he's..."

"Yes?" The brunette was encouraging.

"Trying to impress me, I guess, though I don't think he realized it."

"Is he succeeding?"

"Well..." She sighed and then shrugged. "There wouldn't be a problem if he weren't, I guess. I haven't gone off Apollo, I don't mean that. It's just..."

"I don't think dating someone means you aren't allowed to notice other people. Men do it all the time, after all."

"I haven't before."

"Are you serious?" Athena was a portrait of surprise: raised eyebrows, open mouth, wide eyes.

Sheba felt a bit defensive. "Yes. I really haven't ever been that serious about anybody before this, though. So I mean, I've noticed other men, of course, just haven't been in a situation where it felt wrong."

"Oh, well," Athena shook her head. "I wouldn't worry about it. Boomer's quite a good specimen, after all, eminently notice-worthy. And it's not like Apollo has been monopolizing your time, after all."

"No."

Athena raised a slender, arched eyebrow. "'No'? Just 'No'? Maybe I should drop a word in his ear for you?"

"No, don't do that. I mean," she backtracked, "I don't think that's such a good idea, telling a man he has to forget about his friends. I know I don't want to give up mine. Not that Apollo has asked me to, though I don't think he's ever going to be good friends with Bojay. But couples can't go everywhere joined at the hip, can they? I mean, they're individuals, right? And Boomer told me—a long time ago," she hastily added, "that Apollo was actually ready to give up Starbuck for his wife and that he, Boomer I mean, was glad I didn't mind them, him and Starbuck, hanging out with Apollo. I mean, Apollo is glad, too... Oh, for." She shook her head. "I don't really know what I mean," she admitted.

"I think you mean that you don't mind if Apollo skives off with Starbuck when he ought to be taking you places so you can get to know each other well enough to decide if you should get Sealed, which would annoy me considerably I have to say. Unless of course you already know and the two of you are just waiting until it's been a yahren since Serina died to make your announcement... or, knowing my brother, to start really public dating. Is that it? If so, you're right about him and Starbuck and Boomer; he'll be happier if he can keep them as friends, and I always did think Serina was riding for a fall."

Sheba wondered briefly how true that was; there was a doubtful tone in Athena's voice, as if she thought Boomer's assessment was right and Apollo had been willing to sacrifice his friendship. Thought it, or feared it. But in Sheba's opinion what Apollo might have been willing to do while reeling from the Destruction and what he was willing to do now weren't necessarily the same. Lords knew, plenty of people had gone more than a little crazy when everything ended. Athena was probably talking about the inevitable fallout from Apollo's getting his feet back under him; Sheba had seen enough of his temper in the last half-yahren to guess that wouldn't have been pretty. But she didn't waste much time on that thought because she needed to set Athena straight.

"No," she said. "That's not it. I haven't made up my mind. How could I, I mean, he's never said anything concrete to me?"

Athena smiled. "Most of the women I've talked to have had their minds made up long before the guy got around to asking them. Sure, sometimes it's a big surprise, but that just usually means they blurt out a 'no' without cushioning it any because they didn't have a chance to head him off. You've been more or less dating him for the last five sectares, and except for Bojay you don't go out with anyone else. You have to have thought about it."

"Bojay doesn't count," Sheba dodged the question for a centon. "He's like Starbuck."

"Really?"

"I mean, he's the opposite of Starbuck... I mean, he's the best friend I've ever had or ever will have and I'll no more stop seeing him than Apollo will stop seeing Starbuck, but Bojay's not interested in me, like Starbuck is in Apollo, not even a little bit—oh, frack. Don't tell anyone."

"Don't worry," Athena said with such uttermost sincerity that Sheba didn't doubt her for a micron. "I won't. Does Apollo know?"

"Only that Boj and I are just friends, that's all. He believes that, but he's too senior for the truth. He thinks Boj's lover was my girlfriend, I think." She shrugged. "Anyway, he's never seemed jealous."

"That's so very unlike him," Athena said. "Or maybe I'm being unfair to him. After all, he never was serious before Serina, and she never gave him any cause to be jealous; she didn't have any friends." She made a little moue. "And that was unfair to her. But she was certainly fixated on him and Boxey. Maybe she was just that kind of woman."

Sheba shook her head. "I'm not. I hope he doesn't want that from me."

"Oh, he knows you're not. Though—you don't mind Boxey, do you?"

"Oh, no. I'm not going to marry him to be a mother, mind you, but I like the child well enough. I'm just not prepared to obsess over them. Either of them."

"That's all right then. I think," she lowered her voice a tiny bit, "that he knows he made a mistake with her. Anyway, I think he enjoys that you've got a life, even though I know he was unhappy when Serina trained to be a combat pilot." She hesitated. "He was actually, according to Boxey, not that happy at first when she trained to be a shuttle pilot, but he got over that."

"Well, he's never made me think he wishes I wasn't a pilot. Maybe he was just afraid she'd get killed, being new at it. Like—" she broke off.

"Like Zac?" Athena didn't miss a beat. "You may be right, at that. Anyway, he brags on you to Father, so I don't think he minds. So, you have been thinking about it?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it," she nodded. Just what she'd been thinking, though, she didn't say. At any rate, she thought, I don't have to decide anything for a few more sectons at worst anyway, if he's waiting a yahren. But as she turned to signal a waiter, she wondered if she'd been really thinking about it at all, or just assuming. And whether it was an assumption she really wanted to spend the rest of her life living up to.

Adama sighed in relief as his office door slid shut behind him. Sometimes he wished he weren't President. Sometimes he wished he weren't The Commander, with, as he'd heard Omega say once, not knowing he was listening, the very definite article. Or, barring that, if he had to be the commander he could have wished for no Council. Not that he had ambitions to become a military dictator, at least not on his good days, but he couldn't help but think how restful it would be, simply saying "Do this" and having it done.

It was so very annoying when he had to spend a couple of centares he could ill spare from the business of running the Fleet coaxing the Council into agreeing with things they wouldn't, in the old days, have paid much if any attention to. Nowadays they wanted to micro-manage. It was perhaps understandable, and after all it wasn't as though there was actually much else for them to do, but still. He dropped the files on his desk (he routinely scandalized Tigh and the rest of his bridge staff by carrying his own files) and sighed heavily again. You couldn't say that hating change was a feature of old age, of course, but nonetheless it seemed to him that the Council was filled with old men who wanted desperately to keep as many things as they could precisely as they had once been. Again, he understood their motivation, but nothing they could do could restore the Colonies to their former glory, or anything even vaguely resembling it. Even if they had shaken the Cylons (and Adama was beginning to allow himself to hope that, a secret small hope), it was ludicrous to believe that they would not encounter other life out here, life which might be as implacably xenophobic as... many humans are. He felt in his bones that the fleet was hardly done fighting its way to Earth, and even when they arrived it would be cap-in-hand, poor relatives who had thrown away their heritage in despair, Dark Ages, and warfare. It wouldn't be very surprising to him, he thought at times in his own darkness, if their brothers of Earth gave them a little corner of that shining planet to live in by themselves.

But that was in the future, and an unknown amount of time at that. He'd allowed himself to hope earlier, they all had. Well, he had to smile: not all. Starbuck at least had resisted the general euphoria, the hope that the Beings of Light had meant they were close. "How d'you get to Umbra from Caprica City?" he'd asked. "Walk due west.... about six thousand metrics. It's gonna take a while." And he was right, of course; whoever they had been, the Beings hadn't thought to include a timeframe with their course. Forty-nine yahrens wandering in the wilderness... that's how long it had taken the Kobolians to reach Caprica. He rather hoped it would be much less this time around.

It would seem like seven times seven sevens if he had to fight the Council the whole way.

He laughed, then. Perhaps that was their plan: make him retire. But if so, he had a surprise waiting for them. In the first place, he could outlast many of them, and in the second, he wasn't retiring until Apollo was ready to take his place.

As he had centurons of times already in the past eleven or so sectares, Adama paused to give heartfelt thanks to all the gods and the Lords of Kobol that he had given in to his formless urges and brought all his children under his wing, calling in favors to have assignments changed. Apollo had worried about charges of nepotism; Adama hadn't, being serenely aware that his oldest was more than capable of proving such charges irrelevant if not untrue. Ila had been angry that Athena's promised tour at the General Staff in Cap City had been postponed, but Adama was sure she was now, and had been since the day itself, glad their daughter hadn't been on Caprica on the Day of Destruction. Zac... Well, perhaps nothing could have saved his youngest. At least he'd had the gift of as good a death as one could have.

Adama sat down and picked up a picture from his desk. It was the only one there was in existance of all three of his children together in uniform. Athena had taken it the day after Zac had arrived; Adama had seen the whole cartridge (the rest were Zac and Athena clowning together as they always had) and this was the only one with Apollo in it. He didn't precisely look as if he wished his graceless younger siblings had left him alone to go and do whatever it was was waiting for him, but in his proud and fond smile was a hint of indulgence. Zac was standing beside him, half a head taller and young enough to still grow, looking sideways at him, hoping for that pride to be there and glad it was... He had died trying to impress his brother, but he had died well, not foolishly, and perhaps strengthened by Apollo's presence. Adama hoped so. Easing Apollo's grief and guilt had not been easy, though it had helped him to have his living son to focus on...

And Apollo had emerged from that stronger and more determined than he had been before. Grimmer, a bit, and less yielding, soberer and more cautious, and yet at the same time even more inclined to take risks on others' behalfs, and far less tolerant of anyone who put those under his command in needless jeopardy. Adama could have wished that the end of Zac's young life hadn't ended Apollo's youth quite so ruthlessly, but he had to admit that having a third in command who might as well have had fifty or sixty years in uniform was a blessing as things stood. Already he had startled the Council, and if they thought he'd be easier to deal with once in command, they were in for Hades' own surprise.

Though he hoped by then the Council would be made up of people who were themselves more adult. Not that he had any great hopes for that: people tended to elect those who appealed to their emotions, not their reason, and thus politicians, many of them, tended to be creatures of emotion themselves, and to argue in emotional terms even if they were not. As witness this morning's argument—this morning's acrimonious fight, more honestly—about the new regulations. About the final sentence of the new regulations, to be exact.

"It's bad for morale they always say, but exactly how it's bad was somehow assumed to be self-evident. I know I never thought about it," Tigh had said to his raised eyebrows. "I don't like it, but thinking about it I realized why, and it's not reason enough to penalize good Warriors so drastically." At Adama's invitation he'd shrugged and elaborated, "I'm not comfortable with having a man make a pass at me. But women have been saying 'no' for millenia, haven't they? I suppose I can learn how, assuming it ever comes up, that is," he'd added, "which I hope it doesn't. And I suppose there's no real basis for assuming that many flit warriors won't abide by the harrassment regulations; most straight ones manage."

But such straightforward and plain thinking had been beyond the council. Of course, Adama had refused, in case of failure, to offer them the name that had made Tigh actually start thinking about it. Tigh had told him, confident that no matter what was eventually decided Adama would take no action against his flag lieutenant. But Adama wouldn't have put it past some on the Council, had they succeeded in defeating the proposal, to insist on action, self-destructive as that would have been. Recognizing self-destructive behavior wasn't their long suit, as recent events had borne witness to, in case he hadn't already known it.

One or two of them had the wits the gods had given barnyard fowl, but not more than that. Tinia, Ariana, maybe Anton... and even Tinia had needed to be hit up the side of the head very hard, as Zac would have said, to change her way of thinking. Though she had... Still, she was a politician first and he wasn't forgetting that, no matter what else occurred to him.

He put the picture down and glanced through the transparent partition across the bridge. He'd been less surprised by Tigh's information than he had been by Tigh's giving it to him, if the truth were told. There wasn't anything he could have singled out, but if nothing else he'd never shared his old friend's belief that there were no flit people serving on the First Fleet's flagship. By the law of averages there were probably two or three, and considering that anyone so devoted to his career that he would sink his private life so deeply into the shadows was probably very good at it, any number of his unmarried officers or senior enlisted might well be flit. What he'd wondered at, and wondered at now as he watched Tigh and Omega discuss something, was who it was Tigh hadn't mentioned. Though he might be able to guess, if he were so inclined, which he wasn't, or had the time, which he didn't. Which he most certainly did not.

He squared up the files and decided he was not going to put dinner this evening back by so much as a centon, despite having lost time to the Council. He could work late tomorrow if need be, but tonight he was dining with his family. On time. He shook his head. Not having to deal with the Council would make everything so much simpler from all perspectives. Especially given that the Service's traditional distrust of politicians was at least as strong as the reverse, and stronger now with almost everyone in uniform still blaming the Council for the Destruction to at least some degree. Perhaps they didn't all go as far Starbuck's "Twelve Old Idiots", but then again, not all of them (or even many) were as insouciant as his son's friend. Though there was Tigh's undiplomatic "I wouldn't trust that lot to lead me across a street." And Omega's hyper-correct formality which, if you knew him, translated into contempt rather than respect. And his own son's monosyllabic growls about politicians (and how he could turn that word into a monosyllable was beyond Adama's understanding). And junior officers' pointed avoidance of the councillors, and the mutters that faded instantly when he came into view. And he didn't even want to contemplate what the enlisted men were saying; it might have been decades since he was placed to hear the sergeants talking, but he doubted they'd lost their command of invective.

He had to smile and then chuckle. On sober second reflection, perhaps the only difference between Starbuck and the rest of the Galactica's crew was that he didn't scruple to make his comments out loud and at Adama's table.

His table... He sighed again. He was very glad he'd made the effort some sectares ago and pulled Starbuck back into the family when he'd been in danger of drifting away. Athena had felt awkward, and Apollo... Well, Apollo had been the one to really cut Starbuck loose in the first place. He'd wanted him back, but he'd had no idea how to reverse his actions. No. He'd known how, but he hadn't been able to do it. Apollo and Starbuck: in some ways they were closer than he and Tigh had ever been, but with that extra dimension to it that he and his old friend had not had. That would always complicate things between them, even without a wife for one. He and Ila had thought, but they'd been wrong, though Adama had only been sure of that when Starbuck's eye had fallen on Athena. He had known that Apollo would not let his sister be used, in any way. And then Apollo had married himself, and now was thinking of remarriage, and Adama had finally come to understand the younger men, his son and his friend.

Sheba was a wedge between them, though if Starbuck married Cassiopeia it would at least keep them in the same life-stage. Once that wouldn't have been so important for serving Warriors; Tigh had married nearly forty yahrens before he had even met Ila. But now, with wives here, it would serve as a break point, and Adama thought Starbuck had been willing to accept that. He hadn't wanted to, though, and when Adama had cornered him and told him to come to dinner he had offered only one sentence of token resistance. Being Apollo's informal foster brother was obviously more desirable than being only his wingman.

And that wasn't counting the foster sister, nephew, and father that came along with the position, though Adama was fairly sure that if the choice came to it, Starbuck would take Apollo alone over the three of them. Because any doubts he'd still had about the quality of Starbuck's feelings had been put to rest, once and for all, when Apollo had died. Apollo himself treated that like a rather ordinary medical marvel, but neither Starbuck nor Sheba were able to. Adama had been shaken listening to Starbuck's description of it and that was while knowing that Apollo was alive in the next room, returned to them. He understood his son's reluctance to have much made of it; even as a boy Apollo had worried how those who were miraculously cured of something were ever able to live normal lives without being labelled more the message than the medium. Plus, in an apparently unspoken confederacy, both Sheba and Starbuck tended to downplay it when they spoke to, or even around, Apollo. But Adama was not fooled. For Sheba, not yet in love with Apollo, it had still been one more death and one for which she still, if Adama wasn't mistaken, felt a lingering bit of guilt. For Starbuck it had been devastating, an emotional whipsaw that had left him bleeding inside and doing his very best to hide that from Apollo.

Adama had remonstrated with him over that, but he'd been firm. Apollo didn't need to see it, it would only make him feel guilty at best; he'd get over his nightmares, seeing Apollo every day would do that; Apollo would hate it, would see as being fussed over; no good purpose would be served... He'd had more to say but Adama had capitulated. And indeed Starbuck had recovered his equilibrium, at least outwardly, in good time. The only real symptom that hinted otherwise was his unflagging resolve to keep Apollo and Sheba together. Adama couldn't really quarrel with that, it made Apollo happier than the visible, if mild, distress his marriage to Serina had caused Starbuck, but of late it had occurred to him that Starbuck seemed to want that marriage more than either of the principals did.

His gaze drifted across his desk to the image of his wife. What would you think of Sheba and Apollo? he wondered, and then he wondered exactly when he'd stopped thinking of her in the present tense. Abruptly he wanted to see his family again. Looking at his chrono he decided he could leave, and he rose and went out onto the bridge.

Tigh and Omega were still talking, but when Tigh saw him he broke off. He was used to Adama's eccentricities, but even after five yahrens Omega still wanted to announce "Commander's on the bridge": Adama could tell by the way he stiffened slightly and then relaxed. Tigh raised an eyebrow as Adama joined them.

"Success, Colonel," Adama said. "And I'm going to celebrate it by leaving a few centons early." Another thought struck him and he added, "And the two of you do the same thing."

"Commander?" Tigh asked.

"Go," Adama said, making a slight shooing motion with his hand. "I see Lieutenant Charis is already here, so neither of you have an excuse. I suspect a time and motion study would show you both spend two-thirds of your time here anyway, or very nearly, so go. Relax. Enjoy yourselves."

With a perfectly straight face Omega said, "We are enjoying ourselves, sir."

Adama laughed.

"It's true," Tigh added.

"Although I believe it," Adama said, smiling, "it's a sad commentary on the state of things. Both of you run along and have fun. That's an order."

Tigh chuckled. "You must be having the family in this evening. That always makes you feel paternal. Or patriarchal, perhaps? No," he shook his head. "I don't think patriarchs say 'run along now'." He looked at the younger man. "I think we have our orders. Lieutenant Charis?" She turned from her inconspicuous position. "You have the bridge."

"Yes, sir."

Tigh started to walk off with Adama but paused. "Lieutenant Omega?"

"There are a few things I need to bring Lieutenant Charis up to speed on. I won't be five centons behind you."

"Amazing, that boy," Tigh observed softly as they left. "Never smiles on duty, no matter what the provocation."

"Never?" Adama lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, hardly ever," Tigh chuckled. "He has been known to, once or twice... What's your game, Adama?"

The turbolift opened for them. "What makes you think I have one?"

"After ninety yahrens you have to ask? But I doubt he's going to go out and fall in love tonight, you know."

"I don't expect him to. But all work and no play, isn't that the saying?"

Tigh replied comfortably, "My version of that ends, 'makes Jack good at his job', but I take your point." The turbolift halted and the doors opened. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Thank you. I believe I will. Tigh—" An idea had struck him.

The colonel turned back to him. "Yes?"

"Set up a dinner next secton, why don't you? You, me, Apollo, Omega... Charis, Tellerat, and the squadron leaders as well. In the Officers' Club."

"Senior Staff Suppers?" Tigh asked, referring to a tradition that had flourished when they were junior officers. "Why not? It's probably a very good idea."

"I'm glad you think so. We need to stop living as though we're in a state of emergency: that much I'll give the Council."

"That much is enough," Tigh said firmly. "I'll see to it."

Yes, Adama thought as he walked to his quarters, it's high time we stopped living as though we're in crisis. We are, of course, but it's time to begin behaving normally again. He keyed himself in. His batman had brought dinner already; it was warming in the serving room and filling the air with a tantalizing aroma and Adama realized he'd missed lunch. Again. The table was set and the room inviting. He poured himself a glass of nectar and sat in his favorite chair to savor the quiet which would soon be broken by a boisterous seven-yahren-old boy. Not that he didn't love Boxey, of course, but a steady diet of anything soon becomes bland. The door chimed. Even quiet, he thought and got up to let in his family.

The table balanced better without Boomer, he had to admit, or would have if it hadn't been for Boxey. Cassiopeia and Sheba on either side of him, and Starbuck and Apollo at Athena's sides. He'd debated putting Boxey between her and her brother but had opted for her and Starbuck, instead. Apollo could quell his son across the table without feeling the need to spend all evening dealing with him, and though Athena was thus stuck between her brother and her nephew that was probably better than between her nephew and her ex-boyfriend.

Adama regarded her across the low, flickering candles in the center of the table. She was still bright and keen, but tonight she seemed quieter. Not subdued, no; but calm. As if, he thought reflectively, she'd found her own center at last. Perhaps she'd learned to seek it in herself and not in a man, Adama thought, thinking back over the last few sectons and seeing the change as having begun at the same time that she and Boomer had stopped seeing each other. She was still so young, his daughter; her whole life was ahead of her (if not the life he'd dreamed she would have), and he'd hated to see her trying to define herself by whether she had a boyfriend or not. He wanted her to be happy, but he didn't think that meant—he blinked in surprise at the turn his thoughts had taken. Well. Tigh, my old friend, perhaps I could not have guessed after all.

But if she was at ease, the others weren't. The strain was less than it had been on other nights, but it was still there. And he wasn't missing the glances that Athena was exchanging with Sheba, though he didn't know precisely what they meant... Oh, dear. Not that he would object, but awkward wouldn't begin to describe the situation.

Aware that that was an excuse for something he'd been thinking about doing anyway, he waited until Boxey was monopolizing Athena and the others were talking to their partners and then opened his mind to them, listening again...

Starbuck and Cassiopeia were the same: bright edges and layers on layers and hints of love and resignation. Not for the first time he noticed how alike they were, but tonight it struck him that she, too, had that feeling of making-do that characterized Starbuck. In a way that relieved him, for he'd become fond of her, too, but it was a bit disquieting. A thought that had been teasing at his mind for a long time crystallized: no wonder IFB has found that romances are their most popular shows, we're all settling for second... For just a moment Tinia's face crossed his mind, but he dismissed her and looked at his son instead.
Apollo, not surprisingly, was still impervious. Still guarding his privacy. Adama wondered just when, if ever, and with whom, if anyone, Apollo would ever relinquish that, and if his somber son would ever truly be happy if he didn't. Someday, if he could ever find a few spare centares, he would have to have a long talk with him. But not tonight. He moved on before he grew too tired to do this.
Sheba was still missing her father, of course, but the pain was lessening. In time it would recede to a fond memory, even as Athena's thoughts of Ila were now bearable; children losing parents was natural, after all, and the mind took care of it. Parents losing their children... that was an ever green shock. He dismissed that to concentrate on his old friend's daughter, and realized that she was no longer focussed on Apollo. She was content enough to be there, at his side, but more than her grief had gone. The bright strength remained, but her emotions were for someone else, but it was someone not here tonight, though she wasn't familiar enough for him to be sure who. And she didn't think Apollo cared one way or the other, really. I do have to talk to him, Adama realized. Soon.
And, finally, he looked at Athena... Here was the good news he'd hoped to find; she was as much at peace as he had ever known her, or more, her denial gone and in its place a calm certainty. He could sense that the future was bright for her, and in that joyful discovery he finally gave in to the strain and the sense that he was being called and let go...

"Father?" Apollo's voice was concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, son," he said. "Just woolgathering." He contemplated bringing up the new regulations, but if his suspicions, any of them, were correct he had no desire to put Apollo on the spot like that. "Just thinking of the problems facing us if we try to start training officer-cadets in the whole curriculum."

"Must we, sir?" Starbuck said irrepressibly. "I've certainly not found that being able to take sines and cosines and arc tangents, or remember dates or lines of verse, or even, really, understanding political science has made me a better officer."

"Perhaps," Athena and Apollo said simultaneously; she smiled and gestured to him and he finished, grinning, "if you actually could do any of that it would."

"Tell me you were going to agree with me, Theni."

"I would, but I've sworn off lying," she laughed.

"At least the commander agrees with me, don't you, sir? You did say 'problems' and 'try', didn't you?"

Adama laughed; one could always count on Starbuck to lighten the moment. "I did," he said. "But perhaps I should only say that we cannot count upon all our cadets being like you."

"Gods forbid!" Apollo said, apparently sincerely, and the rest of them laughed, except for Boxey, who said,

"Well, I think it would be good if they were all like Starbuck. If they can't be like you, that is, Dad."

"Good save," Starbuck grinned.

And Athena said, apparently to no one in particular, "Frankly, I'm not sure which would be worse."

After the laughter died down Sheba offered, "Surely there are people in the fleet who could teach? Or at least who know the subjects? I'm sure Iolaus could teach mathematics, and you must have Warriors who were good at something you want cadets to learn—" That was delivered with a quick, almost impish grin at Starbuck.

He shook his head and leaned over to stage-whisper to a giggling Boxey, "You're my only friend, kiddo."

Sheba added, "And there must be civilians with some knowledge out there."

"We'd have to have some way of verifying their credentials," Apollo said.

"Does that mean you have to know they're teachers?" asked Boxey. "'Cause you can take mine."

"That's very generous, Boxey, but I don't think we can deprive you and the rest of the children of a good education."

"But Warriors are more important, aren't they?"

"Nice try," said Starbuck. "But I believe the preferred response to that is, 'Children are our future'."

"I could go to instruction in the future."

"Oh, you will," Starbuck assured him. "For about, oh, fourteen more yahrens. Maybe more."

"None of you are still going!"

"Bless you, Boxey," Athena laughed. "But even I am more than fourteen yahrens older than you. Not much more," she added.

"And I'm still going to school," Cassiopeia said.

"But you're going to be a doctor! That's hard."

"Yes," she said gravely, but her lapis eyes were full of the laughter she was suppressing. "Much, much harder than being a Warrior."

Boxey looked a bit doubtful. Starbuck said, "Your dad would have been going back to school in a yahren or so, if the Senior Staff College still existed."

"More than that," Apollo protested.

"Are you thinking about that as well, Father?"

"It's a much lower priority," he said, "but you can see the difficulties."

"Well," Athena said firmly, "you're entitled to woolgather over them, but not on our time."

"I'll endeavor," he said, "to refrain."

"See that you do," she smiled at him. "Now, what's for dessert?"

Bojay gave the dark head on his shoulder an irritable glance and shrugged sharply to dislodge it, adding a touch of elbow to the ribs as he did. Jolly, his snores not interrupted in the slightest, slumped to his other side up against the wall of the shuttle. Bojay sighed. There were plenty of pilots he'd not mind having fall asleep on him, but Jolly wasn't one of them. He liked Jolly all right, that wasn't it, but the burly man weighed more than half again what he did, and he snored, and, well, his just wasn't a face Bojay wanted to see from that close.

He yawned, keeping his mouth shut with an effort even though there wasn't anybody looking at him. He was tired, too; they all were, in fact, but in the last half-yahren or so, ever since leaving the Peggy, he'd been unable to sleep in public no matter how tired he'd become. He supposed that he could have slept if he'd been exhausted, but here you rarely got that worn out without a break. They had plenty of pilots, and they weren't running strikes around the clock. He sighed softly to himself. We have plenty of pilots, and we aren't running strikes around the clock.

But he was getting better at that, he told himself. He was finally starting to think of the Galactica as home instead of the place where he was trapped. Home... he almost laughed. Even when he'd been stationed here before, he hadn't really felt at home on her. He heard himself chuckle. Actually, it had felt almost exactly like home, just without the occasional getting smacked around, which is why he'd been so willing to accept the transfer opportunity when it came along, just as he'd scrambled for one of the open slots at PMA. The prestige of the First Fleet hadn't meant much to him; it and a cubit would buy him a cup of kava. But he hadn't expected what he'd found on the Peggy.

And not just Mao, either. The Skipper. He remembered Mao saying once, sleepily, that the only thing about serving openly under Cain was that you couldn't go someplace else to move your career along. Bojay, a lieutenant and a squadron leader at the time, neither of which he by rights ought to be if Mao was going to be sleeping next to him in his quarters—in their quarters—had merely said, running his hand along that golden, naked back, "And where exactly is it you want to be besides here?" But it was true; he was tied to Cain in more ways than one.

Waking up on the Galactica, realizing that he was there for the foreseeable future, that part hadn't mattered so much. None of it had... Mao had been dead and so had his career, and so soon enough, he figured, would he be.

But here he was, alive and probably in love and a lieutenant... And if these new regs were for real, maybe he could stay all three. That was why they were all tired; Apollo had called a meeting of the whole Wing at oh-dark-fifty that morning to go over them. The captain had probably been the only one in the room carefully not looking at someone when he'd gone over the new officer/other ranks rules; most eyes had gone to either Lieutenant Robin or Flight-Sergeant Giles, though neither of them had looked at the other. Nor had they reacted; Giles, who was Bojay's favorite of the wingmen he'd flown with since coming over, might be reckless but he wasn't stupid. But they'd been forgotten as soon as the chain-of-command rules were laid out, and people began eyeing the captain and Sheba instead. Bojay had wondered a bit, well, Sheba had wondered a bit too, if Apollo was slow because of the fraternization regs, despite precedent. Or even, perhaps, because of precedent. He'd contemplating taking it up with the man, but never had and now perhaps just as well. Not that the man would have appreciated it from him under the best of circumstances.

He glanced sideways at Jolly. Nice that the man didn't mind sleeping on top of someone else, he supposed, given the general uneasiness that the third reg had provoked. He'd thought Apollo had looked at him when he'd read it, but he was probably just being paranoid. Or not, he supposed, considering that the regulation change meant he wouldn't be in line for demotion... Maybe Apollo was just saying he didn't care but letting him know he'd known. A man like the captain would hate to let you think he'd been fooled... Not that it mattered. Or should matter, anyway.

Anyway, he supposed that once these fair flowers so worried about their virtue realized that they weren't so much the answer to love's young dream as they thought they were things would settle down. At some point they'd have to understand that few people really wanted to sleep with someone who was repulsed by them... On the other hand, he'd heard Dietra remarking caustically that it would do men good to be on the receiving end of a few force-majeur fantasies, might make them clean up their own acts for a change.

Still, now that he had a few centons of peace and quiet to think about it, what he was wondering was, was it going to make any difference to Him. He wasn't even sure if He was in the Service. He was from some old Caprican family, Bojay was sure of that; he was frequently afraid that He had a wife tucked away somewhere, or had had one anyway, and that it wouldn't change a thing for him to know that Bojay could be open now... Might even make him break it off to suggest it. He turned his head, staring out over Jolly into the starfield, and sighed. Nothing is ever, ever simple.

"Life isn't simple, Jay, unless you're an amoebon, of course. And even then you have to worry about hydrons."

He laughed to himself. Thanks, Mao. I'll remem—

He almost sprained his neck, he turned so quickly, staring at the IFB broadcast on the vidset across the aisle. "If you want to become part of the team that's defending the fleet..."

"Jolly, who is that? Damnit, wake up, Jolly." The elbow in the ribs was demanding this time.

"...request an open channel to Galactica recruitment."

"What?"

"Who is that?"

"We need you." And then the ad was over. He was gone.

"Who is who?" Now that it was too late, Jolly was sitting up.

"On IFB," Bojay said. "That ad."

"What ad? How would I know anyway? I'm not connected with IFB."

"That recruiting ad. He's in uniform, he's gotta be senior staff." And wasn't that the macropedia definition of irony, come to think of it: Him making recruiting ads?

"I don't pay any attention to recruiting ads," Jolly said defensively. "I don't even watch IFB if I can help it."

And neither did Bojay; he'd gotten out of the habit, and never had he wished more that he hadn't. "Come on, Jol," he said, "you have to know."

"Omega," said Robin, peering over the seat back in front of them, her startlingly blue eyes vivid in her dark brown face. "Lieutenant Omega from Ops makes that ad." She was obviously consumed with curiosity and too polite to ask. He didn't oblige her, just said his thanks and sat back. After a micron she shrugged and abandoned it to resume her conversation with Brie, and Jolly just shook his head and went back to sleep.

And Bojay replayed the ad in his mind, though he was certain of it. The way the man walked, the sound of his voice, even that little smile at the end of the ad, the I'm-supposed-to-smile-now smile: it was Him.

Omega. Lieutenant Omega from Ops. And not just a lieutenant: the flag-lieutenant, the colonel's adjutant and senior staff officer. Sheba had said once that Athena had told her he was in line for a command of his own before the Destruction. No wonder he'd buried his private life behind closed doors and masks.

But he wasn't going any higher now, barring a catastrophe. And if those regs were for real... Bojay pondered that. Omega—he caressed the name in his mind—would be best placed to know that. If they were, this changed everything. Because he knew from Sheba that Omega didn't have a wife tucked away somewhere, and hadn't had one. He lives for his career, she'd said, trying a bit of match-making. He smiled. He should have taken her up on it instead of pointing out how many commanders, including her father, married late.

But back then it might not have made a difference, even to him.

Once he'd had ambitions of his own. Strike Captain, Wing Commander... Maybe he'd have had to have stayed in the Fifth Fleet, but there was plenty of room there. But after Molecay career progression had been meaningless; after they'd confirmed the Cylons' annihilation of the Colonies it had been profane as well. Putting on Volodymyr's captain's pins had been something to keep the structure alive, not a step to anywhere but destruction for the enemy.

And after Mao died his whole life had just... greyed out till there was almost nothing left but killing.

Sheba had apologized to him when she'd told him that she was getting the Spar squadron on the Galactica. "Come on, girl," he'd said, "it's not your fault. And it's not like you aren't qualified or that I won't follow you."

She'd bitten her lip and looked up at him. It was her cute don't-be-mad face; he'd never told her it had been cuter, probably, when she was thirteen and was in fact a little out of place on a grown lieutenant. It was just part of her. "I know you're senior, but Adama offered it to me, and..." She'd let that trail off.

"And," he'd finished it, "Apollo doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me."

"That'll change when he gets to know you."

"Maybe." He hadn't said that getting to know him was probably not high on Apollo's list of things to do this millennium. It wasn't like getting to be buddy-buddy with his new strike captain was high on his own. "Anyway, it's better that it's you."

And he'd believed that at the time. Still did, for that matter. It helped that looking back at him now he could see that that Bojay had been fairly deranged. The whole ship had been, from commander to the lowest food-service tech 3rd... He wouldn't have trusted that Bojay, either. But now, now that he was, well, ranged again, ambitions were coming back. Or maybe not ambitions so much as, as a sense of self-worth that had a place again. After all, he'd been the senior pilot on the Peggy, captain and Gold Spar squadron leader. He'd taken Ector's place when Sheba had gone out to sniff around whatever the tinheads were doing that allowed them to counterfeit Colonial signals, and then he'd followed her lead to slide into the Gamoray mission to make up for, well, things; the Galactica's crew had assumed he was her wingman, and by the time he'd figured that out it hadn't seemed worth it to correct the impression. Or to let Sheba take flak for not correcting it herself. But lately he'd found himself wanting a squadron again. It had felt very good, warming, to hear that Cain had meant to give him the Wing on the Peggy; it had almost made him wish he'd still been there. That was never going to happen here, but a squadron? Yeah. He wanted one again.

Not, he thought, staring off into space, that that was likely to happen even now. If he'd come out back then, it certainly wouldn't have. Now it depended on Apollo and Tigh and neither of them were exactly presidents of the Bojay fan club.

But Mao had balanced his ambitions before. To be a squadron leader and as good as married was better than to be a strike captain and alone. To be a flight leader with someone would be better than to be a squadron leader without, or with someone but just halfway like they were now. At least, he thought so. Maybe Omega would think it balanced not having his own ship... And that's just a little arrogant, isn't it? he told himself. But still... Maybe he will. And if he doesn't, maybe we can still see each other around, have dinner. And if not, at least I know his name.

When the shuttle docked Bojay told the others to take off, he'd report back to the captain. It wasn't like "Career Day" on the Orphan Barge was going to require a debriefing. Nobody argued; they were better than two centares past shift change as it was and they all looked like they had something to do. It was too bad it was Seconday but then again it would give him time to think about what to say. He made his way to the wing and found Apollo gone but his exec still working.

"How'd it go?" Boomer asked.

"Fine, sir."

"Really?" Boomer leaned back and smiled slightly. "They loved you?"

"Well, nobody threw anything," Bojay unbent a bit.

"That's probably a good sign. Thanks."

Interpreting that as a dismissal, Bojay headed out before Boomer could change his mind. Not surprisingly, the exec didn't like him much if any more than Apollo did. Maybe you should work on that, he thought, but it wasn't the first thing on his list at the moment. He thought about going back to the barracks but decided he'd rather get something to eat and maybe a drink so he headed for the O Club instead. Once there, he decided against the bar; he wanted to think and not be interrupted or distracted. So he went into the so-called Blue Side.

And paused in the door, staring across the floor at a man sitting alone at a table for two. He couldn't remember ever having seen him in here before, but then he didn't usually come in this side. Maybe twice before the whole time he'd been aboard. Maybe he should have come in here more often. Or maybe he wouldn't have recognized him without having seen the ad, having seen him move and heard him speak, but he didn't think so. He thought he'd have known.

He thought he'd have known at once. Anywhere.

And he knew Omega wasn't waiting for anyone, because he wasn't sitting like he was, not with a glass of nectar and an open book in front of him. Bojay knew what him waiting looked like, because he'd seen it at the Club Cibola, especially two sectons ago after he'd missed a Seventhday to be with Sheba. Remembering that night, he decided he didn't need to think about it, didn't need to make plans. He just needed Omega.

"I was looking for someone to have dinner with," he said, stopping by the table.

Omega looked up sharply, then paused, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression Bojay fell in love with seeing it for the first time. "What have you done to your eyes?"

Bojay blinked at him, then remembered. "They're hazel, not brown. The uniform turns 'em this color. If I was in Ops, they'd look blue all the time, I guess."

"What am I—Sit," Omega gestured and turned it into a wave for the waiter. They came here as quickly as at Cibola, Bojay noticed amusedly and ordered a glass of dark ale. "Dinner?" Omega asked. "I ordered already but—"

"Anything that you can get out here at the same time as Lieutenant Omega's," Bojay said, hearing his voice linger on the name despite his best intentions. "Soup will be fine."

"So," Omega said when they were alone again, "if you wear that nice jacket your eyes will be as I remember them?"

"More or less," Bojay said. "The mask probably helped."

Omega rested his chin on his hand, his dark eyes fixed on Bojay's face. "Hmmm..." He blinked and smiled. "I had you down in my mind for infantry. What is your name?"

"Sorry. Bojay." He was almost holding his breath; gods knew what the other man had heard about him from Apollo over the past sectares, and the unaltered truth from the early days would be bad enough.

"That explains the scars, then. I was sure you had been in ground combat."

"Yeah, we pretty much ran out of infantry a while ago. We didn't do a lot on the ground, but when we did," he shrugged.

Omega smiled, that slow smile that sent shivers along Bojay's spine. "I'm glad you're not doing it any more."

"Me, too," he admitted.

The food came and they were quiet while the waiter set down dishes and bread. Bojay had indeed gotten soup, something creamy and thick, and more bread; Omega's meal was more substantial, protein and primaries cooked to at least resemble a Caprican steak dinner. Bojay began eating but he couldn't have said what the soup was meant to be. The waiter finished messing about and left.

"Bojay," Omega said; it was clear he was trying it out. "Do they say 'Boj'?"

"Most do. 'Jay', too, a few."

"Boj..." He smiled again and then asked, "Where are you from?" One of the forbidden questions, asked as eagerly as if he had someone who'd say to him, 'But you don't even know—'

"Pisco. Kenji province on Pisco, a small coastal town called Hokkai, of which, you don't need to say, you've never heard."

"I haven't," he admitted, as if it was a failing.

"No one has," Bojay assured him. "And you? Caprica, I know, but where? Caprica City?"

"Natacapra." It was almost a confession. "You've heard of it."

"Yes." He was startled. Even though he'd known Omega practically dripped money and breeding, he hadn't expected Natacapra. It wasn't a playground for the rich and famous of the Colonies only because no tourists, no matter how rich or celebrated, were allowed, just the fortunate few whose families had always been there...

"It doesn't matter now, even as much as it ever did."

Hadn't been a playground... Bojay shook his head. "It matters. I mean, it shaped you. Nicely, too," he added.

"I suppose so—"

"Take it from me," Bojay deliberately misunderstood him. "It's a very nice shape."

Omega smiled at him and for a centon or two they just looked at each other. Then, "Bojay," Omega said. "Lieutenant, Piscon... Kenji on Pisco... Wayist?"

Bojay grinned. "Close. Shin-Wayist, actually, at least my mother. My father was Kobolian but fairly well lapsed. I'm not much of anything, really, but when I have to I put down Shin. You must be Kobolian. And I know you had siblings, but how many?"

"Three brothers, two sisters. One of each older. All but one sister married, and an assortment of nieces and nephews. An aunt and uncle and a couple of cousins." He didn't add 'all dead'; Bojay knew that already, just as he knew that Bojay had a sister who'd died before the Destruction. Before Molecay, he could guess now. But details could wait for some other evening, and it looked like there'd be other evenings, at least on some level. "And a lover," he added after a moment.

That was no surprise, either, but Bojay nodded and said, "Me, too."

Another brief silence followed. Bojay was sorting out the new information, trying to fit it to what Omega had let slip over the last few sectares, when the other man asked, suddenly, "When did you find out who I was?"

"It's funny, actually; not even a centare ago. I obviously should have watched a lot more IFB."

"That ad..."

"Which is funny, too, really."

"I thought it was a bit... incongruous," Omega nodded. "But there was no good way to turn it down."

"I was trying to decide how to approach you and then, here you were," Bojay said.

"I was wondering about the timing," Omega said carefully.

"Ah. Of course. I would have spoken to you anyway, but I'd have understood if you wanted to keep it dark."

"And now?"

"However you want it. You're in a much better position than I am to judge how seriously to take these new regulations. And," he shrugged, "it's easier for me. I don't have a career."

"You're a lieutenant," Omega pointed out.

He laughed shortly. "Even Apollo—no, that's unfair," he admitted. "Even feeling the way he does about me, Apollo wouldn't break me just for being flit and getting away with it. But I don't expect a promotion out of him."

"You must have been rather senior," Omega said, his tone betraying a mild touch of don't-expect-me-to-believe-that. "The colonel noticed who was at the pre-mission briefings with Commander Cain even if the captain didn't."

He ducked his head, then said, "Yes, well, I don't expect a promotion out of him, either." No sense in bringing up his old rank; he'd had to lose it and that was that. Only one captain on a battlestar.

"You might be surprised, then; he's a fair man."

"Still, any career ahead of me is small change next to yours."

"Which is most definitely stalled out, gods willing."

"There is that. But your career is still more than mine, so it's up to you."

Shadows flickered in Omega's eyes. Bojay swore at himself for a micron; he'd had Mao openly but Omega had been in the Stainless First, and there was no chance he'd ever been able to. He was probably nervous about it—

Omega interrupted the thought, shaking his head. "It's up to you. You can move in tonight if you don't mind being the test case. I think my position's safe enough, but I have been wrong before, and I don't know about yours—"

Bojay cut in. "Don't worry about me. I'll take you anyway I can get you, but if it's up to me? I don't care if I never get a squadron again, or a flight even, or get busted back to ensign, not if it means having you in public."

There was a moment of silence, and then Omega's dark, level stare softened and that slow smile came back. "In public? I'm a bit too Kobolian for that, I'm afraid."

More than half their food was still on the table, but Bojay quite suddenly wasn't hungry any longer. He leaned forward across the table and caught Omega's hand. "In that case," he said, "either you'd better stop looking at me, or we'd better go somewhere." He let go and leaned back before he lost control of himself. "Your choice, but I hope it's the latter."

Omega looked at him, those dark eyes actually smoldering, and then did something that startled Bojay. He reached out and ran his fingertips across Bojay's cheek, then pulled his hand back quickly. From the look in the other man's eyes, it had startled him, too. He spoke before Bojay could. "Yes, let's go." He signed the chit the waiter had left on the table and stood up.

Bojay followed him. "Where to?"

Omega gave him an amused look, though his eyes were still smoldering a bit. "My quarters—"

"You have quarters? Of course you have quarters, you're senior staff," Bojay realized. Then, "You have quarters," he repeated, savoring the phrase as the full force of it struck him.

"I have quarters," Omega nodded. "I meant it when I said you could move in."

"I will, I will, just... Do you mind if I wait till later to get my stuff?"

"Mind?" The turbolift arrived. "I insist on it."

"Not that I have much stuff," Bojay said, leaning against the wall with his hands behind him, because if he didn't talk... And they'd been joking, of course, but still he didn't think Omega was ready to make out in the turbolift. For that matter, he wasn't sure he was.

"I've got plenty of room," Omega said. He too seemed to be talking for its own sake. "I'm sure you'll fit in with no trouble."

"I'll take trouble if I have to," Bojay said, and watched Omega's quick smile, and realized, incredulously, we're both as nervous as teenagers. Who would have guessed it, after so long? But it was true. In some ways, the man on the other side of the lift car was a stranger to him. This was like a first date, almost.

He was glad when the doors opened. Omega led the way down the corridor, nodding to someone they passed in ops blue, and stopped in front of a door. "Four six nine eight," he said, keying it as he spoke.

The door slid open and they went in. Bojay barely got a look at the room—a wall unit filled with books and pictures, most of people who looked like Omega; a couch; a couple of chairs and low tables—before Omega pulled him into an embrace. The nervousness vanished and only the desire was left...

His blaster followed his jacket onto the low couch. The feel of the other man's hand unstrapping the holster from his thigh made him moan with hunger and pull Omega up for a long kiss while his own hands stripped the blue tunic off the familiar body. Omega helped and then pulled at the brown one, pausing as his hands encountered the slick pressure suit. Bojay cursed softly and began unfastening it, showing him how.

"What shift are you on?" Omega asked as he pulled the tight sleeves down. "You're not due somewhere at ten, are you?"

"I just got off," Bojay said. "Worked extra today..." He panted as Omega, distracted, began sucking at a nipple, leaving his arms half-pinned by his sleeves. "...not back on till six." After a delirious moment he managed to add, "I'm in Red right now, First through Sixth, that might change again, oh god..."

That was the last thing he said for a while, or at least the last thing he could remember saying. He managed to get his arms free and bury his hands in that thick brown hair, darker than his, soft as he'd known it would be. They were on the couch for a while; he managed to get his blaster onto the end table beside yet another book and a picture of a redhead with a huge rough-coated dagget and then all he was conscious of was Omega. He wasn't sure precisely when they got to the bed, or even precisely how, and he wasn't sure if his boots and the rest of his uniform, or Omega's for that matter, were in the front room or on the floor by the bed or strewn in between. He was only aware of Omega's body covering his, filling and possessing him, needing him...

They came together, and afterwards lay quietly, trembling and quiet. Omega kissed him between the shoulder blades and fished an old soft undershirt from under the pillows and gently cleaned them. Then he sighed, once and very deeply, and rolled over to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling.

After a moment, Bojay asked, "What's worrying you?"

Omega shook his head. "I don't know... It seems..."

"Fast? I know what you mean."

"We don't know each other."

"You don't want me to move in?"

That brought Omega's head around in a hurry. "No, I do. Oh, gods how I do. It's just..." He sounded frustrated by his inability to produce a coherent sentence.

Bojay raised himself on his elbow and looked at him. "It's not just sex."

"I only just learned your name."

"But you knew me," he said with certainty.

Omega opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment he nodded. "I do, don't I? I do know you."

"It's more than sex," Bojay said, soft but insistent. "It's never been just sex, not ever. You remember the first time?"

And he watched Omega's dark eyes soften with the memory. He remembered it himself. He'd been looking for more than sex, he'd been looking for someone to keep him from being alone, if only for a little while, someone to hold him and not let him drift into darkness. He'd found him, and they'd broken the rules, staying together after, holding each other in wordless comfort, the other man's need seemingly as great as his. He remembered the next time, too, when he'd gone back after only one night away, unable to stay away. He remembered seeing the man at the table, knowing him instantly; remembered seeing him hesitate and being uncertain what it meant: are you him, I've been waiting for him, or was it you're him, I don't want to repeat myself. But the man had said 'yes' and from then on it was just him Bojay went to, just each other though neither of them had been able to be sure of that, neither daring to ask. Not till the day Baltar had nearly escaped, when Bojay had missed going altogether, for Sheba...

I wasn't sure what had happened, you'd never missed Seventhday before, never, I didn't know, I was late myself—

Late himself, no doubt, Bojay thought now, wondering that Omega had been able to get away at all. Neither had explained, but they'd known then that they were actually having an affair. And probably it wouldn't have too many more sectons before one of them had taken the risk. Omega, probably, Bojay knew; he'd thought Bojay was infantry, but Bojay had thought—feared—that he was a Councillor's aide or some such, and all too probably attached. He sighed now and leaned forward, and they kissed, long and slow and loving. When they finally had to breathe, Omega pulled him down on top, cradling him against his chest.

"I love you, Bojay," he said softly.

"I love you, too."

They were quiet for a time, and then Omega asked, "Red Squadron, you said... Squadrons rotate shifts, don't they?"

"Yes, they do, though it's always the same days off. But I don't mind trick work, I've done it for yahrens. On the Peggy, in fact, we usually pulled eight on-eight off, round the clock, till the medicos said we needed a full twenty-four-centare break."

"That can't have been fun."

"I didn't mind it. It kept us busy, and we needed to be busy..." Omega's hand, that had been absently stroking his shoulder, stopped. Bojay tightened his hold a little and added, "Not that I object to working less, mind you. Or having two days in a row off every secton."

"I'm sure you don't," Omega's voice was light again, and his hand resumed its stroking. "I can't guarantee to be able to change shifts, though. In fact—"

"In fact you can just about guarantee you can't? Being flag and all?" Bojay shrugged. "It's not a problem. When we're on the same shift, it works. When I'm on third it won't be a problem, either: I'll sleep while you're on, and you'll wake me up when you get home and you'll sleep when I leave. When I'm on second, same thing, just you'll have to get used to sleeping in the afternoon. I'll bet you haven't had to in a while."

Omega laughed. Actually, Bojay thought, he snickered. "I'm used to sleeping at some very odd hours indeed," he said. "We're short on good bridge officers at the moment."

"What does that mean? You work too much, I'll bet that's what it means."

"That's been said," he answered a bit self-consciously.

Bojay wondered by whom. Who did Omega have for friends, who told him when he was strung too tight and needed to take some time off, or just stop for a few centares? From what he'd heard, or at least what he remembered, the consensus was that the flag-lieutenant was Tigh all over again, never off duty. Probably nobody. He thought about that redhead in the front room; he might have. He might have been enough to stop it, if, Bojay remembered, he'd ever gotten within ten metrics of Omega's professional life. Well, he had an advantage there. "Well," he said, "that stops. I mean, I'm high maintenance. Like my Viper."

"Oh, really?"

"I intend to be, anyway."

Omega ruffled his hair and ran a finger along his ear. "That could be fun... I've heard things about combat pilots, you know."

"Really? Good things?"

"Interesting things. I hope they're true."

"Ummm... Me, too."

"Of course, now I'll be worried every time there's a battle. Personally worried, I mean." That sounded a little bit pensive.

"Why? There's nothing to worry about, I never even get scratched."

"You're considerably more than scratched," Omega pointed out.

"That," he said indignantly, "was not in combat. That was on the ground. It's all from on the ground. I happen to be the best combat pilot it will ever be your privelege to meet."

"Really?" Now he sounded amused again.

"Yes," Bojay said with conviction. "Oh, maybe Starbuck's as good, but I don't think so. Anyway, he's not your type."

Omega laughed at him. "Are all pilots so uncomplicated?"

"If you think I'm uncomplicated, you're in for a surprise," Bojay said without worry. "I'm just not much for secrets—and don't laugh."

Omega was, though, a soft chuckle. "I had best be grateful for that, then."

"Yes, you had." He caught the hand that was stroking his ribs and held it, resting their joined hands next to his throat. "But I am tired. I'm going to sleep, and when I wake up it will be here, and you'll be here, and I won't have to run... I can go to sleep again until morning. That's what I want."

"That's easy enough." Omega put his other arm around him and pulled him closer. "But you're not asleep yet."

"So?" He yawned.

"So, tell me one thing more tonight."

"What?"

"When did you have a squadron?"

"Hmmmm?" Bojay blinked at him sleepily. "What do you mean?"

"You said, you didn't care if you never got a squadron 'again'."

"Did I?" He sighed. "You're very bad for my self-control."

"I'm glad to hear that's mutual. But I've had, or so I'll guess, more practice than you, so: when did you have a squadron? On the Pegasus?"

"Yes." He grinned then. "And it didn't seem to destroy morale. Of course, you could argue we were all a bit crazy, but then again I had it before Molecay."

"Really?"

"Really. Cain may have had his own reasons for it, but that was just one of the traditions he threw out. Look," he raised his head and looked into Omega's thoughtful face, "don't worry about it. I don't; it was a lifetime ago."

"Things change?"

"Times change and we change with them, isn't that it?"

"That's it... Also tempora mutant leges et mores... All right," he smiled suddenly. "I won't worry."

Bojay looked at him a moment longer. Leges was the only word in that to give him trouble, and he had it nailed, he thought. Leges... legal. Time changes laws and customs... It was on the tip of his tongue to say, 'and don't make anyone else worry about it, either' but he didn't. Omega knew the ins and outs of ship's politics, this ship's politics, far better than he. And after all, he did want a squadron again. He said, softly, "Good," and laid his head back down, and closed his eyes, and slept.

Adama meets me, Apollo, and Starbuck when we come out of the decon chambers. He wants to hear all about what we'd found—a Cylon base star. I hadn't expected his reaction. Adama, angry as I've never seen him. Used as I was to my father's emotional swings, somehow seeing the calm Adama so angry was... energizing. Since he wasn't angry at me, anyway. "I'd hoped we had lost them for good!"

And my response, "We all did, Commander." After all, it wasn't running, this; it was saving the race. I've come to see it.

Tigh and Omega on the bridge, poised, calm. I take another look at the tall lieutenant, still amazed at how much Bojay loves this man, so different from Mao. So quiet, so controlled. So good for Boj. Tigh, turning. "We're still too far out to pick up the base star on our scanners, but nothing has left that solar system except our patrol. They couldn't have picked a better spot to lay a trap, sir."

Adama, thinking. "That's why they're sitting where they are... enticing us in."

Apollo, distracted as he often is, looking beyond the immediate problem. Dreaming. "You think that transmission we picked up originated on that base star?"

Adama, still thinking. "Most likely. It's an elaborate lure, precisely the type I'd expect from the Cylons."

Starbuck, impatient with reflection and wonder both, focussed on here, focussed on now. Wanting action. "Whether it is or not, what are we going to do?"

The colonel, so careful and cautious. No wonder Tolen had disliked him when he was on the Pegasus. "I just explained, Lieutenant. There's nothing we can do except turn back."

And then Adama, surprising them all. "We can attack!" Us all... He almost sounds like Father. Maybe this is how he got the First Fleet; maybe his caution is forced on him by all those lives...

Tigh, of course, still cautious. "Commander, we haven't dared tangle with a base star since we fled the colonies."

"My father did."

"Yes, he did," says Adama.

And Tigh, predictably, "And we haven't seen the Pegasus since."

He has our back!, I don't say. And Adama points out, "Cain attacked two base stars; we'll only be taking on one." And then he adds, "I'm certain that when we eluded the Cylons, they spread their base stars throughout this section of the galaxy to find us. This is probably the only one in this vicinity. For the first time since we fled the colonies, we have an advantage. And even if we didn't, I'm tired of running, Tigh."

And amazingly: "Adama—so am I!"

"Then let's take her on!" says Adama.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

The interior of the Raider is cramped, cold, sterile... I know intellectually it's far roomier than any Colonial fighter, even one of the intel platforms I flew in my earlier career before I let Starbuck cajole me into Vipers, before I met Apollo, but my hindbrain isn't listening to my cerebrum. This is a death trap, it's screaming. I look at them. "When you two get done romping through that base star, we don't want this fighter blasted by one of us. So I rigged this." I hand it to Apollo. Not Starbuck.

They don't notice. Apollo asks, "What is it?"

"An identification transmitter, set to our attack frequency. If one of us gets on your tail, we'll get a flashing red dot on our attack scanner. We'll know it's you and not fire." And that's all I can do. It's killing me, but that's all I can do.

"You sure it'll work?" Starbuck asks.

"It'll work."

Apollo clips the device to his web belt. "Thanks, Boomer. Did Doctor Wilker get a chance to enhance that transmission we picked up?" he asks, like that's the most important thing happening today. Maybe it is, to him.

"Not yet," I say.

Starbuck rolls his eyes verbally. "Still think it didn't come from the base star?"

Apollo just says, "I don't know... I've got a funny feeling it didn't."

Noise behind me almost makes me jump. I turn to see Sheba and Cassiopeia. I've been half expecting them. Sheba just stands there, looking around. Cassie says, and she's grim, "Starbuck. I want a word with you."

I can't stay here, even if I was wanted. "Ah, it's getting a little crowded in here. Think I'll check on Wilker." I run as soon as I can.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

"What is it, Cass?" I ask. It's not like her to get in the way of mission preps.

"Alone," she says. Then, "please."

Well, that doesn't sound good. "Would you two excuse me a centon?" Like they'll care. I hope.

When I catch up to her in the bay, Cass is crying, which throws me. "Why does it always have to be you?" she says.

I'm so taken aback by her sudden tears I actually tell her the truth instead of a joke. "Apollo's going!"

"I'm not in love with Apollo!" she snaps.

Oh, gods. What does she want me to say? I am? She knows that. I'm not? I've never lied to her before and I'm not starting now... no matter what she wants to hear, because this isn't a moment for a light love-lie that neither of us believes for a micron longer than the embrace. I look at the deck, then at her. "Cass, you know me... I'll make it."

"Knowing you, you'll probably find some beautiful female prisoner on that base star to rescue." She's frustrated, or angry, or something.

"That's crazy," I say. She's got me at a loss for words.

We have to pause then as Sheba walks past us. She's got tears in her eyes. Apollo, you idiot, I think. She wasn't there anything like long enough, and those don't look like just-got-Promised tears to me. Gotta get Apollo to apologize, again. She stops for a beat and smiles at us. Or maybe just me. "Good luck, hotshot." I think it's still friendly. Of course, her and Boj... But he doesn't want Apollo, and she doesn't want Omega. But it sounded friendly. Then she walks on.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they're watching-my-man-go-off-to-war tears, though that's not what I'd expect from Sheba. Of course, she doesn't do a lot of watching...

Cass starts crying again. "Has everyone gone crazy?" I ask.

Cass stares at me. "You just don't understand. Do you?"

I decide to be serious. "No, Cass. I do understand. I just don't see the sense in dwelling on what might go wrong. It's a lousy way to live." Look for the good, 'cause you won't find it if you don't, that's my motto.

Cass just looks at me for a couple of microns, and then she reaches for me, and we kiss. I can't help it. When she pulls away, I say, real soft, "I'll be back... promise."

She smiles at me through her tears; she's so goddamned beautiful even when she's crying. "If you're not," she says, "I'll kill you!" Then she breaks into a run after Sheba.

I'm not sure. Did we just Promise? Well, if we did, it'll work out. She knows me. And if Apollo and Sheba... maybe if we are, it'll push him. Them. Yeah. It'll work out. So I'm smiling when I go back into the Raider.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

I wish I knew why Sheba had come here. I hope it's just to give Cassiopeia an excuse to talk to Starbuck, but I doubt it. She looks like she's got something planned. She's a lot more devious than I'd thought; all that time she knew about Bojay. It's just, I can't think what she could have to say to me that can't wait. I know she can handle her half of the wing just fine, and I'm morally certain she knows it, too. She takes the seat behind me and I continue checking instruments, waiting.

She says, "It takes three Cylons to fly this fighter."

I see. "Uh-uh. We need you and Boomer to lead the squadrons. Besides, the third Cylon just sits where you are and gives orders."

"Very well," she says, but not like she means it. She's quiet again, and I brace myself. "Who picked you for this mission?"

"I guess I did." And I don't have to justify it to her. I won't send anyone to do something I won't, not even... I clamp down the thought. There's no one in the whole Wing I'd send when I can go. No one.

"You want to get yourself killed, don't you?" she says, and she's deadly serious, no irony at all.

That certainly isn't what I expected to hear. "What are you talking about?"

"Ever since you lost Serina you've been taking every high-risk mission on the board."

"Serina has nothing to do with it," I say. She does, of course, but not like Sheba means. No one else goes off to die on my watch. No one.

Sheba won't let it alone. "She was a lovely woman, Apollo, but she's dead."

I'm suddenly angry. She's got no right talking about Serina. She never met her. She doesn't know anything. "Sheba," I say, "drop it!"

"I won't drop it! Apollo, you don't have a corner on loneliness!"

And, o gods, of course she's convinced herself that's it. "Sheba, I'm sorry. I didn't realise..." I can't finish that. I don't know what to say.

"It's all right..." Sheba says, smiling suddenly. "We've both sort of been at each other's throats, from the moment we met."

She thinks so? Well, we have, a bit, I suppose. "Yeah. We have, haven't we?" At any rate, it's easier to agree. I don't know if I could explain myself to her if we had centares. I don't know that I want to.

"Except lately, you've included me in your tight little circle of friends. And I appreciate it, Apollo."

Before I can think of something, she says, "Lately... I've begun to realize that two people who snap at each other for no reason... do it to avoid their real feelings."

Oh. Again I can't think what to say. I should be glad she's doing this on her own; I am glad; but I'm without a response.

She adds, and she sounds closer, "I've realized that for quite a while now."

I turn, and she's right there. I'm surprised, partly because I didn't hear her move, and partly because she's suddenly reminding me of Serina. I stare at her. "You have?"

She nods and kisses me. Just like that. I'm shocked, but I kiss her back. After a bit, she pulls back and smiles. "Yes, I have," she says, and then she's gone.

Gods, I hope it was better for her. Next time I won't be so surprised.

Next time...

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

I watch them get ready to leave. Gods, I've never hated anything like I hate this. I want to run the others out, the ones who weren't at the bar to begin with. I have to watch them go and I want to be alone when they do. But I'm not getting anything I want. Except...

I take my eyes off Apollo long enough to ask Starbuck, "Did you set the timer?"

"A one centon delay," he says, like he might have forgotten it if I hadn't reminded him.

I reach out and check the IFF on Apollo's belt, making sure it hasn't dropped off or that he hasn't knocked it out of whack with a chunk of the solenite. "Whatever happens, don't lose that transmitter. It's the only way we'll be able to tell you from the Cylons."

I've said it too often. Starbuck's looking at me funny. He does what he does, tries to lighten the mood. "If we do, I'll waggle our wings."

"You would," I say. I can't help it.

Apollo looks at me, those green eyes narrowing, wondering what's going on. "Boomer... I've never seen you fuss like this."

I can't let him see the thoughts I'm trying so hard not to think. I push them down (I won't have them in my head) and let him see the rest of it. "Yeah... well, I'd feel better if I was going." And by all the gods, that's the truth. Me and Starbuck would do this better. Give Starbuck Apollo to come back to and nothing this side of the seventh hell would keep him.

Apollo says, all serious and trusting, "We need you to lead the squadron."

"That doesn't change how I feel," says I.

They look at each other a micron or two, and then they're reaching out their hands to me, like the old days. We grip fists, and the warmth of their hands drives out anything else. I watch them leave, my best friends. "Good luck," I say.

Good luck. Come back, both of you.

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

This is exactly the kind of place Apollo would like. Romantic and useless. I wish Sheba hadn't asked me to come, but soon enough she'll have to be getting ready for combat. Then I can think about what I've just done. Suddenly, Sheba points ahead. "There they are!"

We stand there, watching the obscene shape disappear into the stars, carrying her Apollo and my Starbuck. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Ours? I don't think so. They've gone off to die together. I don't want that. But they were unstoppable.

"They're gone... so soon." So terribly soon. Too soon to even make sense out of it. I understand that we couldn't wait once they'd decided to fight but... why do we always have to fight? I barely remember being that angry woman who appreciated it; Paye and Salik are better teachers than they know. They, and the broken bodies that come into the Life Center. And soon, so terribly soon again, there'll be even more. War... gods, how I've come to hate fighting. Why did I ever fall in love with a warrior?

Sheba says, "I don't know."

I turn to look at her, and realize she's answering me. I said that aloud. I'm losing my control... at least I didn't say a name. Sheba thinks it's Starbuck. And she's thinking of Apollo, so she's not really paying any attention to me. I look back out into the stars. I wish it was Starbuck.

Athena sat at her position, monitoring the routine signals with half her mind. She supposed she should be concentrating on the upcoming attack, but quite frankly her part in it was going to be a no-brainer. Unless the bridge was hit and her father, the colonel, Omega, and a couple more people all got killed. And that simply wasn't something she wanted to think about.

It was an all-or-nothing gamble, this, and some people thought it was very unlike Adama. She didn't. He father could be reckless, very reckless; it wasn't from their mother that Apollo and Zac, especially Zac, had gotten that trait. Apollo had learned caution, like Adama had, but it was a learned skill, not a natural one. Adama thought the gain outweighed the risk, this time, and he was going for it.

He thought the purchase worth the possible price.

She automatically adjusted a couple of tuners and thought about that price for just a centon. At its highest, it was, well, everything. At its lowest... She shook her head. At its lowest, of course, the Lords of Kobol granted them a miracle and nobody died except Cylons. That wasn't likely. Even if they managed to sneak up on the base star, it wouldn't go down with one blow.

She wondered what the civilians thought, out on the ships, watching the Galactica go off. She didn't envy Yadro and Memnet; if the battlestar went down, their little frigate and patrol ship wouldn't stand a chance and yet they'd be all there was between what was left of the Colonies and the enemy. Her father had told her Tigh had thought about transferring her and Omega and some of the rest of Operations to the Akkadia Furious.

"Hedging your bets?" she'd said lightly, determined she wasn't going.

"Covering all the bases, Tigh said." He'd looked at her, his brown eyes (so like Zac's) worried. "I overruled him about Omega; if things go bad we may need him too much here. I'd be easier in my mind knowing you were on her, Athena, though."

"Is that an order?"

"Would you obey it?"

They'd looked at each other a long moment then. "I won't be sent to safety, Father. I'm your daughter as much as Apollo is your son, and I'm a Warrior, too. I have a duty to carry out."

He'd nodded. "I didn't expect otherwise. But you can't blame me for trying?"

"Of course not," she'd hugged him. "I love you, too."

Neither of them had pointed out to the other that if the Galactica was destroyed there would be no safety, anyway.

She wondered what the Council was thinking of this high-handed decision. When she'd mentioned that to Omega, as they'd come on shift just like it was a normal day (if you ignored the fact that they were going on at 1400 instead of 0800, so that First Watch would be on duty and fresh when it started, Apollo and Starbuck leaving at 1670, the pilots assembling at 1750, launch at 1800—all that tight control over what they could, before it collided with the enemy), he'd laughed and said he expected they were cloistered together and complaining that Adama was out-manuevering them. "If we win, his position will be unassailable."

"If we lose, he'll be pretty unassailable, too." She'd paused. "Sorry; that just sort of slipped out."

"We'll just have to make sure we don't lose, then," he'd said.

She'd put her hand on his arm to stop him going onto the bridge. When he looked down at her, she said, "Are you worried? About Bojay, I mean."

He'd hesitated and then nodded. "I am, a bit. It's new, and I'm not sure I like it." He'd smiled then. "Of course, he tells me not to; he says he's the best combat pilot I'll ever meet. He seems to think that will set my mind at ease."

She'd smiled at him. "They do, pilots. They tend to believe that if you're good enough, you can't die. It's a survival mechanism, I think."

He'd nodded.

"They'll hold their own against the Raiders, you know that," she'd said. "It's the base star we have to worry about."

"Yes," he'd said. "They'll do their jobs. We have to do ours."

She looked across the bridge at him now, calm and collected. You'd never guess he was worried. She personally didn't want to be in a situation where he showed it, not on duty anyway. It was her ideal, the state she strove for. Tigh could weep on the bridge and people said, 'what heart' or 'how horrible things are', but when she did people murmured that women belonged in the support roles. The same with anger...

She shook her head. If you don't want to get angry, Athena, you shouldn't think about things that make you angry. That's so simple, why can't you learn it? She glanced automatically over the quiet boards and then looked out over the bridge. This time on tomorrow's shift the Cylons would be dead. Perhaps not all of them, of course, but the ones who were here, after them. They'd be free. Not home free, not yet, but soon enough...

She smiled to herself, picturing the future. No Cylons. Maybe they'd never run across anyone else who insisted on fighting with them. Just a long peaceful voyage to Earth, which would be a shining planet, or (she hoped) a green one, and plenty of room for them. Sunshine and mountains and beaches... Even if it took forty-two yahrens of wandering, she'd only be, what... sixty-six. Well, sixty-six, that's not so old. Look at Adama, look at Tigh, look even at Cain—he'd had Cassie at a lot older.

Cassie... If she hadn't been practicing to keep calm on the bridge she'd have been smiling for everyone to see as she visualized Cassie in... let's be optimistic. Ten yahrens... on a beach beside an ocean as blue as her eyes, golden and laughing and watching two or three little girls playing in the lapping waves and a couple of older ones half supervising and half practising to be above it all, and best of all, sitting on a blanket close enough to touch...

She remembered what she'd thought once about Omega, nearly a yahren ago: there was no spark when she was with him. At the time she'd thought it was him, and of course it was, but it was her, too. It takes two for a spark to catch fire.

And now she understood what was wrong, always, with the men she dated, or rather what was wrong about those dates. They were trying to make sparks, and she wasn't. Not really. It was why she was so comfortable with Omega, and with Starbuck lately. Nobody was trying to make sparks.

She hadn't missed that game.

And she hadn't tried, not for nearly a sectare, to start another. She'd decided she didn't want to rush into a relationship just to prove that she could.

And so she'd settled into a routine of work, working out, and being alone, starting to get to know this woman she'd become, or always been but never known. She'd still gone out for nights with Cassie and Sheba, and she'd still gone to dinner at her father's, but mostly she'd been on her own.

Her father had accepted the new behavior. Her brother had, too, but only after going through several stages. First he'd been annoyed that she'd broken up with Boomer. Then he'd been worried that Boomer had maybe broken her heart and dumped her and that only her pride was making her say it had been her idea. She'd had to laugh at him, though she knew he'd meant well: she could just picture him trying to order poor Boomer back into dating her again. Then Apollo had taken to giving her compliments. That had been so wierd she hadn't known quite what to do or say. She'd finally realized he was trying to boost her self-confidence, and then she'd really had to laugh, though she'd managed not to around him.

She hadn't known what to say to either of them. Not for a while.

She'd almost told her father after his narrow escape at Baltar's hands, but she and Apollo had both been preoccupied with Siress Tinia just then and, well, somehow it had been another secton before she'd gone to see him after getting off duty one long, boring shift. He'd welcomed her in, and they'd talked about this and that, the conversation getting a bit more stilted every few centons as she tried to get to what she wanted to say and couldn't find a graceful way to do it, and he realized that she had something important to say. When she had realized that, she had just taken a deep breath and, bracing herself, said it straight out: "I'm flit, Father."

"Well."

She'd waited a minute but that seemed to be all he had to say. "I hope you're not disappointed—"

"Athena," he'd interrupted her. "I have never in my entire life been disappointed in you, and I'm not now, not because you're being honest with me. I confess to being at a loss for words, but I want to assure you that even though I'm not sure what you want me to say to you, I love you and always will."

She'd smiled, surprised at how tremulous it felt to her, and the next thing she'd known she was wrapped up in his arms, in a hugely comforting embrace such as he'd given her back when she was a little child, yahrens ago. She'd sighed and clung to him, comforted.

After a few centons he'd said, "I suppose I was trying to think of a graceful way to ask if you're seeing someone."

She'd pulled away and sat on the floor beside his chair, as she had back in her girlhood. Pushing her hair back behind her ears she'd shaken her head. "No. No one at all. I'm not even sure that I'm going to."

He'd raised a heavy black eyebrow. "Oh?"

She'd shrugged. "I know it'll be awkward for my career." She smiled quickly. "I know, it'll be two or three yahrens before I'm even eligible for promotion again, maybe longer, but still... I'd like to make lieutenant. I want you to be proud of me."

"I can't conceive of not being proud of you," he'd said. "Whatever you decide, and whoever you choose."

She'd smiled up at him, feeling impish in her relief. "Whoever? That's a lot of leeway."

And he'd smiled back at her. "I know my daughter," he'd said serenely.

They'd talked of other things then, but when she'd gotten up to leave, he'd put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, seriously and lovingly. "I'm proud of you every centon of every day, Athena, and your mother would be proud of you, too. Be true to your heart and your soul, daughter, and we'll never be anything less."

Her brother was harder to talk to, of course. He was so prickly about his own private life, and he still thought of her as about fourteen. If that old. She'd kept meaning to tell him but she'd never figured out how to bring the topic up. And then he had, after the new regulations were published.

And, she thought, it was typical of Adama that he hadn't mentioned them to her when they'd spoken. Knowing that she would be free if she chose, he had allowed her to weigh all her options and come to her own decision, a moral exercise he'd approve of. She momentarily wondered if he'd added that rider for her benefit—it was obvious the intended scope of the regulation was fraternization—but she'd decided that it wasn't possible from the time element alone. After all, the Councilor for War had to sign off on regulations, if not (her grasp of political details was tenuous) the whole Quorum, and the regulations had been published only one day after she'd talked to Adama.

She'd been a little giddy after the colonel had drawn the shift's atttntion to the new regulations. Reading them she'd been pleased for Sheba's sake and then she'd hit the last line, almost an afterthought, and it had taken her several centons to realize exactly what it meant for her. Then she'd thought of Omega, his secret affair, and she'd smiled, hoping that whoever his lover was was an officer, or a civilian, so that he could be happy again. He'd been happy when she'd first met him...

And then it had turned out to be Sheba's friend, Bojay. They had wasted no time moving in together; clearly the secrecy had been more chafing than Omega had let on, and for Bojay, well.

"Sheba knew," Apollo had groused when he met Athena on their way to dinner. "She says they all knew, all those Pegasans. Apparently Cain didn't let it bother him, not if Bojay made lieutenant."

Athena couldn't remember the topic ever coming up between them before. There was no particular reason it should have, of course. She'd said, "Maybe it didn't. I don't suppose it bothered Sheba, either, which is nice."

Which was his cue to ask why, but instead he had shaken his head. "That's not the point. It doesn't bother me either but it was against regs. He shouldn't have made lieutenant."

"It wasn't a regulation," she pointed out. "And do you mean you never look the other way? Ever?"

"There's a difference between overlooking something you don't officially know, and openly approving of it." He'd had that look in his eyes and that edge in his voice that meant he was in fact doing something he shouldn't be and was getting defensive about it. Zac had been able to spot it faster than she and to exploit it, but she just knew to avoid whatever topic had raised the signs.

"It wasn't a regulation," she'd repeated, backtracking. "It was just the way things were done."

He'd shaken his head again. "Those are the hardest to change and often for good reason."

"Just as often for bad," she'd said. "What's so horrible about it?"

"It's bad for morale."

"Really? Isn't that what they used to say about women in combat? But you got used to that fast enough, all of you."

He'd sighed and stopped walking, waving to Boxey to run on down the rest of the corridor to Adama's quarters. "I know things are changing. It's just, sometimes I don't know if the right things are changing or in the right way. Don't fight with me, Thenie. I'll follow the regs, I won't get into your friend's life, I'm just..." He'd sighed again, and when he'd looked at her his eyes had been bleaker than she could remember them in nearly a yahren, since Kobol. Since Serina... "I just wish," he'd added a bit savagely, "that people could keep their private lives out of my job, that's all, and I know they can't any more, I just wish—" He'd bitten off whatever the rest of that had been going to be.

Why, she'd wondered, was it that it was so hard for them to talk to each other? Even if a conversation started well, which this one hadn't she had to admit, it usually wasn't long before they were at cross purposes. Not necessarily fighting, but not understanding each other. Was it just because he was eight yahrens older than she, so that by the time she was a real person with real ideas he'd been gone from home already several yahrens? Because they'd never been together except when she was a nuisance or a usurper, someone to look after or play with or run away from, when he was a god, remote and perfect, someone to adore or defy or pester? He'd barely had time to adjust to her being on the Galactica before the Destruction... And, she had to admit, she hadn't helped, being a bit defensive about him and their father. And Starbuck.

Starbuck hadn't helped at all.

She'd sighed herself and put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know—" The flaring emotion in his green eyes had made her change her sentence in mid-utterance. "—it's hard for you sometimes, but it comes with the territory, doesn't it? And it's not always possible to keep things all neat and tidy, not when people are involved."

"What do you mean, Thenie?" he'd asked, quietly.

"I'm flit, Apollo." The same words she'd used for their father.

But Apollo's reaction had been very different. His eyes had narrowed and then, "I see," he'd said. "Were you—are you seeing somone?"

"No," she'd said. "Not yet."

His next question had puzzled her. "Did you tell Tigh?"

"No," she'd said, then added, "But someone I did tell might have."

"How many people have you told?"

"Three," she'd said. "You and Father, and Omega."

"Omega..." he'd said ruminatively.

"Why, anyway?"

"These new regs," he'd said. At her blank look he'd elaborated, "This is going to cause problems for Father. His enemies on the Council will claim it's nepotism. Or favoritism, or something anyway."

She'd stared at him. "Are you seriously suggesting I pretend to be straight to save Father from a bit of peevish sniping?"

To his credit, the minute he'd heard it expressed in clear and unequivocable Standard he'd been horrified. "No, of course not," he'd protested.

But he had meant it, in a way, and she'd known it before she'd talked to him. It was why she'd taken so long to do it. After all, it was how he lived his own life. She wished very much that he'd accept advice from her, because she'd dearly love to tell him he should reassess his own life. But he wouldn't...

And that was to be expected, from him, and it was too bad, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. If she tried, he'd get angry and defensive, and poor Starbuck would the one to suffer for it. Besides, her own life was slowly coming into focus, and that was taking all her energy.

She'd spent time over a few sectons with various women, not just the girls' nights out with Cassie and Sheba once a secton, but, for a while, with others. Dietra, Brie, Tara, Haruka... One good thing about dating all those men: she could recognize it when it was happening the other way, too. In fact, it was happening less, partly because she was being circumspect and partly because none of them had any interest in her at all that way.

But that was all right with her. Or so she told herself until the night that she felt the spark leap across the table like touching a felix in winter and she realized that didn't feel the same way about Cassie and Sheba at all.

She liked Sheba. She was smart and funny and pretty, and Athena enjoyed being with her. She liked her enough to be glad if they became sisters, but that was all. Cassie... Cassie was brilliant, and sparkling, and beautiful. Sheba was good company, but being with Cassie was like... like... like something she'd never experienced before. All she could think of were clichés.

And Cassie.

And Cassie was Starbuck's. As much as anyone was Starbuck's, that is. But he wasn't hers.

Athena had always liked Cassie, from the beginning, even when she was so furious with her for dating Starbuck. Now she understood that anger. That jealousy. She hadn't thought she was jealous, because she'd known she didn't really want Starbuck, but now she understood that she could probably give Apollo a half-metric headstart and catch him easily in the Possessive Stakes.

But she wasn't jumping in like he did, even now that she had recognized who she loved. She'd told herself that Cassie was with Starbuck, but... She could hear Zac now: C'mon, Fee. If you don't go for it, you'll never get it.

She'd had, found, or made up, many reasons why none of the men she was with was the right one. They hadn't been very consistent, though she'd never let that stop her, and of course they'd none of them been the real reason. But of them all, the best one was the one she'd had for Starbuck. He doesn't love me, he loves someone else. In the end, she hadn't been willing to try for he'll come to love me, if I love him hard enough: she hadn't had the will to make the effort. Just as well, probably, all things considered, but now she thought about that reason.

Cassie had had a yahren to make him love her. She hadn't. Maybe she was ready to stop trying.

Maybe... Probably not, of course, but maybe. And either way, there was no real reason to think she wanted to try with a woman. What Athena felt might be all on her side...

But she'd never know if she never asked.

When Starbuck had asked her to Seal with him (which he had, in his own graceless and casual way, whatever he might say now), she hadn't told him the real reason she was saying no. She'd told him, and at that time, on that day, she'd meant it, that she didn't want to risk letting someone in who was so likely to go out and get himself killed. In the circumstances it had been a silly stand—gods knew they were all in line to get killed—and she'd abandoned it, but there was a kernel of truth to it. Just... reversed.

She'd seen it in Omega's eyes that morning when he'd told her what Bojay had said to him, and she'd heard it in his voice, in both their voices, the last time she'd eaten dinner with them. Thinking back on it, it had been in her mother, too: the possibility of losing love made it more precious, made it something to hold more tightly, not turn away from. If you really loved them...

It was why she'd almost told her father the day after he'd been hostage to Baltar and those lunatics from Terra—Starbuck had always said there wasn't any danger of humans getting wiped out, they were spread like rodents throughout this end of the galaxy and maybe the whole thing. She'd always ridden him about his simile, but 'rodents' was a kind word for those people. And maybe she was as parochial as Starbuck, but she didn't care about humans. Only Colonials.

Only her own.

She wanted to win today, not just to win a little but to destroy the Cylons. To make the Fleet safe again. Safe for the first time. Whatever. Safe.

To make the ones she loved safe.

To have a future with them.

If you really loved them, you told them. You didn't let them die not knowing it. Did you?

She glanced at her chrono. There was a half a centare before Apollo and Starbuck would reach their last checkpoint, another five centons before the Viper pilots were scrambled. If you could call it scrambling when it was scheduled, she smiled to herself. There was time. She looked around and caught Remy's eye. "Watch my position?"

He nodded, having nothing at all to do until the Vipers were flying.

"Thanks." She got up and crossed over to Omega. "I need about thirty centons."

He didn't even glance at a chrono. "You can have forty five," he said. "But then you have to be back here."

"Thanks." She smiled at him and left.

As it turned out it was a good thing she had the extra centons, because Cassie wasn't in the Life Center, though she was due there soon, and she wasn't any of the other places Athena tried. Frustrated, she headed finally back to leave her a note in the Life Center, but then she saw her, walking down a corridor with Sheba. They both looked worried, especially the pilot, whose eyes were a little red.

"Cassie," Athena said without preamble or more greeting to Sheba than a nod, "I have to talk to you."

"Me?" the blonde said, sounding surprised. "Now?"

"Yes. I really do."

Cassie paused, then nodded. She reached out and touched Sheba's arm. "It'll be all right," she said. "But you have your own mission, you know."

"I know. I'll see you later." Sheba glanced at Athena as if thinking about saying something and then shrugged. "You, too," she said. "Good luck."

"Good hunting," Athena said.

The pilot laughed. "Thanks," she said, sounding more like herself.

"Sheba," Cassie said as she started to walk away. "You should probably wash your face before you get to the ready room."

"Oh... Ain't it the truth?" she asked. For just a micron all three of them stood looking at each other, and then Sheba strode off.

Cassie looked at her, slim and deceptively fragile-looking in her uniform dress. "What are you doing off the bridge, anyway?"

"Like you and Sheba, I suppose," Athena said, deliberately not asking what they were doing together, or why Sheba looked like she'd been crying. She was going to say this and damn the consequences so she didn't want to hear anything that might slow her down. "We're just waiting, too. But I don't have much time before I have to be there."

Cassie stood there, waiting. Athena could see longing in her eyes, or thought she could; who was it for? Starbuck? Most likely... Well, that was not news. But maybe it wasn't true, either. And even if it was, Athena knew she had to speak now.

"We might not live through this day. Any of us. Pilots, bridge crew, medics..."

"I know," said Cassie.

"So, there's something I have to say. In case. Because I wouldn't want to have not said it."

"Athena, if this is about Starbuck—"

"It's not about him. I mean... No. It's not about him. I suppose he'll come up, but it's about me. And you." She took a deep breath and almost missed the change in Cassie's expression. She wasn't sure what it meant but she didn't let it stop her. "I don't have time to lead into this, so, well, I love you."

Cassie blinked. "You what?"

"I love you. I want to be with you. When this is over—"

"Yes."

Now it was Athena's turn to blink. "Yes? Yes, what?"

"Just trying to save some time," Cassie said, smiling, and the radiance in her eyes was definitely real. And definitely spark-making. "Yes to whatever. I love you, too, Athena. I have for a long time. Starbuck's sweet, but he's definitely second choice."

"He is?"

"He is. And not to Cain, either. To you."

Athena stood there, and then she began laughing. "Oh, gods," she said. "Is this happening or did I fall asleep at my board?"

"Would they let you?" Cassie was laughing, too, a sweet, happy laughter that conjured up that beach. That future. "I can prove you're not, though." She took a step closer.

"I have to be back," Athena said, breathlessly.

"Just one kiss," Cassie said. "You have time for that, don't you?"

"Oh, yes."

It was unlike any kiss she'd ever had. Cassie's lips were soft against hers, her jaw fine-boned and delicate under her palm. She was soft against Athena's body, curved and yielding, and her shoulders fit inside Athena's arm. Not asleep... most definitely not asleep, though she took a second kiss, "just to make sure."

They stood for a centon then, Athena's arms holding Cassie close and Cassie's arms around her, and the warmth was like a banked fire on a hearth. "I love you, Cassiopeia," Athena said softly. "I love you."

"I love you, Athena," she answered. She raised her hand and lifted the heavy fall of dark hair and laid her head on Athena's shoulder, letting her hair cover her face. When she spoke again, her breath was warm on Athena's throat. "I've loved you so long, so long..."

"Oh, god. I could stay here forever—"

"But duty calls. I know." Cassie stepped away, and then reached a careful but proprietary hand to put her hair right. "Me, too. But when this is over—"

"Oh, yes. As soon as this is over." She caught Cassie's hand and brought it to her lips.

Cassie smiled and then said, "I'll have to talk to Starbuck."

"Starbuck." Athena tightened her hold without thinking about it. "I'd actually forgotten him."

"Me, too. But don't worry."

"I don't want to hurt him."

"But?" Cassie prompted.

"But I'm not letting him have you."

Cassie smiled again. "I'm not his first choice either. We've been together a long time, but we both knew we were making do. Don't worry, he'll be happy for us."

"I hope so."

"He will be. I'll talk to him. You'll see."

Her wrist-chrono was telling her she had to leave. She kissed Cassie's slim fingers quickly. "We'll both talk to him. But—"

"You have to go. I know. Athena," she freed her hand and touched Athena's cheek, "I'm fond of him. I love you. Now go."

Boomer left the barracks almost right away after Starbuck and Apollo did, as soon as the pilots who were there started discussing the odds of their actually making it far enough to blow the Cylon control center. None of them were even speculating that they might make it back. Clenching his jaw so hard it hurt he walked down the corridor to the Admin area and started to open the Strike Captain's door. Then he stopped. No.

He went into the squadron leader's office. Dietra, whose Green was nominally the ready squadron, was there. He waved her back behind the desk and sat in one of the other chairs.

"When do you want the pre-mission brief?"

"I don't think one's necessary," he said. "What is there to tell them? Tigh said it all already."

"No last minute words of inspiration?"

He laughed. "I don't think 'make sure your wills are on file' is all that inspirational, do you?"

She laughed, too. "Probably not... We're going over it, aren't we?"

He nodded. "As soon as Sheba gets here. Either of you think of something I don't, we'll tell 'em when we assemble." He looked at his wrist-chrono: 1740.

"She'll be here," Dietra said in her calm way.

When they'd decided to make four oversized squadrons, instead of keeping two gargantuanly unwieldy ones, Boomer had finally gotten his own command. Sheba, as a genuine squadron leader, had been given Red right after the Pegasus left, but now she moved over to the reconstituted Silver Spar and Boomer got Red. The fourth had been up for grabs, more or less; few senior personnel had survived Cimtar and there wasn't a clear-cut front-runner. Apollo had picked Dietra himself; clearly she'd impressed the pogees out of him more than once. He'd told Boomer that Colonel Tigh had approved the choice, and also that he'd suggested that they put all the women, except Sheba (who'd clearly impressed him as someone inclined to rather definite insubordination if provoked, even if Adama hadn't promised her the Pegasus survivors), into the same squadron. Apollo had considered it briefly, if only because they were already quartered together, but in the end he'd rejected it. Didn't want to imply that the women were second class, and Pink Squadron, as Starbuck called it, would have done that.

Dietra was a good leader. Boomer had asked her to dinner once or twice, but they'd never hit it off that way. He liked her, but she was a detached person, living for her career. Or her revenge, one. Inevitably, of course, some people had speculated that she'd lost a lover with the Atlantia. And some that she was flit. If she was, though, she hadn't come out after the new regs were published.

That made him think of the three pilots who had. Sergeants Greenbean and Barton had turned out to be a rather long-standing item and, as Bean had put it, "we're gonna get tied now that we can without messin' up our careers so can we get a room, please?" But they'd taken a secton to decide Tigh had been serious. The other one had jumped that very day—and Boomer wasn't the only one startled at where he'd landed.

Apollo's reaction had been complex: partly surprise like everyone else, partly annoyance that he had been surprised, and partly outright indignation that others, namely everyone from the Pegasus, had known and kept quiet, even the rather oppressively pious Glyn, who didn't scruple to condemn a lot of things. Even that tech they'd gotten, Hereward, who was now in charge of the Armaments Technical Maintenance section, had been heard to say, "Bojay's been flit as long as I've known him. Doesn't bother me any. It's not like he ever made a pass at me; that sharp little Arian he was living with kept him too busy for that sort of thing."

It had been the closest thing to an argument Boomer had seen Apollo have with Sheba, at least since she'd joined the crew. "What, Apollo?" she'd demanded. "You were going to break him back to Flight Officer? He's been hiding it since he set foot on this battlestar; why should any of us betray him?"

"It wouldn't have been a betrayal, damn it," Apollo had said. "No, I wouldn't have demoted him but you know how things are supposed to be done. I thought. I thought you all did."

"Things were different on the Pegasus."

"Yes, well, you're back in the service now. Regulations count. Anything else you let slide when it was just you?"

Not surprisingly, Boomer thought, Sheba had not taken him up on that somewhat less than gracious offer of amnesty. She hadn't even hit him where that argument was weakest, pointing out that it hadn't been an actual regulation in decades while relationships like Robin and Giles, which Apollo was working hard to not know about officially, were still forbidden. Boomer wasn't sure if that was because she didn't want to be the one who got them busted or if she actually felt a bit guilty over seeming to choose Bojay over Apollo. Probably a bit of both, he thought, with a large dose of least said, soonest mended thrown in for good measure.

For himself, he understood why none of them wanted to expose one of them's weakness. Most of them had settled in well enough, but they'd always have those two yahrens to bind them, and the last seven sectares of them thinking they were all that was left of the Colonies... Forty-two yahrens from now that bond would still be there; if Glyn needed help Bojay would give it and vice versa, no matter how they felt about each other. And Sheba and Bojay? They were very tight, as tight as he and Starbuck, maybe more. A hundred and forty-four yahrens from now, if Sheba needed someone killed, Bojay would get off his death-bed to do it, and she for him the same and more. Vulnerable there himself, Apollo hadn't made the slighthest effort to come between them, but now Boomer was inclined to look on that as a hopeful sign, because Apollo really did dislike Bojay more than just a lot.

Of course, he wasn't all that fond of him, but he was willing to accept that if Sheba liked him, and Starbuck liked him, then there must be something there to like. And in the end, he hadn't started shooting, or even swinging, in the Pegasus's landing bay, so Boomer was inclined to decide that he probably wouldn't have. Or at least if Apollo had given him any reasonably graceful way out. After all, they'd drawn first, not Bojay.

He stopped thinking about that day with an effort, because one of the reasons Apollo hadn't been inclined to was that, subconsciously if not more, he'd seen Bojay as a rival. Not just for Sheba, either, but that was there all the time. After the Gamoray mission, it had been out in the open, and yet since neither of them seemed interested in each other that way, and Sheba had started going out with Apollo... Boomer shook his head. That disinterest was explained now, but the interest, Apollo's, was still there. And when Apollo came back, well.

And Apollo was coming back.

The door opened, pulling him out of his increasingly more depressing thoughts. He looked up and Sheba came in. He stood up automatically. He started to cover that by saying, Nice of you to join us, but he didn't even get the first word out. She looked... off-balance, somehow. He wished he'd pumped Starbuck for details on what had happened in the Raider after he'd left.

"Sheba? Are you all right?"

She looked at him and blinked a couple of times. "I don't know," she said.

He swallowed. Of all times this was not the one to say the wrong thing to her, and he didn't know what was the right one. He settled on, "They'll make it. You'll see."

She didn't answer, just turned away, not looking at him or Dietra. He was staring at Sheba helplessly when Bojay came in the office. At least, Boomer thought, watching her turn to the other man with a hand almost unconsciously reaching out, at least if he was living with Omega you didn't have to wonder about him and Sheba. Flit guys always had women friends, that was how you could pick them out in upper school, wasn't it?

"Hey, Ace," Bojay said, his voice hard-edged but his delivery gentle. "Get your game face on, girl. There's a job."

She blinked and him and then smiled, if a tiny bit unsteadily. "Sure, Crash," she said. "You're right." She took a deep breath and when she turned back to Boomer she was once again a lieutenant. "I thought you'd be in the captain's office," she said. "I looked there."

"No," he shook his head. "I didn't think..."

"Wrong symbolism," Dietra put in. "Smart decision."

"He left you a letter," Sheba said. "On the desk."

"A letter?" For a moment Boomer was nonplussed.

"There's one for Boxey, too. And his father and his sister."

"I don't have time to mess with that now," Boomer said. "If it was mission-related, he wouldn't have left it in a letter. He'll be glad I didn't read it when this is all over, anyway."

"That's the truth, for certain," Dietra said. She stood up. "Any last thoughts before we go to the ready room?"

"You're taking Blue?" Sheba asked, nothing but business in her face now.

That was different than taking his desk. Boomer nodded.

"Who's leading Red, then?"

He shrugged. "Apollo forgot to say. I guess I'll take both."

"Against a base star?" Sheba shook her head. "Tigh said you all hadn't dared tangle with a base star since you left the Colonies."

That might well have been Tigh's exact phrase, but Boomer bristled anyway. "We're daring now."

Sheba wrinkled her nose. "No, that's not what I mean. A base star—it's different. It's big, and there'll be hundreds of Raiders. This isn't hit-and-run, it isn't cover-the-retreat. You've got a lot of people who've never done this before. It's no time to spread yourself too thin."

That was reasonable. Boomer unbristled and gave her a half-grin. "You're right. Give me a centon; I'll think of the right name."

"Bojay's led."

He looked at her, and then at Bojay, who was looking back almost impassively. Almost. And it was that glint in those light-colored eyes that made Boomer suddenly think, of course he has. Of course. He should have realized it before now: that man who'd stood going face-to-face with Apollo on the Pegasus flight deck was not merely someone's wingman, not just another pilot. He'd been an alpha male as much as Apollo, he'd been someone everyone in the hangar bay had been programmed to follow. That's why it had been so dangerous.

And though Apollo bragged about Sheba being good enough to get a weapons lock on him, the fact was that Bojay had locked on Starbuck, and Boomer knew which was the harder. And he'd seen Bojay fly... If he'd had a squadron on the Pegasus (later, later, for why nobody had mentioned it though maybe he could guess) then he'd be up for this kind of fight. Apollo hadn't thought about it, none of them had, just "you and Sheba lead the squadrons", but she was right: no one could keep track of twenty-four extra fighters in a mess like they were heading into. And it wasn't like it was a promotion, because Apollo was coming back.

Plus, there had to be a little extra there. Bojay had to wonder if he wasn't getting the job because he was flit or because Apollo hated the sight of him. The problem with that latter guess was, and if he hadn't figured it out already he would soon, Apollo didn't let his personal feelings get in the way. He'd learned at the master's knee, had Apollo: his dad's. He didn't favor Starbuck a millimetron, and he wouldn't penalize Bojay. The other thing? Boomer honestly didn't know what Apollo thought, since the topic hadn't come up until recently. He did know Apollo would follow the regs, and he rather thought Apollo probably hadn't approved of the 'way things were done' beforehand.

All of that flashed through Boomer's mind as he stood there, much too fast to sort out; it wasn't until later that he was able to lay it out in neat sentences and consider it. And later, too, he'd wonder what he would have said if it hadn't been Sheba asking. Now he just nodded and said, "Right, then. You take Red for this one."

Bojay nodded; his only words were a laconic, "Thanks, boss," that made Boomer feel confident he'd made a good decision.

What Apollo would think... they'd go into that when Apollo got back.

And just maybe he'd find out why the man hadn't left a letter for his girlfriend.

Right now he said, "I'm taking Jolly with me. You'll have the two first-orbit cadets, Bojay; keep an eye on 'em. But like Sheba said, we've a lot of pilots who'll be maidens on a base star. There's not much plan to this thing: like the Commander said, we go out and hopefully draw all their fighters onto us. He says two to one, but that's to make us feel good. Let's plan on—" he looked at the Pegasans "—what do you think? Three to one?"

"At least," Sheba nodded.

"Four to one if we get lucky," said Bojay, serious under the flippant tone. "If we see that many, the Galactica will have a clear run no matter what."

No matter what. Boomer pushed the thought away without recognizing it because he didn't have the time to do otherwise. "Let's offer 'em a temptation, then," he said. "Sheba, you and me will take our squadrons in first, and sloppy. Like we're a long way from home—"

"We are," Dietra murmured.

"—and you two close up on us once the shooting's started. And then..." He shrugged. "And then we keep 'em busy until the Galactica takes out the base star."

None of them said, and if she doesn't? With luck, none of the pilots in the barracks would either.

He looked at his chrono. 1763. He took a breath and blew it out. "It's getting close. Let's go wake 'em up."

"Ours? Or the Cylons?" Dietra asked with a rare smile.

"Well, let's start with ours."

"I'd rather put the tinheads to sleep," Bojay said.

"Sounds like a plan," Boomer nodded. "After you, lieutenants."

Omega leaned over a console to get a better look at the display. Most of the smoke had been scrubbed out of the bridge, but traces of it remained, and his eyes were still stinging a bit. Third Watch had come on at their regular time, but First Watch had still been involved in the immediate crisis and had been trickling off the bridge in ones and twos only for the last centare or so. The commander had told them to take the next day off, Fourth Watch would fill in for them. Omega had reminded three or four of the more senior that they needed to stay on the Galactica just in case, and he intended to come in the next day himself. Fourth Watch, which basically filled in for those on the others who were on their off days, didn't have an ICOB of their own and Charis and Tellerat didn't need to pull two long shifts in a row.

The colonel was still here, of course. The commander had left the bridge for the landing bay as soon as it was confirmed that Captain Apollo had made it back. "Go on, Adama," the colonel had told him; "we can handle it here. The fighting's over; this is just clean up."

The commander had hesitated only a moment, and then he'd hurried out, following the Viper pilots and that pretty medtech who had barely said a word the whole time she was here. She was supposed to be Starbuck's girlfriend, but his life had made Omega a keen observer and he rather thought she wasn't. In fact, those three had all been tense in the wrong way for straightforward friends and lovers.

Though he might be wrong, he admitted. Many people had been acting out of character today. The commander for one, staking it all on one audacious move. And the colonel for another. He smiled to himself as he straightened and entered the data on his pad. It would be a long time before he, or anyone else who'd been on the bridge, would forget the sight of Tigh pounding the commander on the back and whooping, "You did it, Adama! You did it!"

But he, and they, had sobered up quickly enough as the squadron recall went out and the casualty list began to be compiled. Damages were, as Omega had reported, extensive, but not crippling. Casualties were heavy, but actual deaths remarkably light. At least, light on the battlestar. In the fighter squadron it was a different matter. They'd sent out ninety-six. Seventy-three came back. Nearly one out of four hadn't lived through the fight.

Omega hadn't realized how hard he was listening for one voice until he'd heard the simple exchange on channel one. "Boj, you take charge in Alpha; Dietra, you've got Beta." And the acknowledgments, the first of which had, disturbingly, actually made him miss the second and several more exchanges from the sound of the next one that registered. He'd been equally disturbed by the realization that crept into his mind, as he tallied the deaths for the colonel, that he wouldn't have minded, really, if even more had died as long as Bojay hadn't.

He'd been horrified at the thought, and his upper-class Caprican upbringing had made him rebel at least as much at losing control of himself on duty. He thought he'd had all of his personal feelings locked up where they wouldn't interfere with his performance. Resolutely he'd shoved it all aside again, saving it for later, when he wasn't on the bridge. When he had the leisure to deal with what should stay private.

"Omega?"

He turned, half his mind on the fires and most of the other half on the other details, the rest of it locked up again, very tightly, or so he hoped. He hated working at 80%—if it was that high—but no one had seemed to notice. He wasn't sure if that meant he was usually that much better than competent, or if today they were all off their game a little, or if they were making allowances. He preferred the first option, for all its arrogance; he certainly didn't want anyone making allowances for him. "Only three fires still burning, Colonel," he said. "And two of them are expected to be out within five centons. The third is under control and projected to be out in—"

Tigh shook his head. "Omega."

He blinked, not sure what the colonel wanted. That wasn't a familiar feeling. "Sir?"

"Lieutenant Tellarat is here."

The significance of that was escaping him entirely.

"Go home, Omega. Lieutenant Tellerat can do this; your shift is over. Debriefing for the squadron leaders isn't until tomorrow morning. And I'm rather surprised he's not up here pointing at his chrono." He smiled suddenly. "Go home."

Omega looked at him, and then his emotions said to hell with this and kicked down the door he'd locked them behind. There was absolutely nothing he wanted more than to do just that, and no reason at all why he shouldn't do what he wanted. No good reason. He smiled back. "Yes, sir," he said and handed the data pad to Tellerat. "You have the bridge, lieutenant."

He keyed opened the door and walked in. Boj's jacket was lying on the couch, his holstered blaster was curled up on the kava table ('you can't have been this disorganized in the barracks!' 'didn't have this much room in the barracks...'), and his person, half-dressed, was advancing out of the sleeping room.

"It's about damn time." With which romantic greeting he backed Omega up to the door and made him wish he'd come home sooner.

A lot sooner.

In the depths of the night Adama lit a candle in the Fleet Chapel's main nave and thanked the Lords of Kobol for their grace that day. The enemy had been destroyed.

From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears... He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from those that hated me; for they were too mighty for me... the enemy have vanished in everlasting ruins...

And this time he had been spared his son.

He had feared for Apollo beyond words, and he had feared the bargain he had made with Baltar to save him. To save the fleet, yes, but Adama had known at the time he did it that it was because Apollo was taking on this mission (as he would always do) that he had thought of Baltar. And he had feared: that Baltar had betrayed them, not caring about his own death if he could take them with him; that Baltar's information would prove outdated; that it would be correct but that Apollo would die saving the fleet.

As Zac had...

Adama bowed his head and prayed for the souls of those who had died this day, and of those who had not.

Tigh sat in his quarters. The last of the fires was out, and Salik, looking like death warmed over, had reported that the last of the casualties was out of surgery. It would be touch and go for a few days for a few of them, but he had looked reasonably satisfied. It would have to do, Tigh had thought, and then had looked around the bridge, said good-night to Tellarat, and gone... home.

He turned his head. The room was dark, but he knew where everything was, every piece of furniture and each little sculpture. Rising, he walked unerringly to pick up 'Waiting', a woman sitting under a tree. He ran his fingers over the intricately braided hair, the folds of the long skirt, the infinitely contented expression on her face... "If you get there before I do," he said softly, quoting her favorite song, one which had made her cry happily every time she'd heard it, "don't give up on me. I'll meet you when my chores are through. I don't know how long I'll be, but I'm not going to let you down, darling, wait and see. And between now and then, till I see you again, I'll be loving you. Love me."

He moved his hand to keep the tears off the statuette, but otherwise he just stood there, in the darkness. "Not before I should," he promised her again, "but as soon as I can. As soon as I can..."

Down the corridor, but still in senior staff housing, Bojay came back to bed after relieving himself and snuggled up next to Omega. He ran his fingers through the thick dark hair and was gratified at the way his lover turned to get closer even in his sleep. A good day... he yawned and put his arm over Omega's shoulders and slid back into sleep.

In junior command officers' country, Athena woke, unsure why, and then heard the murmur by her shoulder. She turned over and touched her lover's face gently. "Cassie?"

Cassie woke without moving, those dark blue eyes even darker in the dimly lit room and fixed on Athena. For a micron or two they were blank and then recognition flowed into them, and content. "Thee," she said softly.

Athena blinked back a sudden and unexpected tear. If Zac had been able to say his th's properly as a toddler that's what he would have called her.

"What is it?" Cassie asked, raising herself on one elbow. Her skin gleamed in the dimness like pearl, but she wasn't hard like pearl.

Athena pushed the tousled blonde hair back and smiled. "Nothing, love," she answered. "Only... do you know how much I love you?"

"As much as I love you, or I hope so."

"Never leave me, Cassie."

"I never will, Thee. I never will." And she kissed Athena, bending over her, her delicate hand gentle but strong on Athena's breast.

Athena kissed her back, surrendering gladly to the joy she had finally found and would never willingly give up again.

In the squadron leaders' office Sheba leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. She could have delegated this, she supposed. Only one flight of Silver Spar had to be at ready tonight, said the colonel, and she could have given command of it to someone else. But it was an excellent excuse.

And the truth was, she needed an excuse. She felt as though her emotions had been on a carnival ride today. She had things to sort through.

A lot of things.

Boomer sat at the bar in the "Star Rose" and drank, looking over the available talent. He didn't have any business being here and he'd get in trouble if he was spotted, and either way he was going to feel like something the dagget threw up at the debriefing in the morning. When the man sat down next to him he didn't even turn his head.

"Here you go," the man said, laying the package on the bar. "A hundred fifty, like I said."

Boomer put the money down on the bar next to the package.

The man let go of the package. "Mind tellin' me what you're gonna do with it?"

Boomer turned his gaze on the man. "Yes."

"Hey," the man raised the hand that wasn't collecting cubits. "All right with me." He got up quickly and left.

One of the talent took his place, smiling professionally. "What's in the package, luv? Something I can help you with?"

Boomer smiled back, amused at the slight change in her eyes. "I don't know. How are you with a laser micro-soldering iron?"

"Get stuffed, hentai." She left, only just not checking that he wasn't following.

Hentai. Even he knew that piece of slang, though not where it came from. Pervert. He smiled again and finished his drink, then picked up his package of black-market electronics and left. If only you knew, sweetheart, he thought. He glanced at his chrono as he left the bar. Another twenty centons before the shuttle came. And he'd be up all what was left of the night making this gamma frequency signal booster, but with Wilker's lab destroyed in the attack, it was all Apollo would have to go on for his quest after that elusive signal.

Starbuck drained his glass and looked around the O Club bar. It wasn't empty, but no one he particularly liked was here. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that most of his friends were involved with someone, and tonight was a night to be with whoever that was. Unless you were unlucky, that was, he thought as he gestured for the bartender to give him another. Cass was on duty in the Life Center until 0350, and she'd be exhausted when she got off. Not to mention in that irrational angry mood she got into after combat anymore. It wasn't that she blamed him precisely, but she didn't have a better target to take it out on. And he just wasn't in the mood for that tonight. Not that he ever was, actually, but usually he got laid after getting chewed out and tonight he figured she'd probably fall asleep while yelling at him.

Oh, well. No clouds without silver linings. He wouldn't mind taking any of these losers for half their sectonly pay...

Apollo sat on the side of Boxey's bed and watched him sleep. He was sorry Sheba was on duty tonight, but on the other hand he was glad to be alone. He was in the wrong mood to be with anyone just now. He'd only say the wrong thing to them, whoever they were. Coming close to dying always did this to him, he'd be all right in the morning. He just needed to settle down, let his emotions get untangled so he could sort them out and put them back where they belonged.

"Dad?" Boxey was half awake.

Muffy's servos whined as he sat up. Apollo pushed the drone down with one foot as he leaned forward. "I'm right here, son," he said.

Boxey reached out his hand. Apollo took it and the boy held on tightly while his eyes closed.

"I'm right here," Apollo said again, and leaning forward, he kissed Boxey's cheek. "Everything's all right."

Boomer was as close to being late for the debriefing as he had ever been to anything in his life. (Anything that didn't involve Starbuck, at any rate.) He'd been right: he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. But the frequency booster was finished, and he'd even had a half centare to get it installed in the Celestial Dome. On reflection, he probably shouldn't have done that; he'd barely had time to get to the barracks for a turbowash and a clean uniform.

He'd been cutting it close on purpose, not wanting to chance getting there early enough to have to make conversation with Apollo, or anyone, but he slid into his chair in the briefing room with about ten microns to spare. It earned him a congratulatory grin from Starbuck, but nobody else looked particularly impressed by his timing.

He glanced around the table. Actually, he probably wasn't the worst looking one there. Sheba looked as tired as he, and not quite so fresh; of course, she had an excuse, having been on duty last night. But Apollo and Starbuck looked tired, too, and Starbuck had that slight glaze in his eyes that said he was not drunk but had drink taken as Barton was wont to say. Dietra, though, was her usual cool self, and Omega his usual imperturbable one, while Bojay looked... He looked smackable, actually, Boomer thought; he reminded him of that Triad coach back at the Academy who'd used to say it wasn't sex that tired a player out, it was staying up all night looking for sex. What redeemed him was the worry that crossed those pale brown eyes when he let them drift to Sheba, that and the way they softened just a bit when they looked at Omega.

You romantic, you, Boomer thought as he carefully avoided looking at her again himself and did his best not to look at Apollo, which was made easier by the fact that he was on the same side of the table as the captain, with Starbuck between them. The one time their eyes did lock, what he saw was a very clear why the frack did you give Bojay a squadron? Or at least a very clear what the hell were you thinking?, and since Bojay was in the middle of a clear, concise report on Red's actions, it was a fair assumption what had annoyed him.

The meeting went smoothly all the way around, though. There wasn't a lot of new ground to go over, after all, except for what Starbuck and Apollo could tell them about the interior of the base star. Starbuck did most of the talking, Apollo putting in the occasional sentence to bring his wingmate back to the main point. "You can get as off-topic as you like in your written report, Starbuck."

"Off-topic?" Starbuck was, or at least sounded, cut to the quick. "You never know when these little details could come in handy."

"Never again, we hope," Tigh put in.

"Well, sir..." Starbuck shrugged.

"You're right, Starbuck," Adama said. "But save it for your written report. Is there anything else I should know before I attend the Council meeting, Colonel?"

"Only," said Tigh, "that I expect to see each of you this evening. 1900. Main Hall. And, gentlemen? Dress uniforms."

That effectively broke up the meeting. Sheba and Dietra and Bojay left together, as did Tigh and Adama with Omega following them out. Boomer's escape was cut off by a mild, "Boomer, hold on a moment," from Apollo, which was followed by a, "Don't you have someplace to be, Starbuck?"

"I think I'll go write my report."

"Good idea." He watched Starbuck leave and then turned to Boomer. "Why did you give Bojay a squadron?"

"Somebody needed to lead Red, and Sheba said he was up to it. Said he'd led before."

"Off the Pegasus." Apollo said that like the other battlestar was a garbage scow.

"I would assume. Look, I believed her, and he did a good job, and it's not like you never made him section, yourself."

"Section," Apollo said dismissively. "That's three people. A squadron's—"

"Twenty more, I know. I thought he could handle it, and he did, and anyway it's over now, right? And if you had somebody else in mind you should have told me." A yawn interrupted that. "Apollo, look. It was a judgement call and I made it and I'm sorry you don't agree with me."

"It's not that, Boomer," Apollo said quickly. "I'm not critcizing your decision, I'm just... okay, maybe I was. But I didn't mean to criticize your judgement. And it does look like he did a good job."

"He did." He yawned again. "Look, I'm too tired to argue about it right now. I was up late working on a gamma frequency booster for the Celestial Dome receivers."

"Really?" Apollo was distracted for a moment.

"Really. You know Wilker's lab was hit."

"I know. The recording was lost?"

"Everything was lost. So maybe next time you can get a better recording and we won't need as much enhancement to figure out what it is."

"Thanks, Boomer."

He shook his head. "Don't mention it. It's a nice little problem." He shook his head, fighting off another yawn.

"Boomer," Apollo said, "you look like several metrics of bad road. How late were you up?"

"Too late," he admitted, then prevaricated a little. "You know how it is, time gets away from you when you're busy."

"You look like you're lucky Red's off today. You should get some sleep."

Boomer yawned again. "I think you're right." He paused. "Look, Apollo—that was a good job yesterday."

"You, too."

"Yeah... I'm glad you made it back."

That might have been just a bit too forceful: Apollo looked a little surprised but it modulated into slightly embarrassed pleasure. "Thanks," he said. "I'm glad you did, too."

"Yeah..." After an awkward pause, Boomer said, "I'm going to bed. See you tonight, I guess."

"Yes... Thanks again. For the booster. Where is it?"

Boomer grinned. "I installed it already."

One good thing about the conversation, he thought as he headed for the barracks, he was way behind Sheba. He wouldn't run into her at the barracks, anyway: she and Dietra had tiny little rooms over in junior command staff territory. He thought the rooms might be smaller than the cubbyholes the male squadron leaders had, but then again, they had their own service rooms and fooders, private turbowashes, and a distinct lack of seventy-plus men just outside the door. He'd have swapped.

Or would have if he hadn't been so damned generous and handed his room over to Greenbean and Barton until they got their own. As that dragged out he sometimes regretted the impulse. But he was so tired now that he wouldn't have cared if he'd been in bunks again instead of at least his own bed.

He slept straight through until his alarm went off. When he got to the Main Hall, the first thing he did was head for the buffet. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last... before the battle? Likely. No wonder he was starving. Fortified again, he picked up a glass of nectar and looked around, trying to remember the last time they'd had a party like this.

He spotted Sheba standing alone and watching the dancers. Half the servicewomen had taken Tigh's use of the word 'gentlemen' as an excuse not to be in uniform, but Sheba wasn't one of them. He'd seen her in civvies only a few times, and never in something fancy; he guessed she didn't own a formal dress. She could, he supposed, have borrowed something from Athena, or somebody, but he somehow wasn't surprised she hadn't. Defining herself as a Warrior first was a Sheba-ish thing to do. He'd heard Apollo compliment her abilities but, remembering how the man had felt about Serina he wondered. Had that been because Serina hadn't been a Warrior when they met, so that it seemed... oh, a rejection of his values? Or had it been because she wasn't good enough, was too vulnerable? Starbuck thought Serina had reminded Apollo of Zac that way; he was probably right, he usually was about the captain. Boomer didn't know.

He hadn't liked Serina much. He hadn't thought she'd be good for Apollo, and he'd known she wasn't good for Starbuck. He'd been sorry when she died, sorry for the boy and sorrier when it became apparent how cut-up about it Apollo was. But he'd never wished her alive half, one-third, as much as he did now.

He looked around the room, but he didn't see Apollo. He felt his forehead wrinkling as he looked again, more closely. Still no Apollo. And no Starbuck, either. Cassie was here, talking with Athena, so Starbuck wasn't with her. His eyes lingered on the two of them a moment: there was no denying it, Athena was a beautiful woman, and Cassie didn't hurt your eyes either. Neither was in uniform, and he approved of Tigh's intention (if it had been his intention). Cassie was wearing that off-the-shoulder cream-colored dress with all the ruffles that she wore so often (Boomer supposed she didn't have a lot of clothes, either), but Athena was wearing something he hadn't seen before, icy-blue with a sort of severely classical line and a scarf or whatever you called it around her long throat and trailing behind her, and that dusky brown mane looking even darker against the paleness of dress and shoulders. Someone was going to be one lucky man, he thought; Starbuck already was, at least in some ways.

He looked back at Sheba and caught her looking at him. This morning he'd been trying to avoid her, but now he'd had eight centares of sleep and felt adequate to the task, so he skirted the dancers and fetched up beside her. "Hi," he said. "Want a drink?" He gestured at the glasses of nectar on the linen-draped table along the wall.

"No," she said. "Thanks."

"Where's Apollo?" he asked, hoping it sounded casual.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she answered him after a pause. "I haven't seen him since this morning, and we didn't talk then. I suppose he'll be here." The end of that tailed up into an almost question; she apparently heard it and added, "I mean, this is at least partly in his honor, isn't it?"

Boomer nodded automatically, saying without much thought involved, "I think so. Him and Starbuck. His and Starbuck's, I mean."

"Starbuck and he," she said, but it didn't sound as much like a correction as it did a contemplation.

Boomer looked at her, and saw her smile, suddenly and with great fondness. Swallowing, he braced himself and turned to follow her gaze. To his surprise, he found himself looking at Bojay and Omega, the pilot apparently trying to talk the other man into something. The pale stones and all that silver flashed off the flag lieutenant like stars in a summer sky, and the fall of his dark cape actually looked unplanned and natural. He looked like he wore it every day. Adama could carry the dress uniform off like that,too; Apollo couldn't. Remembering his wedding, Boomer thought the blue suited Apollo better than the brown he preferred, but in neither of them did he look comfortable. Standing still he was... picturesque; moving he was uncomfortable and stiff. Until now, Boomer had thought Starbuck looked at home in the archaic fashion; he remembered complaining to him at the academy: "Most of us manage to learn how handle these things, at least I hope we do, but you—Sagan, Bucko, you look like you were born in yours!"

Starbuck had preened himself in the dress greys of the academy—the russet and gold of Starfighter dress suited him even better—and said, "Maybe I was. Anyway, I like it!" And he'd taken off the cape with a swirl that left it lying in perfect drapes across his arm.

But Starbuck looked dramatic in his, like he was in costume. Omega really looked born to it: on him the ensemble just looked like what he was wearing. On Bojay, Boomer was glad to see, it looked like a faintly uncomfortable but dashing piece of fancy dress. He wondered briefly if the on-board stores had carried enough dress uniforms to fit out all the new pilots who'd come aboard after Cimtar, not to mention after Gamoray; surely the pectorals weren't easily made in the fleet. Then he thought, uncomfortably, that they'd had enough people die in the past yahren or so with no bodies recovered to bury and no next of kin... the quartermasters had to do something with their belongings. He shook off that thought by wondering why people still said "bury", under the circumstances, and then forgot that as Bojay won his point and, taking Omega's glass and putting it down with his, led the tall man onto the floor.

As a Libran Boomer had always thought of himself as fairly open-minded, but he didn't think he'd ever seen two men dancing before, not in a mixed crowd at any rate. They were good at it—not surprising for the flag lieutenant, he supposed—and perfectly decorous, and perfectly in love, and Boomer felt his throat tighten looking at them.

"Boj loves to dance," Sheba said softly. "I'm glad to see him doing it again, he hasn't in, oh, so long..." She sighed and then startled him by asking, "Would you like to dance, Boomer?"

That is not a good idea, he warned himself, trying to think of how to answer.

Before he could, she said, with a little smile that was self-directed, "Don't worry; you can lead."

Thought went out the window. "I'd follow you," he said. "I might not be very good at first, but I'd follow you."

Her smile grew larger and happier. "Thank you. I'll remember that. But you can lead; I'll follow you, too."

And so, knowing it was a bad idea, he took her hand and joined the dance.

And after only a single circuit of the floor he couldn't remember why it had seemed like a bad idea. The last time he'd held her—the only time he'd held her outside of his dreams—it had been all fire and passion, heat and hunger. This time it was different. Oh, there was hunger, yes, and desire, but mostly it was warmth and... love. It was a slow dance, a gentle one, and her eyes had closed and her head had come to rest on his shoulder as he guided them around, among the other couples, some together for the rest of their lives and some just as long as the music lasted.

He didn't know how he could ever let go of her. He didn't know why he ever should.

As the music led them slowly down a road he'd forgotten why he'd thought he shouldn't get on, the events of yesterday played again in his mind.

"Did you see that?"

"Couldn't miss it. Half the galaxy lit up," said Jolly, and his usual penchant for exaggeration had seemed only reporting this time.

"But which ship?" It was Sheba who asked the question. And it was Sheba who'd said, "They're not following," when the recall signal had come and they'd peeled off for home.

"I think they've had it," Boomer had said, but Cylon defeat was now the last thing on his mind. He said, hopefully, "Anyone pick up Apollo and Starbuck on their attack scanner?"

The silence had been like a stone on his chest. Finally Sheba had broken it to ask, "Boomer... you think—"

He hadn't been able to let her put it into words. Giles could come up with that crazy Libran stuff about saying the opposite of what you want, getting the opposite of what you say: Leonids knew better. From your lips to the gods' ears... "Hey," he'd said, hoping he didn't sound like he was whistling past a graveyard, "they're probably already back, sipping a cool one in the officer's club."

But he'd known when he was saying it that there hadn't been enough time for Starbuck and Apollo to have executed the mission and beaten them back, no way the Galactica could have won so quickly if they hadn't executed the mission, and, with a one-centon delay on the solenite, all too probably no way they'd gotten clear. And he'd known, too, that someone would have told them if they had...

He'd taken advantage of temporary rank to leave Bojay and Dietra in charge in the landing bays and he and Sheba had gone straight to the bridge. By the time they got there the red lights were off and most of the fires were out, but neither of them had paid any attention to that. They'd headed straight for the commander, who'd told them, "Nothing... not a sign of them. We've had a number of Cylon fighters making suicide runs at us, but none transmitting the identification signal."

Cassie had been there, looked harassed, but it was Sheba who had asked the question they'd all been thinking. "What if they never got off the base star? What if—"

She sounded scared. Boomer almost said something, but before he could, Omega, sounding entirely too calm (but then, Bojay was safe on board)(and that's not fair, Boomer, he always sounds like that), interrupted. "Commander, another Cylon fighter approaching."

No signal.

When he'd seen the Raider waggling its wings, he'd been too stunned to say anything at once. Fortunately, he'd managed to get it out between Adama's order to fire and the execution of that order. "No! Don't fire! It's them!"

"How can you know?" Adama had asked.

"He's waggling!" Thank God for you, Starbuck. Thank all the gods for you. He'd gripped the display and stared at it, at Starbuck and Apollo coming home, and all he'd been able to think was, why didn't it work?

As soon as he'd heard Omega directing the Raider to Landing Bay Beta he and Sheba and Cassie had been off for the turbolift. They'd ridden to the bay in a silence he'd barely noticed at the time, preoccupied as he was with that thought: why didn't it work? It should have worked. It worked when I tested it, why didn't it work?

In public—dozens of pilots, more mechs, a handful of medics—the reunion had been muted. Well, Sheba and Apollo's had been; Cassie had hugged a grinning Starbuck and been hugged back, but then she'd said, "I have to go, I shouldn't have been away this long anyhow," and run off to join Dr Paye's team as they got ready to transport two injured mechs. Boomer had taken advantage of Starbuck's bereft condition to grab his arm and say, "Why didn't it work?"

"Good to see you, too, Boom-Boom, and I thought it did. Big explosion, base star goes bye-bye, wasn't that the plan?"

"Yeah, good job and I'm glad as hell you're back, but the transmitter, Starbuck. Why didn't it work?"

"Oh, that." Starbuck had grinned and gestured at Apollo, who'd come over to slap Boomer's shoulder. "Captain Clumsy here dropped it down the core. It was probably working all right till then, but if it survived hitting the deck I doubt the explosions did it any good. But hey, we didn't need it anyway."

"Thanks to your memory," Apollo had said. "I got to tell you, I was not at all sure that was going to work."

And then the commander had shown up and Apollo and Starbuck had gone to talk to him, and then Dietra and then other pilots had swarmed around, and Boomer had been able to disappear. He'd gone back to the Wing, where he'd found that the colonel had set the debrief for the morning, 0900—very considerate of him, Boomer had thought. He'd called the bays to pass the word to Dietra and Bojay, telling the latter that yes, that meant he didn't want to see them either, and then he'd gone to the barracks. He might have stuck around the office, figuring to be alone, except that he heard Sheba's voice talking to the duty NCO and realized she planned on pulling Silver Spar's nominal duty herself.

And he hadn't wanted to find out why, so he'd ducked out before she saw him... And then in the barracks he'd heard that Wilker's lab had been hit, and Wilker himself injured. There goes Apollo's recording. He'd remembered Apollo, all day, going on about it. From his point of view, it hadn't been much to get excited about even if it wasn't a harmonic from the solar system where the Cylons had been sitting, like a giant crawlon, just waiting for them to follow the lure. But Apollo had been convinced—no, convinced was much too strong a word. Apollo had hoped, still hoped, that it was a primary signal, a transmission faded by age and distance, from some unknown people.

No. Boomer knew what Apollo was hoping. The line of transmission was close enough to identical with the course the fleet had been holding since the Light Ship. The course to Earth. Apollo was hoping this signal was from Earth.

Of course, as he'd told Apollo, to be so weak it had to have been travelling a long time. A hundred yahrens, Starbuck had guessed. Or ten thousand, Boomer had countered. There's no way to tell how long that signal's been travelling through space. What good would it do them to find out Earth was, at light speed, even just a hundred yahrens away?

Well... Okay. A hundred lightyahrens, depending on the systems that lay between here and there, that might actually be doable. Even two or three hundred could be doable, though with the fleet it would take a long time, a very long time. Apollo would be a grandfather by then, best case. If it was further than that, his grandchildren would be grandparents. And if it was really intergalatic, literally inter-galatic, then they had no hope.

But since there wasn't any way to tell how far away it was... Assuming it hadn't been a harmonic, and assuming that even if it was a primary frequency it hadn't been rebroadcast by the Cylons, and given their presence right there Boomer found either of those alternatives extremely unlikely, and assuming they'd ever find it again...

He had sighed. They never would with the equipment up there in the Dome, not unless they crossed it again. And without Wilker's lab equipment, even if they found it they couldn't do anything with it, not as weak as it was.

So he'd changed into civvies instead of just crawling into his bunk, and he'd gone over to the Star looking for a guy he knew who could find someone to sell him parts to build an amplifier. And he'd stayed up all night building it.

But that had been last night. This was tonight. And he'd had a good nine centares' sleep, and he was standing here in a dress uniform, looking at Sheba, no, holding her, and quite suddenly everything that had happened yesterday looked very different to him. Things that he hadn't thought about now loomed large and inescapable, and for the first time in his life...

The music stopped. He stopped with it, but for a long centon Sheba didn't open or eyes or move her head, just standing there leaning against him. When she did move, it was to lean back and look up at him, not so very much shorter than him, only a tilt of her head to bring her mouth to his... He blinked at the remembered kiss and heard himself say, "I love you, Sheba."

"What did you say?" It wasn't indignant, or incredulous, it was a real question.

"I love you."

She was quiet, looking at him.

"I can't..." he swallowed. "I can't not say this, Sheba. I love you. Apollo doesn't. Or not as much as I do, anyway. You'll always be second with him. He's not even here, Sheba. He's not even here. Where is he?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'm his friend, maybe I shouldn't be saying this to you, but I can't not. You'll always be second with him. You'll always be first with me."

She didn't say anything, just kept standing there looking at him. He could tell she was thinking, but he couldn't tell what. He didn't know what to do; he couldn't think of anything else to say. This wasn't anything like anything he'd ever done, or dreamed of doing, in his entire life. He looked at her and wondered what his next move should be. If he were a vid hero he would sweep her into a crushing embrace, kissing her with a fierce passion that would turn her bones into water... He didn't see himself doing that any time in the next, oh, century. The problem was, he couldn't see himself doing anything. It was, he realized, her move.

She didn't say anything for a long moment, and when she did, her voice was abstracted. "First..." She shook her head, sharply, and said, "Do you want to kiss me, Boomer?"

"More than anything." Then, as he realized, "Oh."

Her lips were soft on his. Her hands slid up his chest, pushed his cape off his shoulders; one of them was warm on the side of his neck. Her mouth opened, inviting him in, and he felt her hair in his fingers, heard the metallic rustle of their pectorals coming together, felt the smooth suede of her cloak under his other hand... Maybe her bones weren't turning to water but he wasn't so sure about his.

"Yes," she breathed against his throat. "That's what I wanted to feel."

He wasn't sure what she meant, but it sounded encouraging. "I love you, Sheba," he said again, resting his cheek on her honey-colored hair. "I love you."

She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. After a moment she smiled and he felt himself smiling back, wide and happy. "Would you like to get a drink after this is over? Or," he tried to remember what schedules they were on and found it harder than it should be, "maybe dinner tomorrow before you go on duty?"

She laughed softly, but not at him, he realized. "Oh, Boomer," she said. "I love you."

And then he saw, over her head, Apollo making his way towards them along the edge of the floor. She must have caught the change in his expression because she turned. "Oh, dear."

It was so inadequate he had to laugh. "I'll talk to him," he said, but she caught his arm.

"No. I will."

"Sheba—"

"Dear Boomer." She looked at him. "I can fight my own battles. And anyway, I think you're right. He doesn't love me. This won't be a battle, just a covering action. He'll probably even be glad when he thinks about it."

"To lose you?"

Her smile was a bit wistful. "I don't think he ever wanted me, Boomer." The smile grew more certain. "Not like you do. I'll talk to him."

"I won't be far away," he promised, and watched her walk towards Apollo. Of all the times for you to choose to show up, he thought, why now? And then, because he was an honest man, he added, But I'm glad it wasn't ten centons earlier.

Apollo had gone up to the Dome as soon as he could get away from the Wing. Because of the celebration that evening, he'd arranged for Boxey to spend the night with his friend Ran, and the boy, who had at breakfast seemed his usually blithe and bouncy self, had gone there right after eating. Apollo wasn't looking forward to payback in two Seventhdays, but he supposed it was all part of being a parent. Besides, Boxey loved spending time with Ran.

Sometimes he wondered what they could find to get up to for two days. "You know, stuff," Boxey's usual answer, was not particularly helpful. When he'd been Boxey's age, he'd had friends (despite the rumors), but he had never particularly wanted to spend several days with any of them. He'd never understood how Zac and Athena could apparently not run out of activities over the course of a winter's break, let alone the whole of a summer, how they didn't get bored with each other, drive each other mad. Well, madder. He'd asked Zac once, and his brother had looked at him like he was more than usually out of touch. "Bored? With Fee?" Apollo had lived in a certain degree of fear for a secton or so that Zac would tell her "Pol thinks you're boring!", but if he had, she'd decided to rise above it.

But the promise of a weekend with Ran kept Boxey on good behavior for a couple of days at a time, so Apollo was in favor of it. And much as he loved his son, the knowledge that his quarters would be empty when he got home was sometimes very soothing, especially since Boxey was just one level down.

And today it had meant he could come right up here and look at the scanner to see if they'd intercepted that signal again. With the amplifier Boomer had made (even if he did think it was a harmonic), if the originators again transmitted (had transmitted again however long ago) something from along their course they'd pick it up. Even though he knew, intellectually, it could take sectons before the ship that had sent that signal on its outbound journey, or one like it, again happened to be in the right spot, nonetheless he'd hoped they'd pick it up right away. But by the time Starbuck came to gently remind him that he had other places to be, he hadn't seen or heard so much as a whisper. Not that that had stopped him from staying up there for two and a half centares, looking and listening...

But Starbuck was right. Sitting up here looking at the scanner wasn't going to find Earth any sooner. It was just a way to hide from the bad decisions he'd made lately.

With one last look behind him at the now-darkened Dome, Apollo started down the ladder, but he should have kept his eyes on where he was putting his feet. His toe touched the rung, then slipped off, and he was reaching up for the hatch instead of holding on. He felt himself start to fall; it was a long way down and he might hit Starbuck—a strong arm caught him and shoved him back onto the ladder before the thought could fully form.

"Thanks."

Starbuck cut him off before he could think of how to say it. "You're the only guy I know who would fall out of the hand of God."

And it was just like Starbuck to remember that corny and embarrassingly revealing sentiment, and make fun of it, and wait till no one else was around before he did, and do it to defuse a potentially awkward situation. Apollo smiled at the top of his friend's head as they made their way down the ladder. "They really going to give us a medal?" he asked, keeping the moment light the way Starbuck wanted it.

"Did I say us? I think they're just decorating me."

He laughed and then the noise got loud enough they had to put on the hearing protectors. He climbed on down in the muffled silence and wondered what Sheba was going to say when he saw her tonight. She hadn't said much yesterday before going on duty and she hadn't said much this morning, but after what had happened in the Raider...

"Do you ever think about getting Sealed?"

"Now and then."

"To Cassiopeia?"

"Now and then... Or then and then, Apollo, now's not really the moment, is it?"

He shook his head. It never was the moment, that was the problem. Or it always was. Depended on what it was the moment for.

There had been a moment yesterday when he'd thought they were both going to die. Starbuck was hightailing it towards the Raider bay, and Apollo was following him, because how could he not, but he'd been aware there was no way for them to approach the Galactica without being taken for a Cylon. The odds were very good they'd be cut down by a Viper before they got very far, anyway. But as Starbuck climbed into the first Raider they came to, Apollo followed him, his imagination running far ahead: one of the other two planets was habitable, and Starbuck was planning on heading there to wait out the battle, but of course they'd have no way to contact the battlestar afterwards, and they'd have to hope that someone would come looking even though there'd be no reason to... they'd have to hope... And then, as usual, his fantasies collided with reality.

"Let's get out of sight and out of range. As soon as things quiet down," Starbuck said, "we can go home."

"We don't have the transmitter," Apollo pointed out.

"We don't need that electronic felgercarb." Starbuck looked back at him. "Oh, come on, Apollo: you ever known Boomer to forget something important?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We'll just waggle our wings..."

And Boomer had remembered, and so here they were, back home. And what had been the most worrisome about that particular fantasy was its choosing to rear its head while he was working... if you could call running for his life working, but it certainly hadn't been off-duty.

He knew why, of course. Starbuck had been vague but not dismissive of his talk with Cassiopeia. And as for his own talk with Sheba, well, they hadn't set a date but they'd certainly taken a long step closer to that. He'd avoided her yesterday, and this morning she'd disappeared while he was talking to Boomer, but they'd have to talk again soon. Knowing women, tonight would be a perfect time.

And he had no one to blame but himself. Oh, she'd kissed him, but he'd led her to believe he wanted to. Else why would she have? After all, and he glanced reflexively between his feet at the tawny head beneath him, sex was supposed to be part of a lifetime commitment, not an evening's entertainment.

Of course, that was a minefield that just got harder to negotiate the longer he knew Starbuck. He'd been able to start out thinking that it was simply a matter of class differences in mores (even back then he'd avoided the word "morals"), but the final blow to that had been dealt when Starbuck started dating Athena. Apollo had been able to pretend for a while, but it had become fairly clear that his sister was sleeping with Starbuck (as who wouldn't, given the opportunity? he admitted in the dark of the night), and, well, he knew Starbuck slept with Cassiopeia and he was sure Athena had slept with Boomer, and, well...

But he and Sheba weren't. Yet. He sighed to himself. Maybe if they were he wouldn't be spending so much time wondering about... things.

They reached the bottom of the ladder and Apollo pulled off his ear protectors. "What's that?" he asked as Starbuck pulled an overnight bag out of the locker he'd tossed his own gear into.

"May I remind you Tigh said 'dress uniform'?" He held out a fresh tunic. "Go ahead and change."

"You're not," Apollo protested even as he watched Starbuck untuck his tunic.

Starbuck pulled the broad dress belt out of the bag. "You think I'm wearing it up there? Centuries of dust and engine grime?"

"It's not dirty up there. What am I supposed to do with my jacket? And my blaster?"

Starbuck brought out a carefully folded cape, shook it out and laid it over the low bench. "Put them in the bag and leave 'em here. Or if you're paranoid about it, take it with you and send some private with it to the NCOD. You are not," he looked up after straightening his pectoral, "getting within a hundred and forty-four metrons of your quarters."

"Why not?" Apollo asked, feigning indignation but taking off his jacket.

"Because, if you do you'll suddenly decide you have to take a turbowash. And then you might as well eat something. And check on Boxey..." Starbuck shook his head, crossing his arms and staring Apollo down. "Just dress."

"What about my cape and pectoral? Oh," he added as he reached to put his blaster in the bag and found the items in question lying there.

"I do have your keycode."

"I should change that."

Starbuck snickered. "You'd tell me inside a secton, you know you would."

"I suppose." Apollo put on his pectoral and, inevitably, Starbuck stepped forward and adjusted it. "Thanks."

"No problem. Come on."

"There will be food there?" Apollo asked as they set off.

"Of course there will."

"Starbuck?" he said as they waited for a turbolift.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know Athena was flit?" That hadn't been what he'd intended to say, but at the last micron he'd changed it. Will you be my best man if I get married again? sounded like he might not, and when sounded like he'd set a date and if Starbuck asked and he said he didn't know, Starbuck would probably decide to help him, and the truth was, he liked things the way they were. And Athena's confession (that probably wasn't the right word but he wasn't sure what was) had been on his mind, so...

"What? No." Starbuck blinked. "Was?"

"Okay, is."

"No... I didn't. Believe me, I didn't."

The door opened and they got inside. "She told me, a couple of sectons ago."

"Huh." Starbuck was quiet a moment, then said, "Well, that explains Boom-Boom. Explains a lot, really. Good thing the regs got changed; I don't see your sister being content with hiding it."

"Like Omega, you mean?" That still startled Apollo.

"Him I guessed. I mean," Starbuck elaborated, "nobody? For all those yahrens? Like Boj."

"Oh, Sagan, you knew, too? Am I the only one who didn't?"

"I doubt it. I knew Boj before he left the Galactica, you know. Before you got here, or Boomer. We were pretty close, and, well, I figured it out. I doubt you ever had the opportunity."

Opportunity. Apollo stared at Starbuck. What exactly do you mean, 'had the opportunity'? He steadied himself. Observation. That's what he means. Or maybe Bojay made a pass at him, that would be reasonable enough. That's all. He doesn't mean... he couldn't mean...

"But I don't see Athena content to keep a lover tucked away at your all's place on Naiacap," Starbuck was continuing obliviously.

"Naiacap?"

"Well, Caprica City is a bit close to public, isn't it? I mean, you might as well take out an announcement in the Times' Herald as live in Caprica City, if you're the daughter of Commander Adama anyway." The door opened and Apollo could hear the music already. "I think they started without us. I told you we were late."

"Think they had the presentation already?"

Starbuck laughed. "Come on, you're a hero of the Colonies. This is not a new experience for you."

"No," Apollo said. "I know exactly how much I'm going to hate it." But he followed Starbuck into the Main Hall.

Inside, he fielded greetings and congratulations and looked around.

"Settle down," Starbuck said. "Let's get a drink. You know Tigh won't even show up till 2050."

As they made their way to the buffet, Apollo became aware that something on the other side of the room was drawing a lot of attention. Half out of curiosity and half because he was the Strike Captain, he made his way toward the edge of the dance floor, hoping it wasn't going to be something he was going to have do something about.

Maybe that step hadn't been as large as he'd been thinking, he thought detachedly as he watched Boomer and Sheba standing, close together, very close together. Holding each other, in fact. No. Not very large at all. Or not in the right direction, he thought, still detachedly, as Boomer bent his head to hers. Or... maybe in the right direction after all.

Behind him he heard Starbuck murmur, "Oh, Boom-Boom." He sounded sad, or betrayed. In that moment it struck Apollo as very ironic, if not downright hilarious, Starbuck's sounding that way, because he himself didn't feel either way. He felt... confused. Too relieved and a little wistful more than sad, and envious. Not jealous, he knew what that felt like and it didn't feel like this. Envious. He did feel envious...

"I'll get Boomer," Starbuck said.

"No, Starbuck, no—" Apollo grabbed his arm. As those blue eyes turned to him, widened with surprise and concern, Apollo realized that this would have happened a long time ago if it hadn't been for Starbuck, always pushing him back to Sheba when he was drifting away or maybe just letting her drift. Whichever, as far back as the night of the fire, Starbuck had been there, prodding and nudging and generally managing his life, making sure he never left Sheba alone too long, 'call her, take her to dinner, aplogize...'

Well, Starbuck couldn't fix it this time, and Apollo really didn't want him to. He didn't know how to explain that to Starbuck, but then he realized he wouldn't have to, not just yet.

"Apollo—"

"Starbuck, I can talk to them without you guarding my back. And you don't have time to worry about me, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Starbuck asked warily.

"That looks like your trouble headed this way," Apollo gestured with his chin.

Starbuck turned to see Cassiopeia striding in their direction. "Oh, man," he said.

"Come on," Apollo said, feeling strangely exhilarated. "Stand firm. You're a proven hero of the Colonies, three Gold Clusters—"

"Four," Starbuck corrected him automatically.

"Four. Surely a mere civilian medtech can't get the best of you."

"Ha, ha," Starbuck said mirthlessly.

Cassiopeia stopped in front of them.

"Hi, Cass. You look lovely. Not to mention like there's something on your mind."

"There is," she said. "Come with me, please, Starbuck. There's something I have to tell you."

"See you later," Apollo said, abandoning him to his fate. He started walking around the floor towards Sheba and Boomer, and realized that Sheba was walking towards him. He looked past her and saw Boomer, and the expression on his friend's face told him all he needed to know.

No... it was his reaction to that expression that told him. Because he was, he realized, glad. And relieved. And thankful, especially thankful that he hadn't married her as quickly as he'd once wanted to, that she hadn't responded like Serina had, that they weren't tied together by anything more irrevocable than... He missed a step as he realized they weren't tied together at all. One kiss, and one "we've been avoiding our real feelings." Everything else, everything else, was inside his mind.

She'd said to him yesterday, she was glad he'd taken her into his circle of friends, and that's what he'd done. He liked her well enough. But even while he was answering her he'd known that he was lying, telling her what she wanted to hear. He was good at that, telling people what they wanted to hear. Only lately had it begun to occur to him he was also good at making what they wanted to hear what he wanted to say... "People who snap at each other are hiding their real feelings..." But he'd known then that while it was true, it was also a lie. It didn't mean what she thought it did.

His real feeling for her was your basic indifference. Your basic 'Sheba? She's all right.' He sighed. He did like Sheba, he was glad she was his friend, but... that was as far as it went.

And Boomer was one of his best friends ever.

And he was so happy for the two of them, and for himself, he could have shouted in joy if there hadn't been a crowd present, many of whom, he realized, were watching him rather avidly. So when he and Sheba met he smiled at her and bent to kiss her cheek, evidently the last thing she expected. She didn't move, just stared at him. "Congratulations," he said.

"Apollo?" And then she thought she understood. "We should go outside and talk."

"No need," he said. "I mean it. I really do."

A look of confusion crossed her pretty face. "Yesterday—"

"Yesterday," he said, aware of the terrible irony as he once again said what someone wanted to hear. At least this time it was true. "Yesterday I think we both knew that it wasn't right. Wasn't real. Wasn't even enough to be 'it', really. Didn't we?"

She paused, biting her lower lip in a way he now thought was kind of cute. "Yes," she said finally. "We did. I didn't want to, but you're right."

He smiled at her. "I didn't want to, either, but it's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I tried to love you," she said, her brown eyes soft with sadness, but without regret. "I did, Apollo, I really did. But—"

"I know, Sheba," he said. "I think you tried harder than I did. No, I know it. You're not right about Serina, but you are right about the rest of it. And I'm sorry. But it doesn't look like you and Boomer have to try. So I wish you both all the best." He raised his voice, looking over her shoulder. "Boomer, come here. Stop skulking."

Boomer did, looking shamefaced. "Apollo—"

Apollo shook his head decisively. "No apologies, Boomer. You'd better not be sorry you've got her."

Boomer looked at her involuntarily, smiling. "I'm not," he said definitely. Then he looked back at Apollo and sobered. "I'm sorry if you're hurt, though. That's..." he shook his head.

"I know, Boomer," Apollo said, and put his hand on the dark man's shoulder, squeezing it just for a moment. "I know. But look, the fact is that if she was in love with me she wouldn't have fallen for you. But she did. And anyway," he looked at Sheba, "we never had any promises between us. Just possibilities. You two," he looked back at Boomer, "are a sure thing."

Boomer put his hand on Apollo's forearm. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"Boomer, I'm sure. Sheba and I just never clicked. We wouldn't have lasted long if there hadn't been you." Or else we'd have gotten married and been miserable. "You two are much better suited, and I'm glad for you."

Boomer smiled in relief. "Thanks, Apollo. The one thing I didn't like about this was cutting you out."

Apollo shrugged. "The better man won. And I was so much not the right one," he smiled ruefully at Sheba, "I wasn't ever in the running. I'm okay with it." You have no idea how okay.

Sheba rose on her toes and returned his kiss. "I hope you find the right person, Apollo. You really are a wonderful man, and you deserve to be happy."

"Thanks." He made a little shooing motion. "You two kids run along and enjoy yourselves."

Chuckling, they did, holding hands like the schoolkids he'd acted like they were. He watched them go and ignored the ripples of conversation running through the crowd. He wouldn't have given them a show if he'd been angry or jealous, but the truth was, the only thing he'd said that wasn't true had been that they wouldn't have lasted long, and that was only a lie if Sheba had gone along with it. Which, he figured, she almost certainly wouldn't have. No, the truth was, he was glad. He was even gladder that he'd have an excuse to just stay home for a while.

And considering that he was glad, and relieved, and lucky, and free... why did he feel so alone?

Starbuck followed Cass into one of the small rooms and watched as she locked the door. She was either going to yell at him or jump him, and he thought he knew which. "Whatever I did," he said lightly, "can I apologize for it? Was I supposed to look you up last night? I thought you'd be tired."

"You weren't," she said. "Though I tried to find you, to tell you this then. I couldn't; you weren't in the barracks and nobody seemed to know where you were."

"I was at the O Club," he said, revising his guess. This was going to be bad news.

"Were you? They said you weren't when I called." That was not an accusation.

Oh, man... This is not going to be good at all. "I guess I told them I didn't want to be interrupted. I didn't think you'd be calling."

"I know. But something happened and I have to tell you."

"Remember what I said about that once?" If she'd had it off with Paye or somebody, he just didn't want to know.

She paused. "Yes," she said after a moment. "I do. But this isn't something I can not tell you; it's not something you don't have to know." She looked down at her hands; his gaze following hers saw that she'd clasped them together; her fingertips were wrinkling the skin and her knuckles were white.

She's dumping me, he thought suddenly. And she's worried about me, how I'm going to take it. He reached out and untangled her fingers and held one of her hands gently in his. "Relax, Cass; just tell me what it is."

"Athena thought I should wait to talk to you until later, after this—" her gesture encompassed the whole of the Main Hall "—was over. I thought, I think, I shouldn't. I've never lied to you yet, and if I let you spend the whole evening thinking ...

"You're probably right," he said quietly. "I like to know where I stand."

"And there isn't any good way to tell you this. It's going to hurt you no matter when you hear it. I hope it's not going to hurt you a lot, but I know it is going to at least some. And I'm sorry for that, I really am, Starbuck. I'm so very fond of you and I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm a big boy and I don't get hurt that easily. If you have to tell me whatever it is, just tell me." He wasn't sure why he was trying to make it easier on her, except that she looked unhappy, and he'd always had the urge to stop Cass from looking like she wanted to cry. And that was without going into what a sucker he was for actual tears.

She looked at him for a moment. "I'm in love. With Athena."

Which explained why she'd been giving Cass advice on how to break the news, he thought. "And she's in love with you?" Good thing Apollo had mentioned it.

"Yes. She told me yesterday, she didn't know how I felt but she didn't want us to die without her having said it..."

"Lucky," he said.

"Starbuck, I'm sorry. But, I love her. I have for the longest time—"

"We're more alike than you think," he remembered her saying once. "And," he shook his head. "At last I understand that steam purge! I knew it wasn't me."

She smiled at him. "I'm sure you're right." The smile faded. "Starbuck, I'm sorry," she said again.

"Not really you're not," he said. "And you shouldn't be."

"But I am," she said. "Not about me and Athena, of course not. I'm so happy about that I can't see clearly. Except you. I can see you, and I hate leaving you alone. Where are you going to go now?"

"I'll find somewhere," he said. "Cass, sweetheart, I got along fine for nearly thirty yahrens before I met you."

"Did you?"

"I did. Besides, there's nothing you can do about it. 'We're good the way we are, since everything else is the way it is.' That's what we always said to each other, Cass. And everything isn't the way it was, not now. So we're not good the way we are. I'd have left you if the chance had come up, and you know it. So don't feel guilty about your chance. Grab it and don't let go."

She smiled at him. "You're such a darling," she said. "I wish I thought you meant it. Oh, not about me not feeling guilty; I know you mean that. I mean about being okay."

He hesitated. "Well, you're right, of course. I'm lying. Except since you know I am... But I will be okay, and it's not your fault. If you didn't go with her, if you stayed with me, I'd know it soon enough, how you felt, and then we'd both be unhappy. No point in that. It's been fun—" he broke off. "No, it's been better than that. But it wasn't meant to last. Don't worry about me."

"I will, though," she said. "We both will."

"That's because you're a darling," he said. "Athena's one lucky woman, and I hope she knows it. Are you going to move in?"

"Probably," she said. "We have to tell her father, I insisted you be the first to know, and I'm a bit nervous about that."

Starbuck had wondered about that himself. Lords knew Adama liked Cassie at his side during his dinners, but he wasn't sure if the commander would think her worthy of his daughter instead of his son's slightly disreputable, decidedly lower-class friend... But Adama could fool you. He had a way of dismissing the surface and going for the depths, the commander, look at how he'd taken Starbuck in in the first place. Going with his instinct about the man, not the Sire, he said now, "Don't be. Adama likes you, a lot, and who doesn't want a doctor in the family?"

She hugged him. He rested his cheek on her shining hair and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was going to miss her, and badly...

"Starbuck..." She pulled away and looked up at him, her lapis eyes luminous with compassion. "You can use my quarters tonight if you want."

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "I just might," he said. "Thanks, Cass. Be happy."

"I am," she said. "I just wish you were."

He shrugged, already putting on his chosen attitude. "Some things happen, Cass. Some things don't. I'll be okay."

She paused at the door, and then visibly reconsidered what she'd been going to say. He was glad; they were still friends, but the rules were different now. They might even end up lying to each other some day. "Coming?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Go on. I'll be right behind you."

"Thanks, Starbuck. And if you ever want someone to talk to..."

He nodded and watched the door shut behind her. All those sectares ago, he'd been right. It did hurt to get out of the way and let her go. He didn't have a choice, but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt...

"Starbuck?"

He'd turned away from the door, staring at the wall; now he looked back and saw Athena, straight and pale in a dress the color of her eyes, distant stars, shadows on snow, and the heart of a flame... Cassie could make her let loose that passion she kept on that tight Adaman leash. He heard himself laugh once.

"What?" she demanded, distracted by it.

"I wouldn't say this to Cass for the worlds," he said, "but you two? I'd pay good money to see it."

For a micron she hung between insult and amusement, and then she laughed out loud. "I'll bet you would. But keep your cubits in your pocket, flyboy."

"You mean you won't charge?" he asked in quasi-hopefulness.

"You," she said, shaking her head, and then she plummeted to serious. "Thank you for not fighting with her."

"I wouldn't have won," he admitted. "What would have been the point?"

"No," she agreed. "You wouldn't have." And if he hadn't known it before it was clear now: any wavering he might have been able to induce in Cass would have been wiped out by Athena, who'd have gone straight over his bleeding body to get what she wanted. "But you could have made her sad, and you didn't."

"And what would have been the point in that? I like her too much."

"I know. But you don't love her. And I do."

"I know. She's happy. Keep her that way, Theni."

"I'll do my damnedest," she promised. "I just wish there was something I could do for you."

"There isn't," he said quickly.

"Sheba's just dumped him," she said. "His own fault, but still, you'll never have a better moment. Why don't you tell him?"

"Again?" He shook his head. "We're good the way we are, Theni."

She cocked her head. "Is 'good' good enough?"

"It's better than 'bad'. Leave it alone, Theni. I'll be fine."

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "I suppose so. I told him once you must like it or you'd change it. It's not my style, but then, you and I are not very much alike, are we?"

"No, we're not."

"So I probably shouldn't chivvy you out, make you stop hiding?"

"No. I'll be fine, Theni, really. Just give me a couple of centons."

"I hope so. I really do. I like you. Besides," she added, "the colonel's here. I think you and Apollo are going to be called front and center any centon now."

"Great... I'll be there."

"I'll go distract my brother, then, shall I?" She smiled briefly. "My news ought to do it."

"Thanks."

She hesitated a moment longer, then smiled and left. And he was glad Cass was in such good hands, but it still hurt. He let it for another centon, and then pushed it aside for later. He had to think what to say to Apollo, who was going to be hurt if Sheba had really dumped him. He'd been in love...

Not to mention Boomer.

He blew out a sigh. And the commander, and everybody in the squadron... Well, best start by not being late for your own celebration. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Adama glanced around the front room. It had been a small group for dinner. He had asked Sheba, to make it clear to her that her inclusion had never been contingent upon her being Apollo's intended, and told her to of course bring Boomer. He'd known that would create an awkward table, not in numbers (it wouldn't make it worse to be three women, four men, than two women, three men, and unless he asked someone like Tinia that imbalance was apparently not going to change in the near future at any rate) but in emotions. Still, it was more important to make sure she understood that she was wanted for herself and not for his son than to spare his son a bit of social awkwardness. After all, Apollo had made it quite clear to him that he and Sheba had never been more than friendly.

Not that Adama believed that for a micron. But it was a useful fiction for all parties. And certainly in the nearly three sectons that had passed since Apollo seemed to be anything but heartbroken. Tigh had kept him apprised of the gossip, but even Tigh had to admit that most people were a bit baffled by the apparent equanimity with which Apollo was accepting that one of his best friends had stolen his girl. After the first secton, most people had decided they'd been jumping the gun a little bit; no one could be that calm about it.

Of course, there was that small faction who wondered if Apollo was normal, after the Light Beings. Like the angels in heaven, where there is neither giving nor taking in marriage... Apollo hadn't heard that one, Adama knew, or he'd have treated the Officers' Club to a tantrum one evening just to dispel it. Adama didn't believe it, himself; whatever the Beings of Light had in mind for his son, it hadn't involved stripping him of his humanity. He just wished he knew what Apollo felt about, well, most things.

Just now Apollo was sitting by himself with a glass of nectar—half-full, it was the same one he'd had all evening—watching his sister and her intended play teams Trango against his son and Starbuck. As far as Adama could tell, Apollo had been more annoyed at Cassie than at either Sheba or Boomer. And Adama knew he and Athena had had at least one fight over it, which Apollo had lost. Starbuck himself seemed to accept his loss with grace, but then he almost always did unless he got angry; there wasn't much middle ground with him. At any rate, he and the women were getting along well, startling some people and confirming others in their belief that Starbuck had no emotional staying power.

One or two councilors had ventured a comment on Athena's sexual orientation to him, both wondering if he shouldn't have disclosed that he was personally interested in the outcome. He'd frostily informed them that his daughter's private life was none of their concern, and that as commander of the fleet all of his Warriors were of personal interest to him. He hadn't hesitated to use both Omega and Bojay as examples of invaluable officers who'd been punished by the old way of doing things; Omega's promotion to command the Akkadia Furious when Yadro's strength finally gave out, in a couple or three yahrens, was well established, and Bojay's performance in the battle with the base star was easy enough to praise. Apollo would likely find himself boxed into promoting the man when they had enough new pilots and Vipers to go from four squadrons to six or eight, but it wasn't as if he couldn't handle the job. And Apollo knew it, had in fact given Bojay sections to lead in the past; he was fair that way. Most ways, Adama reflected; it was only to himself he was sometimes unfair.

Boxey crowed suddenly over a dice roll. "Our empress takes out your empress, doesn't she, Starbuck?"

"Most appropriately," Starbuck said, ruffling Boxey's hair.

"Starbuck!" Athena chastised him, but Cassiopeia was giggling.

Adama felt himself smiling, knew he was probably doing what Athena had always called 'beaming patriarchally'. And why not? His daughter was happy at last, not softened but smiling and at ease; the occasional awkwardness between them was much lessened as she found her own center. As she ceased looking to him for approval, ironically, she became more worthy of it, and his love of course had never wavered. And he was very fond of Cassiopeia—Cassie, he would have to remember that—and looked forward to formally welcoming her into the family when Athena had decided it was time. A sectare or so, she'd said, time to let Cassie be certain. Adama thought, looking at the two women, that he'd never seen anyone so certain.

Boxey had accepted quite calmly that the blonde was now dating his aunt instead of Starbuck. Or almost calmly: Athena had mimicked for Adama the boy's tone and expression when he'd said, "You'd rather have Aunt Athena than Starbuck?"

"Unaccountably, yes, I would," Cassie had responded.

Boxey had shaken his head. "Starbuck's more fun," he said. "Aunt Athena won't let you eat mushies for supper."

"Starbuck, you're busted," Athena had said to him when he showed up this evening. "Boxey has told all. What'll you give me to keep it from Apollo?"

The proverbial bystander might well have been puzzled at how well the women and Starbuck got along. Apollo certainly seemed to be; Adama, however, was not. Starbuck's ability to keep his lovers as friends spoke to the quality of his relationships with them, which was, in the end, not serious enough to provoke anger and hatred, to be sure, but it also spoke to the man's personality. He didn't hold on, or couldn't, but he wouldn't let go, either. Adama had hoped once that Cassiopeia might be the one to break through to Starbuck, but it was not to be and now, of course, he was just as glad.

Starbuck hadn't wanted to come this evening, either. But while Adama had accepted Sheba's excuse—"Boomer's on tonight, and anyway, Commander, it's time I stood on my own feet. I'm very grateful to you for everything you've done, but... And anyway, Apollo won't want to see me. Maybe next time?"—he hadn't let Starbuck talk his way out of it.

"In fact," he had said, "Athena told me that I was under no circumstances to allow you to... I believe she said 'skive out of' attending. I hope you know what that means."

"I do. But it's not a good idea."

He'd immediately said, "I'm sorry, Starbuck. The girls think your breakup with Cassie was amicable and—"

"It was," Starbuck had said at once. "That's not it at all. But I don't belong there."

"Don't be ridiculous, Starbuck, and don't make me repeat myself. We had this conversation once already, or don't you remember?"

"Apollo may not want me there," the pilot had said, finally.

"Nonsense," Adama had said firmly. "When has he ever not wanted you around?"

"When he married Serina."

"All right," Adama had acknowledged. "But he's not getting married tonight."

"Neither am I."

"Apollo doesn't blame you for that," Adama had said firmly, though he hadn't been sure what was going through Starbuck's mind that he sounded as if he ought to be blamed. "And even if he does, he needs to get over it or his sister will make his life hell."

That had made Starbuck grin.

"So, lieutenant, I expect to see you. 1850. Don't be late."

And he hadn't been. And Apollo had seemed glad to see him when he arrived, though not, perhaps, as glad as Boxey had been. "Starbuck!" he had caroled upon his arrival, and he'd hurled himself upon the blond pilot as though he hadn't seen him in sectons. Perhaps, Adama mused, given what the boy had said earlier, it had been, not that long but long enough for a small boy to feel it had.

Adama had abused his authority by having his batman fetch the boy from instruction when Apollo had called saying he'd be late and would come straight from the Wing, just stopping to get his son on the way. Adama enjoyed having his grandson around, and Boxey spent too much time in care as it was. Not that he thought only a mother could raise a child, but family was best... And Boxey seemed to enjoy occasionally visiting his grandfather's office and spending time with him before the other family arrived. Tonight, it was Starbuck's arrival that seemed the most anticipated.

"What about Sheba?" Adama had asked, he hoped casually.

"Is she coming?"

"Not tonight; she's busy. Do you want her to come?"

Boxey, holding dinner plates in both hands so Adama could take them one by one and put them on the table, had shrugged. "Oops." He'd grinned as Adama steadied the plates. "I don't mind her. If she comes, that's okay."

"What do you think about her not dating your father any more?"

"I don't know. She wasn't around much but she was okay, and Dad's kind of lonely sometimes, I think, but he didn't really want to marry her, I think, and I know she didn't want to marry him."

"Oh? What makes you think so?" Adama took the last plate and laid it in place

"Well, Mom told me that if you want to get a man to marry you you have be at him all the time. Sheba wasn't." The boy had shrugged. "Dad wasn't, either, but I don't know if that's what men do. Dad wouldn't say."

"You asked him?"

"Well," Boxey looked sideways at Adama. "When I asked him if he was going to date Starbuck now he got mad at me."

"Mad at you?"

"Well, he said I didn't know the first thing about why people date. I told him it was so they could get Sealed. And he said I didn't understand Sealing." He shrugged again, seemingly paying more attention to folding the napkins. "I do. It's when you don't want to be alone any more, or you need someone to take care of you and make sure you have some place to live and all that."

"There are other reasons," Adama said, wondering what Serina had told Boxey.

"Sure. Like in vids, when you want to be with someone all the time. But Dad got mad about it. So I wanted to know if there was something wrong with people, you know, women and women, in case I hurt Aunt Athena's feelings." He had looked angelic as he added, honestly, "Or got her mad at me."

"I see. Well, no. There's nothing at all wrong with it. It's not very usual, but it's not bad. It's sort of like being left-handed."

"Oh. So why did Dad get mad?"

"I'm not sure, Boxey," Adama had said. "Why did you ask if he was going to date Starbuck?"

"Well, he was dating Sheba but she's dating Boomer now, and he was dating Aunt Athena and she's dating Cassie, and Cassie was dating Starbuck, but she's not now. So Dad and Starbuck are loose ends."

Adama had had to laugh.

Boxey had grinned. "Anyway, I think he likes Starbuck better than Sheba."

Adama did, too. Especially now, watching his son pretend to be watching his son. Apollo was a private person, and not since he was a young boy had Adama felt that he really knew what his son was thinking or, perhaps more importantly, feeling about things. An only child himself and late to fatherhood, he'd thought that was normal until his younger children had come along. Athena was complex, and occasionally self-deceiving which could make her harder to understand, but Zac had been wysiwyg until his late teens when he'd learned, not to deceive, but to conceal. But by the time Adama had known he needed to try Apollo had been in his twenties and gone most of the time.

Gone from home, Adama admitted; even when Apollo had been a child Adama had rarely been there himself. Perhaps this... estrangement was too harsh a word; this disconnection between them had been inevitable. Especially given the way Apollo was around his friends: private still and self-contained. Even Starbuck, Apollo's closest friend, said Apollo may, not Apollo will...

He sighed to himself. He had heard it himself, how Apollo wished Starbuck would settle down, fall in love, get married... how Apollo hoped that since Cassiopeia seemed to have fallen for Starbuck she would be the one to get him to do it. A reasonable person would excuse Starbuck now, given Cassiopeia's (Cassie's, he reminded himself) apparent preferences. But Starbuck felt blamed. Unjustly, of course, but blamed, and it wasn't like him to completely misread Apollo. In fact, Adama had learned to use Starbuck as an interpreter. If he felt blamed, then he probably was.

Which might speak more to Apollo than to anything else.

Adama leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze fall onto the kava table and the Trango game. Boxey's red shirt provided a splash of bright color among the uniforms the others were wearing, pale brown and cloud grey and midnight blue, silver and gold and bronze, earth and sky... The playing pieces and the board itself gleamed in nearly jewel-like hues; it had been so new the secondary pieces were still in their wrappings when Athena had produced it for Boxey nearly a yahren ago, so studiously nonchalant that Adama had known Zac had brought it on board, looking to renew their endless rivalry...

Boxey was like Zac, a little. Not as fearless, or as carefree. Perhaps not as bright, certainly not as flashy with it. But of course he'd suffered in ways that Zac never had, and it was impossible to know what either of them would have been like if their situations had been reversed. But there was certainly a physical similarity, and Boxey was about the same age Zac had been when Apollo had left for the prep school attached to the Colonial Warriors' Academy... It had been Boxey, Adama remembered, who'd first caught Apollo's eye, not Serina...

That was it, Adama realized, what had been nagging at him for the last two days, still shapeless but so near. He didn't grab for it, just continued to let his mind drift. Boxey, Serina, Starbuck... He didn't turn his head or move in any noticeable way, but he let his gaze, under half-lowered lids, slide to his left, to rest on Apollo where he sat, also watching the Trango game, wrapped in his own silence and his own thoughts. From where Adama sat it was hard to be sure, but he thought Apollo wasn't looking at Boxey. He thought Apollo was watching Starbuck.

For a few moments Adama just watched him and wondered about all the pieces that simply didn't fit: why was Apollo so quick to talk about marrying Sheba and so fatally slow to actually do anything about it; what he felt about Starbuck's loss to Athena that had him arguing with her and leaving the other pilot interpreting it as blame; why he had leapt headlong into marriage with Serina after more than a dodecada of not even seeming to date, certainly not dating seriously, not a single name mentioned in a single letter... Adama had married very late, but he had never been without his 'interests' and once or twice he'd come fairly close, though he'd always recovered his senses in time. Belloby, for instance... In fact, Tigh, blissfully happy with his childhood sweetheart, had despaired of either his or Cain's ever settling down. In the event they both had, though where Adama had been more than contented with his surrender to Ila, Cain's near-child-bride had been a dreadful mistake from almost the beginning. But to the best of Adama's knowledge Apollo had never had even a passing interest in a woman before Serina.

It was Starbuck he brought home.

Adama knew very little about sexual orientation, though he'd printed off several things to read when he found the time. Now he wondered if it ran in families, if Athena meant it was more, or less, likely that Apollo... But Athena had realized the truth about herself in a relatively short time; she was only twenty-four, after all. And having realized it, she had been troubled only by whether she should put her career first and keep her true self a secret (something she'd have found hard to do, he thought). And that was like Apollo, wasn't it?: duty before self. But Athena had embraced the freedom she'd been given, just as others had, others who had apparently been managing to keep relationships secret. Adama remembered a somewhat perturbed Tigh in the turbolift to the bridge the morning after saying that apparently he'd been wrong, that Omega had in fact gone out and fallen in love overnight. Athena had in the turbolift with them, her presence ignored as it often was by Tigh, who'd gotten used to her as Adama's child and who often spoke his mind before her as he wouldn't before other junior officers, and she'd corrected him, much to his relief, saying that Omega had been seeing Bojay for sectares... Tigh had been relieved mostly, Adama thought, that he hadn't misread his flag lieutenant so badly. And something Omega had said later in the secton had led Adama to believe that he'd had a relationship before the Destruction. Certainly Bojay had; Athena had excused Sheba's absence from a dinner once by saying she was with her friend on the anniversary of his lover's death. They'd all assumed it was a woman, of course, but even then it had been a bit odd that it was Athena who knew it, not Apollo...

Adama looked again at his son, the brooding green gaze resting on his wingmate and the still face that gave nothing away. Was he wrong? Starbuck thought he was. "You needn't worry, sir," he'd said all those yahrens ago. "I love him more than life, but he doesn't love me."

"I wouldn't worry if he did," Adama had said. "That uniform says all I need to know about you, that and Apollo's friendship. I'm a strict interpretationalist: if the Word says the king's son loved the shepherd passing the love of women, I'm inclined to believe that's what it means. And what I want—"

"What we want," Ila had put in.

"—is for our children to be happy."

Starbuck had relaxed a bit. "I do, too; but he doesn't love me—"

"Ah, yes he does," Ila had said. "Never doubt that."

"I don't," Starbuck had said quickly. "He loves me, but not like I love him."

But Starbuck wasn't always right about Apollo. Just mostly. He'd been wrong about Sheba, after all.

He might be wrong about this.

Well, there was one way to find out. He took a deep breath and centered himself, readying for something he hadn't done since he'd left the Institute, and spoke sharply. "Apollo."

Apollo turned, and Adama drove a single lance of mind into those startled green eyes, and beyond them—

into an aching longing that was so deep he might have been lost if he'd been any better at probing, a guilty desire, a pain-filled loss

—just for a moment, and then he was back.

"Sir?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about," he said, then, recollecting where he was, he added, "When the game's over, Starbuck, I'm going to presume and ask you to take Boxey home and put him to bed so Apollo can stay a while."

"Of course, sir, no problem," Starbuck said.

"Is it another mission?" Boxey asked apprehensively.

"No," Adama answered him. "It's some rather boring administrative stuff that we have to talk about."

"Oh," Boxey lost interest. "I'm glad you're not talking about it now then." He turned back to the game.

When the others finally left, Athena kissing all three men on the cheek and Cassie doing the same to Starbuck and Adama and hesitating before just saying good-night to Apollo, who startled everybody except Boxey—including possibly himself—by kissing her cheek, there was a moment of silence. Then Apollo said, "If you want to talk to me about the new squadrons—"

"That's not it."

"Oh." He was clearly trying to think of another topic so Adama said,

"It's not administrative, Apollo. Anything like that could have waited. It's personal."

"Oh," he said again, and waited.

Adama took a breath. "I've never been able to come up with a delicate way to approach this, so I think perhaps I'll stop trying. How long are you going to make yourself unhappy?"

"I don't choose unhappiness!" Stung, Apollo forgot to deny the charge.

"Perhaps not. But you don't make any great push for happiness, do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you think I should have fought for Boomer? Sheba's not a prize, Father, she's not a piece of property. She never was mine."

"Actually, I'm not talking about Sheba at all. But since you brought her up, let me say that I don't think you wanted to marry her and so I'm glad you didn't. I don't want you to marry anyone you don't want to. I'd rather you never married at all."

"You were glad I married Serina," Apollo almost accused him.

"Yes," Adama said simply. "But my happiness is not what should govern your marriage, Apollo. It's yours."

"I was happy."

"Were you? Perhaps you were, I won't argue it. You married quickly, but that's no proof you were unhappy; your mother married me quickly as I know you know. Perhaps you fall in love as quickly as she did, perhaps you were happy then and perhaps if she were alive you would be happy now. But you aren't. Happy now, I mean. And choosing someone else that I approve of won't make you happy. Choosing someone you want will."

"Not if she doesn't want me."

"No, of course not. But I can't help but think that if you'd wanted her, you'd be more moved now. Angry perhaps, or unhappy in a specific way. And I can't help but worry that you never truly wanted to marry her in the first place, which makes me wonder how much you truly wanted to marry Serina."

Apollo was silent, not looking at him.

Adama took the final step. "How much you truly want to marry any woman at all."

Apollo remained silent, but Adama saw his whole body tighten, just for a micron or two, and then he swallowed. Adama sat quietly for a few centons, watching him, accepting that his guess was correct and that, very likely, his and Ila's suspicions so long ago had been correct as well. When he spoke, he kept his tone quiet, non-judgmental, and, he hoped, accepting. "You meant to never marry," he said instead of asked. "You meant to remain alone, no liasons or love affairs. Was your career that important to you, that you'd never risk it?"

Apollo looked fleetingly, almost involuntarily, at him. His green eyes, like Adama's mother's, were filled with misery he was no longer hiding.

Adama blinked back sorrow of his own and said, "But then you did. You married swiftly, and then you meant to again. It's not necessary, Apollo. It never was, and yet I believe you still—"

"I have to." That was so soft Adama almost missed it. "I know that."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Apollo. The race can carry on without you, we're not—"

"You." Apollo looked at him, the veils that usually concealed his emotions gone, revealing an enormous sorrow. "I have to for you. Even more now."

Adama was startled, almost into demanding what he meant, but he caught himself in time to keep silent.

"I took your heirs away. I took Zac. It's my fault. I have to..."

"Apollo," he interrupted. "You did not take Zac. It is not your fault."

"I did take him. If he hadn't been with me—"

"Apollo." It was his command voice, and it not only shut Apollo up, it brought his head around, those green eyes, bright with unshed tears, staring at him. He softened his tone and said, "You took him with you. You didn't take him away. I know it's hard for you to remember it, because you never saw it, but I once flew Vipers myself. Well, no; not Vipers, they're since my time. But the Starhound Lynyx was, in its day, the same thing. And I know from experience how important experience is. I know that a long career for a Starfighter pilot is contingent upon living through the first two sectons, and the first three combats... The odds are very—" he avoided the word 'good' "—high that Zac would not have survived Cimtar."

"Father—"

"Apollo," he reached out and held his son's shoulders. "Starbuck came to me that secton, devastated, wanting to beg my forgiveness. I told him there was nothing to forgive. 'I let him go and he died,' he said. 'Yes,' I told him. 'I let him join; I brought him here. I didn't bring him here so he could die, but he did. And you didn't let him go so he could die, either.' Apollo, it wasn't your fault, or Starbuck's or even mine. It was in the hands of the gods, not ours. And though I feel it's presumptuous to speak for the dead, I think I can safely say that Zac would not have wanted your self-immolation as his funeral incense."

"Father..." Apollo's voice broke.

Adama put one of his hands in his son's hair and pulled him into a close embrace. Apollo held on, not saying anything at all. "It's not your fault, Apollo. It's not."

After too short a moment Apollo pulled away. His green eyes were still bright, but they were easier to look at now. "Thank you, Father."

Adama shook his head, smiling a little. "There's no need to thank me for the truth."

"How about for showing it to me?"

"For that you're most welcome. And now that we have, I hope, cleared that out of the way, let me ask you a simple question. Had you Sealed with Sheba, or if you Seal with some other woman, and she gives you a son, will you disavow Boxey?"

"Of course not."

"Or expect me to?"

"Father," Apollo said protestingly.

"Good. Because I won't, you know. He will always have the position of your first child. So I have an heir. So you needn't lay your unhappiness on that altar, either, even in the most prosaic of senses. You never did have to marry to give me an heir, but if you won't believe that, at least believe that you have given me one and if I need another, there are plenty of deserving children out there."

"But—"

"But, nothing. If you choose to be unhappy with a woman, I won't forbid it, but I don't want you pretending even to yourself that it's my fault."

"Who says I'll be unhappy?"

"How can you not be, when you love someone else?"

Apollo was quiet for a few centons and then gave up. "It doesn't matter," he said in a tired voice. "Starbuck loves women, not me."

"Starbuck has never loved any woman he has ever known as much as he loves you, Apollo. Which of them has he stayed with an entire yahren?"

"It's not the same thing, Father. He's known Boomer longer—"

"And is it Boomer he habitually risks his neck for?" Adama shook his head. "And may I remind you you married a woman?"

Apollo looked at him, craving reassurance. "You mean he loves me?"

Adama bit back the response he wanted to make. Starbuck was crazy in love, as the saying went, but that didn't mean he would say yes. He was a complicated young man and Adama would not like to bet on his reactions to anything. And he would hate to have Apollo take his word and then get hurt. So he said, instead, "I don't know, Apollo. I think he does, and I'm not the only one. But you'll never know unless you ask him, because even if he does, he'll never force that knowledge on you, not thinking you don't want to hear it."

That was Apollo's cue to ask why Starbuck would think that, but he didn't, which told Adama that he knew quite well. Instead, Apollo said, "What if he says no?"

Adama reached out and smoothed his son's wayward lock of hair. "What if he would say yes?"

"Come on, you're gonna at least wash your face and do your teeth." Starbuck dragged a protesting Boxey into the turbowash with him.

Cassie used the opportunity to say, "Thee, we should go on. I mean, we were right there. If your father had wanted us to be the ones to stay with Boxey, he'd have said so."

"I know." Athena sounded a bit impatient, but her pale blue eyes were worried rather than angry. "I just don't think he's talking about 'boring administrative stuff'."

"He probably isn't," Cassie conceded. "But if he wanted you involved he'd have asked you to stay, and it won't do anybody any good if you and Apollo have an argument where Boxey can hear it."

"I don't care who hears me claim you," Athena said fiercely.

"I know." Cassie still couldn't believe it sometimes, how hearing Athena say things like that made her feel. She lay awake at night listening to Thee's breathing beside her and thought the Wayists had something when they said Heaven and Hell were what you made of your life... She added, "But Boxey doesn't need to hear you two fight, and anyway Apollo will get over it, if he isn't already."

"He did seem to be," Athena nodded.

Cassie pressed her advantage. "So we should just accept that your father knows what he's doing."

"I thought you didn't believe in wise old men?"

"Oh, wise old men are all right, as long as they're wise and not just Wise with a capital W, if you know what I mean. Your father's no doctrine-bound priest, a puppet to the long-dead and often wrong."

"All right," Athena said. "We'll leave after we say goodnight."

The door to the turbowash opened in time for Boxey to hear that. "You're not going?"

"Well, it is your bedtime," Athena said.

"But Starbuck said you'd tell me a story!"

They looked at him; he shrugged. "I've run out."

Cassie laughed at him. "I'll tell you one, Boxey," she turned to the boy. "Have you heard the one of The Hooligan Pigs, the Holy Priest, and the Haunted Pool?"

"No. What's a pig?"

"Get into bed," Starbuck picked him up and tossed him onto the bed. Muffy hid himself under the desk when Athena raised an eyebrow at him.

Boxey pulled up his blanket and repeated his question.

"It's a kind of susa," Cassie said. "Smallish and not very hairy."

"Smallish compared to what?" Starbuck asked. "Weigh more than I do."

Athena's lips twitched. "City boy," she said unfairly. "Ever seen wild suswine? They get twice that big, or more, with fiery eyes and tusks that get to like thirty centimetrics—" She imitated them with fingers curved at her jaws.

"You know," Starbuck put his hand on his chin then pointed at her, "that looks familiar."

She growled at him.

Boxey giggled. "That sounds like a Boray."

"They look like Borays," Starbuck agreed. "Now, be quiet and let Cass tell you her story."

She sat on the bed and looked at him. She wasn't entirely sure if this story was suitable for him, but, she supposed, his father could correct any wrong impressions she made and she could always say it was just a story, after all. "Once a long time ago a village was troubled by a gang of hooligan pigs. They killed the gallies and stole all the eggs, they fought with the daggets, they chased the yowes and the bovines, they knocked down sheds and broke windows. They even chased children on their way to school. The village was in despair. Even if they managed to chase the pigs away, they'd come back the next time the moon rose."

"Like the Borays," Boxey said.

"Yes. Then one day a wandering holy priest came through the village. They fed him and put him up for the night, and the next day they asked him what they could do about the hooligan pigs. He told them the answer was simple: they should cleanse the pigs with holy water and then they would behave themselves as animals ought. He offered to bless a small pool near the village, and told the people that the next time the pigs came, they should chase them through the pool. It sounded like a good idea to them, so they agreed. The holy priest blessed the pool and went on his way. And the next time the hooligan pigs arrived, the whole village chased them through the pool. There was just one little problem: that pool was haunted by the ghosts of a gang of bandits who had drowned there yahrens before. The ghosts couldn't do anything to people, but when the pigs ran through it they turned into men. Hooligan men. And the village was worse off than they had been before."

"Even though it was blessed?"

"I guess he just blessed it for pigs," said Starbuck, an ironical glint in his eye.

"And the moral," said Cassie.

"I hate morals."

"All Gemonese stories have morals," Starbuck grinned. "But they aren't exactly like the ones your dad tells you. What's this one, Cass?"

"Don't trust anyone, no matter how holy, who wanders into your life and offers to fix it," she said, "especially when he doesn't know anything about you."

Boxey blinked and then grinned. "I like that."

"I'm glad," she said.

"Bedtime now," Starbuck said and ruffled Boxey's hair gently. "Go on to sleep, kiddo."

"Good night, Boxey," Athena bent down and kissed his cheek, and Cassie did, too.

"Good night," she said, and followed the others out.

"Apollo might not appreciate that story, Cass," Starbuck said, "but I like it. You two really going?"

"Yes, we are," Athena said. "Some of us have to get up in the morning."

"Break my heart," he said. "Some of us are on duty in," he looked at his wrist-chrono, "thirty centons."

"Poor baby," Cass said, keeping it light. "Come to dinner with us tomorrow? Or the night after, that's when you're off, unless you've plans?"

"Tomorrow will be good, thanks, Cass. I haven't actually got plans for the break, but I plan to by the time it shows up. Something, anyway."

"Take care," Athena said, seriously. "You can't run forever."

"Oh, gods, just don't start quoting at me," he said.

"I won't."

"Sounds like somebody already has," Cassie added.

"Boj," he said. "And with him it's usually something I never heard before, too. I'm fine, okay?"

"Okay," Cassie said and kissed his cheek quickly, lightly. "Tomorrow, then, say, 1900?"

"Sounds good. Good night."

They started for Athena's quarters in silence, holding hands. After a while Athena said, "I tend to forget he knew Bojay before."

"I know," Cassie said. "But it's nice, isn't it?"

"Umm." She was quiet again the rest of the way.

Cassie came out of the turbowash and found Athena standing in the front room. Her arms were wrapped around herself, her sleeping shift pale in the dark room but not as pale as her skin, and her gaze fixed on a picture on the wall unit, her family at their house on Caprica. Cassie remembered that Starbuck was in that picture. She sighed to herself. The pilot was almost certainly not 'fine' but what could they do about it? She walked up to her lover and said, "Come to bed, Thee. Starbuck can take care of himself."

"I know. He's been like this forever. But I don't think he's happy."

"He's not, probably. But you can't do anything for him." She put her hands on Athena's shoulders.

"I know that, too. But it's Appy I'm worried about now."

"Appy?" Cassie couldn't help saying.

"Don't tell him. He hates it... I'm sure he didn't love Sheba, but he wanted to marry her. I don't know what he's going to do now."

Cassie leaned forward and rested her cheek on Athena's shoulder. "I don't either. But staying up late and worrying formlessly won't help him, either. Come to bed."

Athena turned around and gathered Cassie into an embrace. "My love," she said softly. "I feel almost guilty being so happy when others aren't."

"Your being sad wouldn't cheer them up, and you know it." She leaned back a little, looking at her lover; raising a hand to touch her cheek gently, she said, "Who is this who looks out, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army with banners?"

Athena smiled and kissed her. "Fair as the moon, bright as the sun, majestic as the starry night," she murmurred. "Yours is an old translation."

"I don't even know what it's from," she confessed. "Come to bed."

"It's from Word," she said.

"Word?"

"Word," Athena nodded, a smile curving her lips. "The Song of Songs. I memorized it, but I never knew what it meant before now." She touched Cassie's cheek. "Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves..." She kissed Cassie's eyes gently. "Your lips are like a scarlet thread and your mouth is lovely." She kissed that mouth, her tongue gentle inside. Cassie tightened her hold on Athena's shoulders, feeling Athena's arms holding her close, her breasts against Cassie's. "Your two breasts are like two fawns," Athena whispered into her ear, "twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies. Until the day breathes and the shadows flee, I will hie me to the mountain of myrrh and the hill of frankincense..."

"Will you?" Cassie said, hearing her voice sound husky.

"I will," Athena answered, her voice low and slightly roughened. She took Cassie's hands and tugged her towards the sleeping room; Cassie went willingly. Athena pulled her down onto the bed. "You have ravished my heart, my bride, you have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes. Your lips distil nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue." And Athena leaned over Cassie, kissing her deeply, her hands unlacing Cassie's shift and pushing it aside. "How beautiful are your breasts, my bride! your love is better than nectar, and the fragrance of your oils sweeter than any spice!"

The words washed over her in Athena's low voice, their poetic cadences making promises that Athena's hands were fulfilling. Her nipples hardened in Athena's fingers, and then the words broke off as Athena's mouth moved to suckle first one and then the other, her fingers playing gently with the wet breast her mouth had left. Her other hand slid along Cassie's belly and between her legs, and then she began kissing her way after it, tongue tracing patterns on Cassie's skin.

Crouching between Cassie's legs, Athena looked up at her. "A garden locked is my bride, a garden locked, a fountain sealed, a garden fountain, a well of living water." Her hand stroked and then slid inside. "I come to my garden, my bride, I gather my myrrh with my spice, I eat my honeycomb with my honey, I drink my nectar with my milk..."

Cassie moaned as Athena's tongue lapped at her. Her back arched and her hands clutched at the bedclothes. Behind her closed eyelids visions of honey and nectar spilling over a pale body engulfed her mind, even as pleasure spilled over her senses and engulfed her body.

She shuddered in Athena's hands, crying out. Panting, she relaxed, trembling slightly as Athena began speaking once more, again following her words with gentle fingers and lips. "How graceful are your feet in sandals, o prince's daughter! Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand; your navel is a rounded bowl that never lacks mixed nectar. Your belly is a heap of wheat encircled with lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are pools..."

Several kisses later, Athena stretched out beside her like a felix, stroking her gently. "How fair and pleasant you are, O loved one, o delectable maiden! Your stature is like a palm tree and your breasts are like its clusters of dates. I say, 'I will climb the palm tree and lay hold of its dates.' O, may your breasts be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples, and your kisses like the best nectar, that goes down smoothly, gliding over lips and tongue."

Cassie sighed and did her best to kiss her like that.

"I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine..."

"Amen," said Cassie softly. And then she ran her hand down Athena's hip and flank and back up inside her thighs. Athena gasped slightly and Cassie laughed and kissed her. "I want to play in the garden, too," she said and bent her head to tongue the nipple of one of Athena's small, firm breasts. She kneaded the other one gently while she sucked and then she began kissing her way along her lover's beautiful body. "I want to eat dates," she said, "I want to play in the fountain and drink nectar and eat honey..."

And then there were no words from either of them, and Cassie played until Athena was gasping and moaning under her tongue and fingers, and then they held each other close in the darkness. Cassie spread Athena's dark mane over their shoulders and stroked it. "Nothing about hair?" she said.

"I spared you that," Athena said without moving, and her breath was warm on Cassie's breast. "Hair like a flock of caprines, and teeth like shorn yowes, each of them with twins..."

They were quiet for a moment, Cassie's hand moving gently on Athena's hair and shoulder. Then she couldn't help it; she giggled. "Hair like a flock of caprines?"

"That move along the slopes," Athena said.

"It would have broken the mood," Cassie agreed.

"Ummm..." Athena sighed deeply, or possibly yawned.

Cassie stroked her shoulder. "Behold, thou art beautiful, my love; behold, thou art beautiful..." She closed her eyes. "I am my beloved's—"

"And my beloved is mine."

Apollo made his way home slowly. After Adama had asked him the one question that mattered—what if he would say yes?—they hadn't said much. There really hadn't been much left to say. Adama had let him know, unmistakably, that his decisions had been based on a miscalculation. He'd believed that his father's natural assumptions and plans were laws carved into tyllium steel, when in fact they were no more than plans easily tossed away. Well, no, perhaps not easily; Apollo wasn't sure that was true. But Adama had made it clear that Athena wasn't the only one to be allowed to go where her nature and her heart guided her. And that, in fact, that had always been the truth.

That Apollo's sixteen-yahren struggle with his own instincts had been unnecessary.

That had been hard to hear. He'd wanted to blame Adama, but he couldn't. He'd lied to his father; he couldn't expect him to have realized that and addressed the truth. It wasn't as though Adama had fallen in love young, after all, and lots of officers waited till they'd made lieutenant to marry. It wasn't quite as bad as the old days, when lieutenants may not, captains may, and colonels must be married, but it was hardly uncommon. No, it was his own fault.

Especially the last yahren. Since Zac...

He had always hoped Zac would save him. When he was nineteen and Zac only ten, it had been a prayerful hope, but as his younger brother moved into adolescence and proved refreshingly normal, the hope became stronger. Surely Zac, better looking than he was and as well bred, would not have any difficulty finding a wife and providing their father with another generation of heirs. Not that Apollo had ever let himself think that he could actually fall in love, find someone who would be willing to live a lie for his sake, no; not that he'd ever let himself truly believe that living a lie was acceptable, beyond the variations on 'I suppose I just haven't found the right woman yet' that he occasionally offered to relatives of his parents. But he had hoped for the chance to be left alone.

And then in the space of one secton the gods had smiled on him, or so he had once believed. First had come the package from his mother with a homevid of Zac's sixteenth birthday party, with the images of him and his current girlfriend ("really a very nice girl") leaving no doubt which direction his hormones were pointing him in. And then, before the figurative smoke from his candles had disappeared, several new pilots had transferred in off the Accipitrida Mysteria, and Apollo's hopes for a quiet life, devoted to his career and his nieces and nephews, were utterly, but not entirely regretfully, smashed.

He'd never thought of himself as lacking friends. True, he'd never had anyone around that he missed badly when they left, but he'd always been liked well enough and never lacked people to go to lunches or vids or games with. But within two sectares he knew that he had, in fact, never had a real friend before, because now he had two: Flight Officers Boomer and Starbuck.

They were each other's friends, too, which made it a nice trio. In fact, although they were in many, many ways complete opposites, they'd been friends since their freshman yahren, at Caprican Military Academy which explained why, though they were just a yahren younger than him, he'd never seen them before. He met them on the Falca's Triad court, and it wasn't long before Starbuck and Apollo were a virtually unbeatable team, with Boomer goodnaturedly accepting the loss of his playing partner. Boomer was the steady one with 'promote ahead of peers' written in indelible ink on his OERs; Starbuck was more reckless, with decorations and reprimands in about equal measure. But they were nearly inseparable, and when they took Apollo in they took him in as closely. In fact, for the first time in his life, when Apollo was transferred to the Acky-D as senior squadron leader, he kept in touch with someone, and when they had all, one at a time, ended up on the Galactica, they picked up where they'd left off. He was more grateful that they'd survived than he could express in words.

But try as he might, Apollo couldn't pretend to himself that he liked them equally.

He could barely pretend that he liked Starbuck. Merely liked him, that is. He was glad he had, though, because it would have been unbearable to have had to reject the other man, cut him out of his life altogether, and that's what he would have had to have done if he'd ever let on how he really felt... It was Boomer who'd saved them that. Good old Boomer, who'd put aside his native caution and reluctance to get personal and spoken to Apollo one evening on the Falca when Starbuck had the duty. "I don't like to get into people's lives," he'd said.

"But you're going to get into mine?" Apollo had been preparing his defenses, because there was only one place he thought his life could be got into.

"Well, yeah. But mostly I guess into Starbuck's." Boomer had been quiet a moment, looking down at his hands. Then he'd looked back up at Apollo. "See, Starbuck's a lot more sensitive than people sometimes give him credit for, and, well, you haven't known him as long as I have, and... I wouldn't want him to get hurt."

"I wouldn't hurt him," Apollo had started, but Boomer had interrupted him, for which he was grateful as he heard the other man out. He was also surprised, reassured as to the strength of his own deceit but making him wonder about his powers of observation. Or maybe just his preoccupation with himself.

"I know you wouldn't want to, but sometimes people, when they're surprised by something, they... Look, Apollo, the thing is, Starbuck's falling in love with you."

"Starbuck's what?"

"He's falling in love with you. I know, I know: he likes women, too. But it is 'too'. Though he always said since he was in the Service... But I guess not even Starbuck can choose who he falls for, or at least not all the time. And you might want to be ready, or something. Just... you know, not be startled." He'd shrugged. "Maybe even you might want to warn him off, kind of. If you don't want to deal with it. Because you know he'd never want to push you and if he knows you don't want to hear it he won't say it."

And gods help him: he'd already known he wouldn't have been able to resist if Starbuck had said, 'I love you'. If Starbuck had said, 'I don't mind lying, I don't mind keeping it secret...'

Others had managed that, he'd known, but he didn't know how and he didn't think he could. Not with Starbuck. He'd already known that he could love Starbuck more than was wise, enough to go against everything he'd been taught was right—but not enough to turn his back on his family. He'd felt guilty about that (he still did), but it was true. It was true, too, that he could love Starbuck too much to treat him like something he was ashamed of, and that he could hurt him very badly. As he would have to if, gods forbid, anything ever happened to Zac.

And Boomer had said, "falling in love with you", and "likes women, too". Apollo could stop this, save Starbuck from ruining his own life, too. Starbuck liked women, he could fall in love with one and be happy. And though even then Apollo had known he'd hate her, whoever she was, that he'd be unhappy to see Starbuck finally settle down, he'd used that knowledge to convince himself that there was something wrong with him, not with his decision to stop Starbuck from ever saying anything. To get Starbuck to move on, as he always had...

It hadn't been all that hard to do, in the end. It had been harder to make himself do it, but he had. The Falca had been in the Colonial Systems and he'd wangled a few days for him and Starbuck and taken him home. He'd gotten a furlon for Boomer, too, but as he'd suspected the Leonid had places of his own to go this close to Home Worlds. It wasn't the last time Starbuck would go home with him, but it was the first, and he'd been aware that Starbuck had not had any idea just how rich Apollo's family was. It wasn't like it mattered in the Service. They'd spent a night in the Caprica City townhouse, meeting Ila and the brats (who'd both liked Starbuck instantly) and then Apollo had taken him out to the country place. They'd climbed a hill and looked out across the fields, lushly green in the fertile Caprican summer.

"If I was Zac, I'd hate me," Apollo had said casually.

"Oh?" Starbuck had been quiet.

"Yeah... All this'll be mine someday," he'd waved his arm vaguely around. "Pretty fourth millennium, I know, but..."

"All of it?"

"It's all entailed," Apollo had nodded. "Zac's a better agrist than me—"

"I don't think this is exactly aggring, Apollo. Not as we used the term back in Umbra, anyway."

Apollo had smiled. "Maybe not. But it's funny. My father doesn't spend much time out here, and I don't see me doing it, either, but Zac loves it. That bit over there, that'll be his; our grandfather already said he's leaving it to Zac. Something of his own..."

"I thought he wanted to be a Warrior," Starbuck had said.

"Yeah, he can't help it, I guess. We all are, my father's family... As far back as we've got records we've been sending our sons into the Service." He'd made himself chuckle. "Even when it wasn't the Service, just the North Capran Alliance... And the stories are older than the records, which probably got used in the kitchen stoves during the Dark Ages."

"Probably."

"Sometimes it strikes me so odd, you know, Starbuck?" That was the truth, anyway. "I mean, here we are, seventy-fourth century, and yet..."

"What's odd? I envy you, you know, being part of something like this. The family, I mean, not the money, not that I'd turn down a fortune if someone offered one to me, but... I mean," he'd pointed at the village in the distance, "those people have been here as long as you. That's what counts, isn't it? Something bigger than you that you're part of?"

Apollo had nodded. "Yes, you're right. They've worked this land probably longer than we've owned it. When I'm out here, the words make sense: As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end..." After a moment he'd said what he'd come to say. "My father brought me out here yahrens ago. He avoided saying, 'Someday all this will be yours, my boy,' but that's what he meant. And one day I'll bring my son and do the same thing..."

"Do you ever wish you could just give it up to Zac?"

And he'd found he couldn't actually say the lie. "That's not the way it works," he had said instead.

It had worked to perfection. Starbuck had never told him he loved him. And Starbuck had gone back to women.

After Apollo's transfer to the Aquila Dies he'd heard about Phaedra, and Lisl, and Tamiko, to name those who'd lasted for a sectare, and when they had finally all reached the Galactica there had been Romila, and Parvati, and Aurora, and Athena, and finally Cassiopeia. No men, no time for a man, not seriously. So it had worked. And yet... his father had been right, no women for any length of time. But although he knew that he kept pulling Starbuck back to him for his own selfish reasons, not able to love him but not able to leave him alone, either, he had no real reason to think that Starbuck felt differently about him than he did Boomer.

And every reason to think that he didn't.

Even if Boomer had been right, that had been a long time ago. Seven yahrens. A lot could change in seven yahrens. Starbuck had asked Athena to marry him. He'd fallen in love with Cassiopeia. At least, he'd wanted to marry her. He'd said so.

But Apollo found himself now clinging to that one anomalous thing that Starbuck had said when they'd talked about Cassiopeia and Sheba: "What do you want to hear, Apollo? Yes, I would have married her? Well, yes, I would. I would have. So it's a good thing I didn't, isn't it? 'Cause she's flit, and Athena had the nerve to ask her, and they're happy."

Athena had the nerve to ask her... That might mean that Starbuck wanted to be asked. Of course, it might only mean that Starbuck was angry at himself because he hadn't. Apollo didn't know; he didn't even remember the whole conversation well. At the time he'd just been angry, though only now was he realizing that at least some of that anger was because Starbuck was free again to look available and make Apollo's life miserable—more miserable. He'd been attributing it to Cassiopeia's fickleness and Athena's attempt to take revenge on Starbuck. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said to Starbuck, only that the other pilot had backed down from his own anger to say, "Gods, Apollo, I'm sorry. I know you must be hurting, and angry at Boomer and not able to show it, and I'm snapping at you too." Then they'd gotten drunk...

Typical, Apollo realized now. Neither of them saying what they meant, what they wanted to say. Both of them inside the roles he'd forced on them back on the Falca. At least, he hoped it was both of them. He hoped Starbuck didn't want to be there. And he hoped it wasn't too late to get them out.

Gods knew, he had to try.

He was walking with his head down, thinking. Now he heard footsteps up ahead, slowing slightly. He looked up and saw Bojay. For a centon he found himself wondering what was wrong and why hadn't they called him, and then he remembered. Omega's quarters were up here. Odd how hard it was to remember that Bojay lived on the same deck as he did now. Or was it? Maybe that was just a way to avoid thinking about people who had found a way to be themselves, no matter what. Who had done what he couldn't, even though he didn't see, even now, how he could have done otherwise. He took another step and then realized he needed to say something, and quickly, or he'd be cutting Bojay and he didn't want to do that... "Bojay," he nodded at the other man.

"Captain," Bojay nodded back at him.

"Quiet shift, I hope?"

"It was," Bojay answered. "Nothing stirring anywhere, as far as we can tell."

"Well, that's probably good news," Apollo said.

"Better than most I can think of."

Apollo grinned a little. "You're right there. Well, good night."

"You, too."

And then, after Bojay had gone past him, his words registered: it was. Apollo looked at his wrist-chrono: 2254. Sagan, Blue's been on duty a half a centar already. Mindful of Bojay's presence, he didn't exactly run, but he did hurry. He hadn't realized he'd been so long at his father's; they'd eaten early for Boxey and Starbuck's sake. He realized he didn't even know how late it had been when the others left; maybe Athena and Cassie had stayed with Boxey so Starbuck wouldn't be late. Or maybe Starbuck had asked Boxey before he went to bed, gotten someone to come.

He hoped not. Not that he wanted Boxey left alone, he wanted Starbuck to still be there. He took a deep breath before keying himself in, and when he let it out a small prayer accompanied it. Passing the love of women... please, let it be.

"There you are." Starbuck stood up and then hesitated. "You look wrung out. Your father didn't give you a hard time about Sheba tonight, did he?"

"No," Apollo said, "that's not what he wanted to talk about."

Starbuck nodded, as if that was all that mattered. "Good. Boxey's asleep, no problems there, so I'll head on out."

"You have to go right now?" That was a stupid question.

Starbuck raised his eyebrows. "Have to go? Apollo, you may have been on day shift today, but the rest of Blue's on tonight. Now, tonight, in fact. I figured since your dad sent me here I could be late without getting into trouble. I called the ready room, gave myself a late chit. Tarrant'll probably want you to verify it, though, you know what an untrusting soul he is."

"Don't worry about that. Starbuck," he said as the other man turned to the door, "I wanted to talk to you."

Starbuck turned back to him, looking a little wary. Or was that just Apollo's imagination? Starbuck said, "It'll have to wait, I guess. I'm on duty and then tomorrow you're on days again, right? And I'm booked for dinner, so..." He shrugged easily. "Unless you can squeeze it in tomorrow before you go for Boxey; I plan to be asleep but I could get up early."

"I don't want to squeeze this in," Apollo objected, thinking, booked for dinner already?

"Well, then, day after tomorrow. Sometime—"

"Starbuck, just stay put and we'll talk now."

He wasn't imagining it; those blue eyes were definitely wary. "Look, Apollo: I'm on duty and you're tired, and I'm not sure this is a good time for us to have what looks like one of your serious chats. I'm not really in the mood to talk about my future, and I don't have any suggestions for yours... let it wait, okay?"

"I thought your future was bright and shining?"

"Well, it's not, not just at this moment."

"Even with dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah, well..." Starbuck shrugged. "That happens to be your sister... And Cass," he added to Apollo's raised eyebrow.

"Is that such a good idea?" Apollo asked involuntarily.

"Why not? Dinner with some old friends, where's the harm?"

"No harm," Apollo hoped, "just... you should be getting on with your life—"

"Well, maybe I'm not ready to do that," Starbuck said. "Maybe you are, and if you are that's great and I'll be happy to listen to you talk about her, but don't push me any more, Apollo. I always told you settling down didn't appeal to me, and this is why, it doesn't last." He broke off. "Sorry," and he sounded it. "Didn't mean to snap at you. I'm bit more strung out over this than I want to admit, makes me tetchy, as Boomer would say."

"You said you weren't."

Starbuck shrugged. "Yeah, well... I figured you had your own problems and didn't need to hear about mine, especially since mine weren't as bad as yours." He looked at his chrono again. "You can see this isn't a good idea, and I am late—"

"I'll take care of that. Don't move." He punched in the number and waited until the duty NCO answered. "Sergeant Giles? I need Lieutenant Tarrant, please... Tarrant? Lieutenant Starbuck won't be in tonight; something's come up... Thank you. Have a good shift." He cut off the comm. The good thing, though he didn't usually think of it as good, was that Tarrant was almost pathologically uninterested in anybody else. He wouldn't ask why, as long as he was covered. Apollo looked at Starbuck. "Now," he said, "now we're going to talk. And this time we're going to say what's on our minds, not just what we think each other wants to hear."

"Are we?"

"We are."

"Okay," Starbuck said slowly. "What about?"

"Us." And maybe Starbuck was right and this wasn't the best time, but Apollo was afraid that if he let Starbuck leave, the next time he saw the other man they'd be back to slick surfaces and role-playing.

"Why? Aren't we good the way we are?"

"Is good good enough?"

Starbuck blinked at him, startled though Apollo wasn't sure why. Then he answered, "Good's better than bad."

"Is bad what you're afraid of?"

"What I'm... Okay. Okay, Apollo. You want to hear what's on my mind?"

Maybe not, Apollo thought, but what he said was, "Yes."

"I'm not afraid. I've never been afraid. I've kept my mouth shut because you made it pretty clear what you wanted to hear, and I didn't want to watch you pull away and poker up into Lieutenant Leave-me-alone, like you were with most people on the Falca, but I wasn't afraid. Maybe you were, maybe you are, maybe I'm completely wrong. But you gave me a choice and I took the one that hurt least, and that's fine and if you want me to say now what you made clear you didn't want me to say before, I don't get it. But I never did, really, get it, so that's not new."

"Get what?" Apollo said.

"You." Starbuck laughed a little. "That's funny, I never got you." The smile died. "It, Apollo, everything. I don't get it. I didn't then, I don't know, I guess I didn't learn it young enough or something. But I could tell you did. I could tell you meant it, and I knew that nothing was more important to you than carrying out your duties, fulfilling your responsibilities, every single one of them no matter how insignificant or even silly it might seem to me, or how much you might hate it. But that's why I let myself have this little crazy bit of hope. Because when I asked you if you could give it to Zac, you didn't say, 'Why would I want to do that?' You said, 'That's not the way things are done.' And I know, I knew, that the way things are done is very important to you. Even if you don't like the way things are done, somebody's got to come up with a pretty compelling case to make you change. If you'd ended up on a battle wagon like the Pegasus or the Columbia where the strike captain didn't double as a squadron leader, you wouldn't have flown much even though you'd have hated it. The way things are done is, was, well, almost sacred to you. But I let myself think that what that meant was that you didn't want to do it. And I let myself have this little fantasy that someday, maybe a dozen yahrens on, fourteen, Zac would get married and have a kid and you'd pass it all to him."

He took a breath. "See, I looked up 'entail', because I didn't know what it meant. And it said you could break one, you knew that, right? If you and your father wanted to. Now I didn't know if he wanted to, or even if you did. I mean, that would have been like jumping up and down and waving your arms. But it also said that it didn't matter; if you never had any kids it would go to Zac anyway. So I let myself hang on to this crazy little hope, I didn't even let on to Boomer, that maybe the time would come that I could ask you. Maybe. If I didn't let myself get tied down, if I didn't let myself get too close to anyone. But then Zac died, and I thought, you know, 'that's it', and I asked Athena to marry me. And she said 'no' and that was a good thing in more ways than one, but back then I didn't think so. And then it just hit me. I mean it literally woke me up one night: you didn't have anybody to pass it on to, but there wasn't any 'it' any more. You didn't have anything to pass on. But you know what you did. You started talking about marrying Serina. You said you were in love. And I realized I'd been fooling myself the whole time. So I let go of it."

"Starbuck—"

He plowed on. "Or I tried to. I didn't do very well. Every time you took some crazy risk, like you never used to before, you took yahrens off my life. And then you got killed. Killed. In front of my eyes. I offered my life for yours. So did she. And we got you back. It didn't cost my life, but it did cost me you. Because you came back to her. And I didn't mind that, well not much... I mean I'd rather you were alive and hers than dead. But that's when I really did give up. Not loving you, no; but thinking there was ever going to be a time when you'd want to hear me say it, let alone that I could have you. Cass was second choice, but I thought we could make it work. Lots of people are settling for second, after all; so many firsts are dead. You're not dead. You were around all the time. I figured I was lucky."

"Oh, Starbuck..." Apollo couldn't think what to say.

"You know, Boomer said the same thing. Said I should get used to it, you and Sheba. Sure, maybe he had his own reasons for being depressed about it, and over the yahrens sometimes he'd try and pick me up, but after Serina we both knew he was lying when he did. Not that he ever knew just how wrong I'd been—"

"Starbuck, you weren't wrong."

Starbuck looked at him, shaking his head. "Wasn't I? So maybe Serina was the same for you as Athena was for me, a reaction without thinking. But after she died, where did you turn? Who did you go to when you went somewhere? Not me. Sheba. And at the same time you were slacking off on that whole 'way things are done' idea."

"What do you mean?"

Starbuck sighed, biting the inside of his lip as he looked at Apollo. "Come on. You're relaxing all over the place. For you, anyway. Taking all those missions you used to assign other people. Spending all your time with the Wing, or at least as much as you can; if Tigh dropped dead tonight you'd be nowhere near ready to take his place. You let Omega handle all the housekeeping you can, you know it, and you didn't use to even though you never liked it. And women pilots—Dietra as a squadron leader—"

"That was kind of a compelling case," Apollo said, uncertain of the reason but somehow knowing he had to convince Starbuck he wasn't getting more liberal. "What were we supposed to do, die?"

"Oh, yeah, compelling at the time," Starbuck conceded. "But after all the men came back, you're the one who tipped the balance with Tigh to keep the women who wanted to stay. Nobody was saying toss 'em out on their ears, their old jobs were waiting. And what about Robin and Giles?"

"What about them?"

"You haven't done a thing about them. The old you would have. You'd have been sorry but you'd have done something, not just pretended not to know."

"You want me to bust them?"

"No. But that's are things are done, isn't it?"

Apollo took a couple of breaths, trying to figure out how to answer that. "Things are different now," he said, knowing it was weak, wishing he'd let Starbuck go so he'd have time to think about what he was going to say.

"Maybe. But you can see my dilemma, can't you? You aren't doing things as they're supposed to be done, but you're dating Sheba."

"Starbuck—"

"And when you lose her, you're angry. Yes," he said as Apollo started to deny it, "you were. You yelled at me for losing Cass, and at Athena for stealing her, and neither one makes sense, so I figure we're just catching the hell you can't give Boomer because... And that's what I'm not sure of. Because he's your friend, or you want her to be happy, or you know it was your fault, or what?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, then, what? Where am I wrong?" He was insistent, and he sounded angry, but Apollo thought maybe he could hear something else in Starbuck's voice, a genuine hope that he was wrong, a need to be convinced.

"Starbuck, I was angry because you weren't dating."

"What do you mean? Why should that make you angry?"

"Just that. You weren't dating, and Sheba had just dumped me, and..." Apollo stopped.

"And? And what? And what, Apollo? Can you even think it? You obviously can't say it. You know, I ran into Bojay at lunch today."

"Starbuck—"

He jabbed a finger at Apollo. "Let me say this, okay? You don't know Boj; he has a lot of faith in other people's words. And you know? Sometimes I think he's right. Sometimes somebody already said it better than you ever could. He quoted this at me; he should've said to you, but he never will, so I will. 'I know something I ought to say, stuck here, trying to find a way, and you know that you can't get away, and you know that you can't hide it from yourself: lonely nights, traveling far—there's no escape, can only run so far.'"

"Starbuck—"

Starbuck started to snap and then, suddenly, closed his eyes and shook his head. "What, Apollo?" They looked at each for a moment; Apollo couldn't find the words. Starbuck sighed. "I do know what I ought to say, but I don't think I can say it. Isn't that funny?"

"Starbuck."

"You know what's really funny? It's me, too. The last line of that, it's me... 'Lonesome tears after dark: there's no escape, can only run so far.' I think I've run as far as I can run."

"Starbuck—"

"You keep saying my name. I wish you'd find something else to say. Anything else."

Apollo swallowed. He had to get this right, that was obvious.

Starbuck sighed. "I'm sorry, Apollo. I wish you'd... Never mind."

"Starbuck, don't."

"Look, I didn't mean to. You made yourself clear, a long time ago. It's not your fault I got my hopes up. I think it'd probably be best if I transferred into another squadron—"

"Starbuck, would you shut up for a centon and let me say something?"

"Let you? I've been asking you to." He waited. "What is it?"

"Look, just give me a centon." And then the right words came to him. "Starbuck, do you remember the other day? The victory celebration?"

Starbuck looked at him like he'd lost what was left of his mind. "Do I remem—Yes, Apollo, I remember that day. Vividly."

"Do you remember saying that I'd fallen from the hand of God?"

Starbuck blinked. "I remember," he said a little more gently. "You didn't fall far. I caught you and shoved you back."

"You caught me," Apollo repeated. "You always do."

Starbuck sighed. He didn't look angry any more. "I always will, Apollo."

"Will you catch me if I jump?"

"Apollo?"

"Will you? If I jump right out, no parasails or ropes or anything, if I just jump... Will you catch me?"

"Jump? Jump where?"

"To you." Apollo swallowed, watching those blue eyes change. "If I just jump to you, will you catch me?"

"If I catch you, I won't let go."

He might have meant that as a warning, but Apollo chose to hear it as a promise. "Oh, gods, Starbuck, that's what I'm hoping for. Never let go."

"What about your father? What about that whole heir thing?"

"I'd love to tell you that I had the guts to forget it. I wish I did, I don't know if I do. But I don't need them. He doesn't want me to—" Something moved in Starbuck's eyes and Apollo felt his own growing wider. "You knew that."

"I didn't know you were in love with me," Starbuck said. "I thought you might be if you wanted to, but I thought... And after..." He swallowed. "After the Destruction he might have changed his mind, anyway. When you were all the chance he had."

"He didn't. He never told me, he thought I knew. I thought I knew, you thought... Other people's words. Who was it said 'It's not what you don't know that gets you into trouble; it's what you do know that isn't so'?"

"I don't know. Are you going to jump?"

"Are you going to catch me? No—" he added swiftly. "You don't have to answer that, it's not fair. I'm jumping; I'm jumping now... I love you, Starbuck. I've spent nine yahrens loving you like an idiot. I want to do it right from now on."

"'Right' means?" Starbuck asked without moving.

"It means, in public. You move in. Tigh's your rater. End goal: we get ourselves legally tied and we're together till we're old and gray."

"What about the way things are done?"

"Starbuck, I could try to convince you I've changed, but in the first place I probably haven't all that much and in the second place, you might not love me if I did. But this is the way things are done now, isn't it? Isn't that what had you worried?"

Starbuck smiled then.

"Starbuck," Apollo said softly, "Starbuck, I'm falling."

"It's a long way down to where the rest of us live," Starbuck said. "Did you mean that?"

"Mean what? Yes. Whatever it was... You're right, I was afraid. Afraid to let you close enough to love because then I might have to hurt you. Hurt me. Afraid I wouldn't be able to do what I had to do. What I thought I had to do. Afraid to let you get too far away because I wasn't sure I could make it without you close enough... Afraid and unfair and... My first choice isn't dead, either, Starbuck."

"You are such a conflicted, obsessive idiot," Starbuck said. "I can't think why I love you."

"But you do?"

"Consider yourself caught, Apollo," Starbuck said, laughing just a little bit. "And like I said, I'm never letting go."

"Don't. I'll just get lost again. For God's sake, Starbuck, are you just going to stand there?"

"What I just said? Not letting go?"

"I didn't tell Tarrant you'd be late. I told him you wouldn't be there."

Starbuck's smile widened. "Abusing your rank?" he asked as he closed the distance between them.

"I hope so," Apollo said, and then Starbuck's hand was on the side of his face and Starbuck's lips were on his, and he didn't say anything for a long time as he gave himself up entirely to the other man.

Starbuck's kiss was nothing like Sheba's, and nothing really like Serina's either. Like hers it was knowing, and demanding—no, not demanding, Apollo thought as he felt his knees weaken, as he surrendered to Starbuck, let the other man steer him backwards into the sleeping room. Serina had demanded; Starbuck asked—asked hungrily, asked importunately, asked fervently, but asked. Falling onto the bed, returning Starbuck's kisses as well as he knew how, Apollo responded without hesitation. Whatever Starbuck wanted after all this time, whatever he could give him, he could have.

And what he seemed to want was Apollo. Or at least to drive Apollo insane. The darkness in the room didn't seem to slow him down, nor did their uniforms; even the pressure suits came off quickly. Or it seemed quickly to Apollo, though to be fair his senses were definitely on overload and he might not have been judging the passage of time with any real accuracy. Starbuck's hands and mouth were everywhere, finding places on Apollo's body that even he hadn't known would make him moan, writhe, or cry out in pleasure. Serina's reaction to his inexperience had been self-congratulatory and directed at making sure he knew what to do for her; he had had no idea he could be reduced to such a helpless state of quivering pleasure. And when Starbuck took him in his mouth, he completely lost control. He was only marginally aware of Starbuck's hand forcing his out of his grip on the thick tawny hair, giving him a handful of blanket he was surprised to find crumpled in his grasp afterwards, even less of the way he bucked under his lover; all he could feel was Starbuck's mouth, hot and tight on his cock, and the shuddering release it brought to him.

The next thing he was aware of was Starbuck kissing him again, hard and hungry, and Starbuck's body overlaying his. Starbuck's cock was hard between Apollo's legs, and he found himself thinking, If the truth behind 'cock-sucker' is so... sublime, then.... He spread his legs, bending his knees, and ran his hands down Starbuck's back to his astrum. Starbuck shuddered under the pull and moaned, managing to move his head far enough to say, "Pol, careful."

"Frack me, Starbuck." Apollo tightened his thighs on Starbuck. "Frack me. I want..." He didn't know exactly what but he knew he wanted it. Him. "I want you, Starbuck."

"Gods..." Somehow Starbuck slipped out of Apollo's hands, both of them slick with sweat. "Don't. You. Move." He vanished in the darkness but before Apollo could protest he heard the other man going through the cabinet in the washroom. In a centon he was back, bringing with him the cream Apollo used for Boxey's elbows and heels from the cold air, its sharp scent unmistakable. "Not perfect," Starbuck said breathlessly, "but it'll do. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Apollo said, knowing how much Starbuck wanted it, and knowing that made him want it, too.

Starbuck stretched out beside him. "Roll over," he said, "there." And then Apollo felt one of Starbuck's fingers sliding over his astrum, the cream chilly at first but warming quickly. Starbuck was nibbling his ear and pulling gently at the more sensitive of his nipples at the same time; Apollo gasped with pleasure and then felt the finger push inside him. It was another new sensation, and before he could decide whether he liked it or not, Starbuck stroked something inside him and he gasped again, his hand convulsing on the sheet. "More?" asked Starbuck.

"Oh, gods, Starbuck," he said. "Yes."

And Starbuck gave him more. Two fingers, stroking and scissoring and stretching him, preparing him, then three. By the time he felt the head of Starbuck's cock nudging his astrum, he was so ready he couldn't keep from pushing backwards. With a moan of his own Starbuck drove forward, thrusting deep inside Apollo, filling him like he'd never even fantasized, and then began to stroke. After a couple of thrusts he found the angle and hit that spot again, causing Apollo to cry out and raise his hips. His own cock was stiffening again under Starbuck's thrusts and the blond reached around him and took it in his hand, stroking in counterpoint. Apollo crouched on his elbows and knees and felt Starbuck inside and out; there was nothing in the universe but Starbuck and him, and nothing mattered but Starbuck...

He came inside Starbuck's strong right hand, and that seemed to carry Starbuck over the edge himself. He shuddered inside Apollo, filling him with heat, and then they lay together, exhausted, neither of them moving until the chill in the room got through the haze in Apollo's mind. Reluctantly he pulled away from Starbuck's now limp grasp and managed to bring the covers over them, turning to pull the blond close to him.

"Apollo..?" Starbuck half-said, half-yawned.

"Shhh," he said, stroking Starbuck's hair. "Sleep."

"You be here?"

"I'll be here," he promised.

Bojay sat at the small table in the service room and picked desultorily at the fruit in his bowl, watching Omega. He was sleepily debating with himself whether to have a cup of kava and wake up properly, or sit here drowsily until Omega went on duty and then go back to bed. He was on again that afternoon, and usually he slept some beforehand... His offhand remark about how easy it would be to mesh their schedules had foundered on a couple of rocky facts. First, which he had, he supposed, been vaguely aware of, Ops and the Wing ran on different schedules. Omega didn't work six-to-two, he worked eight-to-four, and going in early, as he usually did to prepare for the morning meeting, didn't mean he could get off early. With the best will in the worlds, if he came straight home and fell into bed after getting off, he wouldn't be asleep much before five, and with Bojay getting off at ten, it wasn't enough sleep, and same with Bojay: waiting until Omega left before he went to bed didn't give him enough, either. And the second was that even with the best will in the worlds, and Bojay gave him points on willingness, Omega couldn't ever leave the bridge at four. Bojay wasn't sure how much of that was a nervousness about handing over to an inexperienced lieutenant, and how much of it was Tigh giving Omega too much work to do, and how much of it was just habit, but the fact was he was rarely home before five, and sometimes later. Sometimes much later.

And that wasn't counting the sectonly Senior Staff dinner on Seconday, which Omega couldn't miss, or any of the other obligations that cropped up in the Galactica's evening hours. Ah, well... the best laid plans and all that. It wasn't as if sleeping with Omega was objectionable, after all, the solid warmth of the other man next to him. And probably, he'd realized in the sectares since he'd moved in, having six days every three sectons where they weren't able to be together all their off-duty time wasn't such a bad thing, either. Breathing room was good for them both.

After Molecay things had gone to pieces. He and Mao had been together almost all the time, but the round-the-clock action had made that mean less than it might have otherwise. And before that, they hadn't been in the same squadron. And for Omega, Bojay had come to realize, all the daily things about being partnered were new. That Ruaraidh... Omega had basically been a guest in his house when he went home on furlon. It had been a vacation. For both of them, probably... And the day-to-day had never included someone else. Bojay didn't worry about it now, but it was true that they'd had a few adjustments to make.

He smiled to himself, remembering Omega's informing him some sectons ago, and rather acerbically, that not every horizontal surface in the place had to have something on it. "You know," he'd replied, waving his hand around, "for a Caprican, well at least what I've seen of them, this place is kind of austere. Most Capricans like stuff. This is very minimalist, almost Kenjian; makes me feel—"

"At home?" Omega had raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, it's like where I grew up, yeah, which is not a feeling I particularly enjoy. I mean," he'd turned to pick up the offending jacket and blaster, "if you're not going to use it, what's the point of having a table—" And the next thing he'd known, he was discovering that Omega did in fact have uses in mind for his otherwise unoccupied horizontal surfaces...

Adjustments... He smiled again. Some were certainly easier to make than others. And for Omega, well... no adjustment would be too hard. His eyes drifted through the doorway into the front room; he could see the top shelf of the wall unit, the photos there... He smiled to himself, felt it turn into a yawn, and decided to go back to bed for a while.

Omega interrupted his thoughts with an apposite question. "Are you going to have kava?"

"I will," Bojay answered, "eventually. Leave it."

Omega shook his head but left it, turning to rinse out his own cup. "You go on break after this afternoon, right?" he asked over his shoulder.

Bojay nodded. "Yeah, it's Sixthday."

"Excellent."

"You're not off," Bojay said, then, "or are you?"

Omega leaned up against the counter and smiled at him. "I am, in fact. Both days, and First Day as well, which, since you're not on again till ten at night, means—"

"Basically, three whole days. Nice. I think I'll disable the comm."

Omega laughed, but with a little guilty look that said he probably wouldn't be able to go three whole days without checking on the bridge at least once. "I thought we might pay dinner back on Eighthday, too," he said. "Sheba's on days, right?"

Bojay nodded.

"And Cassie, too, so what do you think?"

Bojay nodded again. "Sounds like it will work," he said. "If you think Boomer and me at the same table is a good idea."

"You were perfectly civil to each other the last time," Omega said. "And I got the distinct impression Sheba means to make it work. You and Boomer liking each other, I mean."

Bojay had to laugh at that. Sheba did mean to. Boomer didn't seem to mind letting her go off with him, which was good, because sometimes you just wanted to be alone with your best friend, but the other pilot had told him in so many words a secton ago that while they might never be drinking buddies, it probably behooved them to put the past behind them and play together nicely. Bojay was more than willing to do that; he was just glad he didn't have to do it for Omega's best friend. Though he had to admit that dealing with Cassie was a balancing act in its own way. He'd heard about her long before he'd met her, on Cain's arm in the Galactica's Officers' Club. Not from Cain, of course, from Sheba.

It wasn't so much that Cain slept with her; the man had a woman in every port the Pegasus stayed a half a day in. It wasn't even that he took her seriously. It was that he did both. And that Cassie was a socialator. And virtually the same age as Sheba, possibly younger. In no way was she the woman Sheba wanted to see replacing her mother, though Bojay wasn't sure that such a woman existed. And quite frankly, he never wanted to go through anything even vaguely resembling the firestorm that he had found himself caught in when Sheba found out that Cain had put her and that lady on the same holoplayer... On the other hand, he wanted the Skipper to be happy. And on the other other hand, he didn't want the Skipper taken for a ride by some cold-blooded professional, and he was getting to that age where, in Bojay's experience, men could fool themselves... And then he'd met her, and then she'd put her life on the line with theirs, and saved his, and gotten abandoned just like they had. And been the one it looked like might actually pull Bucko out of his pointless life... And then she'd dumped him, but he hadn't seemed to mind much and she was so radiant, plus, of course, just to really complicate things, she was Athena's lover. And Athena was Omega's best friend...

Though he rather thought that Omega's best friend was probably dead. He had the feeling that although Omega and Athena liked each other, they hadn't been particularly close before the Destruction. He sighed to himself. He was no philosopher, but sometimes he wondered about the human ability to pull joy out of disaster.

The door chimed, pulling him gratefully out of his introspection. Omega, ready to leave, opened the door and said, in what Bojay had learned to recognize as his politely startled voice, "Good morning."

"Yes, it is!" Starbuck said, with entirely too much vivacity for a man who'd just gotten off duty a centare or so ago. "Boj up?"

"Barely," Omega said. "He's in there... Is something the matter?"

"Nope, just want to talk to him."

"He's all yours. Bojay—see you this evening."

"Don't let Tigh talk you into anything!" Bojay hollered back and looked askance at the bouncy Starbuck who came into the service room. "You look much happier than you did yesterday," he said, getting up to pour himself some kava. It was clear he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, and lately he'd found it was best to be alert when trying to deal with Starbuck.

"I am," Starbuck said. "How did you keep from talking to people? That's what I don't understand."

Bojay blinked at him. He was a couple of cups behind, it appeared. "Talking about what?"

"Love," said Starbuck, sounding like a vid commercial.

"Love? Well, I have been known to talk about love," he said, sitting down again.

"To Sheba. I bet you talked to Sheba." He wasn't pacing, but he was anything but standing still. "I would talk to Boomer, if I could find him. Maybe I can find him at lunch. If he doesn't go with Sheba. Hell, if he does." He paused. "You gonna offer me some kava?"

"Kava? Bucko, you don't need any kava. You're wired, boy."

Starbuck laughed. "I guess so... I never felt like this before. I don't know whether to hope I get used to it or not."

Bojay felt the kava finally kick in. "You met somebody."

Starbuck's smile was blinding.

"You met somebody, and you're in love. That's great, Bucko. I mean it."

"Thanks."

"Well? Who is she? Or he, as the case may be," Bojay added, remembering who he was talking to. Starbuck may have been concentrating on women, but his heart had been elsewhere for way too long. Just yesterday, in fact, at lunch, he'd been intransigent still.

"Remember what we talked about yesterday?" Starbuck echoed his thoughts.

Bojay did. He'd been thinking about that lunch, too, this morning, if rather on and off and without any real idea what to do or say that he hadn't done or said already.

Starbuck had shown up in the O Club while Bojay and Omega were eating, only ten or so centons before Omega was going to have to get back on duty. The place was full; after a quick head movement in the blond's direction and a silent question, Bojay had waved him over to join them. "You sure you don't mind?" Starbuck before sitting down. "Don't want to intrude on newlyweds, after all."

Bojay had fielded that. "Bucko, not only has it been over two sectares, but it's the second marriage for both of us." Then he'd laughed.

"What?" Starbuck had asked as he pulled out the chair.

"It's just, it's public."

Starbuck had looked at him quizzically but he'd succeeded in making Omega chuckle.

"Ah, I get it. Private joke." Starbuck had looked around for a waiter, but it wasn't until Omega caught one's eye and raised his hand that theirs had shown up. After Starbuck had ordered a sandwich and Bojay had told the man to bring him some kava and a piece of pie, the blond had leaned back in his chair and said, "Still, it's nice."

"What?"

Starbuck had shrugged. "Seeing people make it for a change."

Bojay had exchanged a long look with Omega while Starbuck, apparently wishing he hadn't started the conversation, aligned his flatware with millimetronic precision. "You," Bojay had said firmly, "need to meet someone new. Megs, isn't there someone in Ops? What about what's her name? Charis?"

"I dated her." Starbuck's answer had been simultaneous with Omega's,

"She's seeing a engineering officer."

"Well, she's not the only woman up there."

"I can find my own dates, Boj, thank you."

"Well, you need to. What's it been, three sectons almost? It's not like you to go that long. Or at least it didn't use to be," he had pulled himself back, remembering how long it had been since he and Starbuck had been close.

Starbuck hadn't seem to mind, though. "Well, true... Maybe I should just give in and let Brie have her way with me."

Bojay had snickered; even though Brie had never looked his way, he'd seen her cut more than one out of the herd. And she seemed so harmless, too. "You have something against pilots? Women pilots, I mean?"

"As pilots? No," Starbuck had shaken his head. "It was hard getting used to them, but they're no worse than a lot of the men I've flown with. Most of 'em think they know me too well, though, which is a handicap when it comes to going out with them, if that's what you meant."

"I can see how that would be."

"They've been in the Wing nearly a yahren now," Omega had interrupted the repartee. "Are you still getting used to them? That's you in the plural." He never quite stopped being the flag-lieutenant, worrying about everything.

Starbuck had paused, thinking about it. "No, I don't think so. It's a little hard remembering how weird it was at first. Of course, they were all pretty good by the time most of the Wing met them, so that helped. And the ones that stayed really wanted it." He'd cocked his head. "Athena told me you talked her back onto the bridge."

Omega had nodded. "I and the colonel. Not to insult Starfighter Command, but we were finding it much harder to replace her on the bridge than you did in a Viper."

"I can see that... It's not like we got any ops people after Cimtar, just pilots." Starbuck had paused again. "It is funny, though, how hard it is for some of the guys. I mean, some of them you can't put with a woman wingmate, they just don't fly the same."

"Old habits die hard."

The conversation had stopped then as the waiter showed up. When he'd gone Starbuck had said, "The last defense of a desperate people."

"Come again?"

Starbuck had laughed a little, self-consciously. "That's what Commander Adama said once, yahrens ago, that nobody doubted women were as brave or as patriotic or as dependable as men, but that putting their women on the front lines was the last defense of a desperate people."

"Not a bad description of us this past yahren," Omega had said after a moment.

"Yeah... What about you guys?"

Bojay had paused. "We didn't until well after Molecay," he'd said. "Of course, for a long time we didn't have any Vipers for them; it wasn't till we started flying around the clock, hot-cotting them, that we could use more pilots of either sex..."

"What about Sheba? I thought she'd been a pilot for yahrens."

"Sheba was an aberration, not a precedent."

Starbuck had grinned at him. "Oh, for a recorder!"

Bojay had grinned back. "I wouldn't be worried if you had one."

"Relying on that past tense?"

"Relying on her having heard me say worse."

"Good friend, huh?"

"Yeah... the best I ever had. Fifth Fleet wasn't bad at all."

Starbuck had leaned forward a bit. "Did you know, before you transferred, that Cain was like that?"

"No. I didn't know anything about him, not know. Just what everybody had heard."

"Why did you transfer?" Omega had asked curiously, glancing at his wrist-chrono. "There's nothing in your records."

"You've got his records?" Starbuck had sounded surprised. Well, of course, everybody knew, or thought they did, that Cain hadn't planned on leaving them.

Omega had shrugged. "We don't get rid of archived files, we've got more than enough data storage space."

That was the short answer. Bojay had sat through the long one a few sectons earlier, hearing far more than he wanted to know about memory and storage and man-centares required for winnowing through the annual Fleet Personnel Package, and how it was easier to put up with a milli-micron delay in query retrievals, so that the battlestars at least held the whole FPP, not just their sub-section of it, and that on the Galactica at any rate they held six yahrens of old FPPs... He'd listened because it was explaining the appearance of a framed and slightly cropped (no serial number) version of Mao's persrec photo, back when he was a flight officer still. Cameras had loved Mao, even BuPers cameras, and the file still-shot looked more like a portrait... He hadn't seen a picture of Mao in a half a yahren; it had been easier to listen to the explanation than say anything, and apparently easier for Omega to make it than say anything substantial. But after Bojay had set Mao up on the top shelf of the wall unit next to Ruaraidh, he had taken Omega into the sleeping room and managed, he thought, to show him how much he loved him...

"Huh... So, why did you transfer?" Starbuck had repeated the question. "I always kind of wondered myself."

Bojay had shrugged. "Somebody, I don't know who, apparently spotted me in a compromising bar being, well, compromised." He'd had to smile, remembering. "So, when I got back to the battlestar after furlon, I was greeted by the captain—remember him?"

Starbuck had snorted. "Captain Charm? Oh, yeah, I remember him."

"Chalm, wasn't it?" Omega had asked with apparent innocence.

"He does get it, doesn't he?" Starbuck had looked worried.

Bojay had laughed. "Anyway, he informed me that a wonderful career opportunity had opened up in the Fifth Fleet and I ought to avail myself of it. Well, Fifth Fleet: you can imagine my thrill. So I told him he should offer it to someone who wasn't happy in his work. He told me that I was about to get unhappy, in a tearing hurry, and that's how I should take the transfer. As soon as I paid my bar bill, he added rather pointedly. So then of course I knew, and I took the transfer. I had a bad day or so wondering if he'd said anything to the Peggy's brass, but he hadn't. Although the funny part was if he had it wouldn't have mattered. I can still remember, three days after I boarded there was a party for the head of tech maintenance, his fortieth birthday, and I saw these two tech officers dancing together..." He'd smiled. "I liked the Peggy. I liked her a lot."

"I bet," Starbuck had said. "Even with Cain thrown in."

"Cain was the reason," Bojay had replied, though not with the anger he'd used to feel on the subject. "Cain made that ship; he called the shots. He took care of us—all of us. We'd have died for him... See, Starbuck, you didn't know the Skipper. He was different before Molecay, a good commander. He really was. You only saw him after... We couldn't see it," he had admitted. "We all went crazy along with him so he seemed normal to us."

"We all went a bit... strange," Omega had said gently. "You may have been a little more off center than us, but then, you'd been alone longer, and since you were alone the Destruction took you harder." He'd smiled quickly. "You're fairly normal now."

"As normal as you ever were," Starbuck had agreed.

And then Omega had had to leave. After that the conversation had turned more personal. Bojay had meant to get it back on the topic of Starbuck's love life, or lack thereof, though he hadn't been sure how. Starbuck had indavertently given him an opening, though the first thing he'd said had been, "Hated seeing you go back then, but it looks like maybe it was a good deal for you. Given you didn't die after all, I mean."

"Yeah. Things worked out."

"Watching you watch him, I'd say so. You were hurting when you got here, though. Glad to see you doing better."

Bojay had taken a bit of a chance. "You might have done well to get transferred too."

"May I remind you, I would not have been here? I mean, I wouldn't have been shot up."

Bojay had bridled. "May I remind you, I got hit on the ground, not in my Viper?"

Starbuck had laughed outright. "Yes, that's right... But I wouldn't have been here, unless I'd been on something else at Cimtar. Maybe not then."

"You'd have survived Cimtar no matter what ship you launched from."

"If I'd launched. Most of the ships, less than half their Vipers ever got off. I'd probably be dead, and that wouldn't be an improvement." His blue eyes had gotten very bleak of a sudden. "Not a good thing at all."

"Granted. Don't Kobolians have a saying, something about God drawing straight with crooked lines?"

"Find one and ask him. I've forgotten everything they taught me, or I've tried to. That's how it worked out though."

"But you could make some effort—"

"What are you suggesting? We have a conversation?"

"Maybe you should. Maybe you should say something—"

"Oh, no. It would probably be the last conversation we had."

"And that would be worse than the way it is now?"

"Look," Starbuck had shaken his head. "I know what you're saying, but consider this. You had a lover, and you lost him. It might not have been obvious to people who didn't know you, but you were still walking wounded when you got here. You ever wish you hadn't had him?"

Bojay had thought before answering. "You're right. I had Mao and I was happy. Then I lost him and 'miserable' doesn't cover it, but I never wished I hadn't had him. But, Starbuck, it's not the same thing. I had Mao. I wasn't just hanging around the same ship as him." He'd stopped before he'd said 'fantasizing'. "You can't lose what you never had. Plus, having lost him I'm okay now. You do get over things. Time does heal, you do move on. But not if you insist on standing still."

"It doesn't work like that," Starbuck had said.

"Starbuck—"

"Do you remember making a pass at me, way back when?"

"I remember," Bojay had nodded. "You can't blame me."

Starbuck had grinned slightly. "I never did. But remember me telling you why I was saying no?"

He had. Carrying a torch for a guy on another ship, a guy who didn't even want to know... "Yeah... I recall telling you to get over it and get on with your life, too, which," he'd raised a hand in only slightly mock self-defense, "I now admit was both glib and insensitive. But a good idea, any way. And I thought you were," he'd said, his eyes narrowed in confusion. After all, if you liked women, Cassie was a nice specimen, though come to think of it, a bit subdued was all Starbuck had been. "You mean, still?" Well, Sheba had thought so, but—

Starbuck had interrupted those thoughts. "I was trying. But you see how well it worked. There's no point to it."

Funny, Bojay had thought briefly, how easily old habits came back. Don't say anything that couldn't be construed several ways by any other listeners. No names. No pronouns. "I thought you were friends. I'd thought Cassie—"

"We are. We are. I'm not... I know you can't see it, you don't get along—"

"That doesn't mean I don't see it. If our history was different..." That had trailed off as he remembered something and his crack of laughter had made Starbuck demand,

"Okay, Boj, what's so fracking funny?"

"Actually," he'd glanced around before continuing, "he's responsible for my meeting Omega. Indirectly, of course."

"Say what?"

"Brooding about Sheba's love life one evening slipped into a rather disturbingly different vein, and I decided I really needed to get out and meet people. In a manner of speaking."

Starbuck had grinned.

Bojay had decided it wouldn't hurt to push it a bit. Starbuck had been a little dimmer than usual the past few sectons; he needed to be stirred up a bit, one way or the other. "You could stand that."

"What?" Starbuck had sounded exasperated.

"Meeting people."

"I know plenty of people. That's not my problem."

"You're getting any forwarder, you know. Sheba says Boomer said—"

"That's going to take getting used to."

"What is?"

"Sheba says Boomer says..." Starbuck had shrugged then. "What does Boomer say, as if I haven't heard it already."

"That you wanted to marry Cassie."

"Well, yeah. If they'd gotten Sealed. But that didn't happen."

"Don't pin your hopes on that. The wrong person got dumped."

"Neither of them had their heart in it."

"She's an acquired taste," he'd acknowledged. "Are you sure it means anything, though?"

"Sure? Of course not. But it doesn't matter if it does," Starbuck had said a bit testily. "I can't quit now."

"You ever heard 'Run So Far'?"

"Of course not. You're not going to sing it to me, are you?"

"You're not an appreciative audience. But I am going to quote it."

"Some other time, Boj, I've got places to be—"

"'You fly out as your smile grows thin'," Bojay had said implacably.

Whether Starbuck had really meant to leave, or his starting to get up had been part of the running joke, Bojay hadn't been sure. Still wasn't, in fact. But the blond had frozen halfway out of his chair for several microns before slowly sitting back down. "I'm not giving you that satisfaction," he'd said. "Go on. Finish it."

Bojay had. "'I sigh, knowing the mess you're in. And you know that you can't get away, and you know that you can't hide it from yourself: lonely days, blue guitar—there's no escape, can only run so far.'"

"Boj—"

He hadn't stopped. "'I know something I ought to say, stuck here, trying to find a way, and you know that you can't get away, and you know that you can't hide it from yourself: lonely nights, traveling far—there's no escape, can only run so far. Lonely tears, after dark—there's no escape, can only run so far.'"

Starbuck had sat quietly for a centon or two and then shrugged. "So your advice is?"

"I'm not sure..."

"Can it, Boj. You don't get to hand out this felgar without admitting you've got advice. Take some responsibility. What is it?"

"Transfer," he'd said bluntly. "Go to Green. And for Kai's sake, actually try to meet somebody else."

"It's good advice," had been Starbuck's surprising answer. "There's only one problem with it. It doesn't work. I did try, well, not the transfer but that's really pointless since I'd still be in the same Wing. But I did try. You see how well it worked. What did you just say?" He'd smiled sadly. "I can't hide it from myself. There is no escape, and I've run as far as I can."

They had sat silently for a while; there hadn't seemed to be much else to say. Then Starbuck had given himself a metaphorical shake, like a dagget coming out of water, and smiled brilliantly at Bojay. "Anyway, it's nice to know you're back, nagging and all. I need all the friends I can get."

"Don't we all?"

"Yeah... I need one who'll get drunk with me."

"Unfortunately I'm on duty in just over a centar."

Starbuck had laughed; it had sounded genuine. "I'm on tonight, myself. Worse, I've got dinner at the commander's at 1850."

"Oh. I can see where you might feel like getting drunk. I'm on break after tomorrow's shift; I'm at your disposal." He had grinned. "You can sleep it off on our couch."

Starbuckhad grinned back. "Don't think I won't take you up on that. Hope Omega won't mind."

"He won't."

"Good... Look," Starbuck had started digging into his pockets. "I won't say I enjoyed the conversation, because parts of it I could, quite frankly, have done without, but I did enjoy most of it and the rest was probably good for me. Let me get your lunches."

"Starbuck, you don't have to do that."

"I know. It's noble of me." He'd piled some cubits on the chit-tray and said, "I won't take no for an answer. And you don't have enough time before you go on duty to argue me out of it; you've got to go change, after all."

Bojay had laughed. They'd left together, but split up outside the club.

And now here was Starbuck again, but he didn't look like he needed to get drunk. In fact, he looked like getting drunk would be a waste of good alcohol; he probably wouldn't even notice. "Yeah, I remember," said Bojay. "It was only yesterday."

"You know what? As it turns out I have to thank you for that damned song. 'Can only run so far. Can't hide it from yourself.' Useful words, very useful."

Bojay froze, his cup still at his mouth, then, nearly choking, managed to swallow. He stared at Starbuck. He couldn't possibly mean... "Did you actually meet somebody?"

"No. No meetings. Just conversation. Well, not just conversation." He grinned again, and Bojay started laughing. He could remember feeling like Starbuck looked. "Not just conversation at all," Starbuck continued. "But conversation first."

Bojay put his cup down carefully. "Starbuck. Stand still for a centon and tell me in plain Standard: are you saying you and Apollo—"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. Me and Apollo. Apollo and I."

"Congratulations." Bojay started laughing. "I mean it." He jumped up and caught the blond in a hug. "See?" He ruffled Starbuck's hair and then let go. "You should have listened to me yahrens ago."

Starbuck, still grinning, sobered up a little. "No. I don't think it would have worked yahrens ago... maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter. It worked last night. And I am so. Damned. Happy!" He flung his arms out and fairly shouted the last word at the universe.

"Well, I guess," Bojay said. He hesitated to ask if Apollo was ready to be open about it; he didn't want to bring Starbuck down. And his automatic impulse to invite the two of them to dinner sometime soon was quelled by the thought that Apollo probably wouldn't enjoy being polite to him for a couple of centares in such close company. So instead he sat on the edge of the table and said, "Moral of the story: Patience pays off."

"The Big Money game, too... We're going to dinner tonight at Theni's. I can't wait to see Cass's face. She's gonna be happy. They both will, though Theni may snipe at him."

"For what?"

"I don't know. She can usually find something he's done. But she'll be happy." He looked momentarily almost shy as he added, "We went by the commander's this morning before he went up to the bridge."

Well, that answered that, Bojay figured. And probably explained why Starbuck was here, since the Commander lived down the hallway. "You knew he liked you."

"I know. But it's different when it happens... Man." He let out a huge sigh. "I had to tell somebody before I exploded." He took his first really good look at Bojay. "Boj... you're not dressed."

He looked down to make sure the fuzzy robe he was wearing in the chill Galactica air hadn't come unbelted. "Well, I was planning on going back to bed. Though I'm awake now."

"Sagan. Sorry."

"No, no. I'm glad you came. Listen, Boomer's probably back in the BOQ by now, since Spar's on days. Do you mind if I find Sheba and tell her? She'll be glad to hear it."

"No, go ahead. Tell everybody. Well, no. I want to surprise Theni and Cass tonight. But tell Sheba if she can keep a secret... what am I saying? Of course she can. Just make sure she does."

"I will."

Starbuck paused at the door. "Thanks, Boj. For yesterday, too."

"Don't mention it." Bojay watched him leave and felt a smile spreading across his face. The Strike Captain and Starbuck... Who'd have guessed it? He shook his head and went to get dressed.

Adama shifted his position slightly in his reclining chair and felt Boxey snuggle closer in his sleep. He sighed in deep contentment and stroked the boy's hair. When he looked up, Apollo was looking at him, a smile on his face that was both fond and rueful. Moved by an obscure impulse he didn't, this time, examine, Adama said, softly, "I often wished I could do this with you."

Most of the rue left Apollo's smile. "I know," he said. "I occasionally indulged in sulking, but one thing I've learned since I got married: the Service demands a lot, and—" he broke off, his expression screwed up into a near-parody of perplexity. "What's that saying about dependents?"

After a moment Bojay offered, a bit hesitantly, "If the Service wanted you to have dependents, they'd have issued you some."

"That's it," Apollo nodded. "Thanks... He lives with me and I still have to hand him over to others on a regular basis."

"You're doing a fine job with him," Adama said. "Under the circumstances, you're doing as well as could be expected."

Athena, who'd turned to watch them, now rose lithely and crossed to put her hands on her brother's shoulders. He looked up at her and she smiled at him. "You're doing wonderfully," she said. "He adores you, and he's happy as a myan."

"I never understood why they were supposed to be happy," Cassie said from her seat on the couch. "They get steamed alive and eaten, mainly, don't they?"

"Raw, sometimes," Athena said nostalgically. "But they're relatively brainless."

Apollo laughed up at his sister. "Are you saying my son is brainless?"

"She's been talking to his teachers," Starbuck said. "All that filling in on off-days. But I always thought it was because myans are—"

"Starbuck," said Apollo, Athena, Boomer, and Cassie simultaneously.

Boxey stirred. "What did you do, Papa?"

"Nothing," Starbuck said in an injured tone. "I was just about to impart an interesting fact, that's all."

"Oh." Boxey yawned, his nose wrinkling and his eyes remaining shut. After a moment his breathing evened out again and Adama could tell he was asleep once more.

"At least he didn't want to hear it. Speaking of his teachers complaining," Apollo said.

"Anyway, they aren't," Omega put in quietly. Bojay chuckled; it was apparent to Adama that the pilot enjoyed his partner's education, which was probably more expensive than Apollo's, considering that Omega's family had been wealthy enough to make Adama's seem... well, not middle-class, no sense in getting hyperbolic. But they probably had had more money than anyone would have known what to do with. Omega finished, "It's oistreida that are hermaphroditic, not myans."

Starbuck blinked at the operations officer, then grinned. "So they give pearls to themselves?"

"Starbuck." Only Apollo and Boomer said it this time; Cassie and Athena looked as if they were actually contemplating the scenario.

Boomer added, "Apollo's going to be able to give people pearls before too long."

"I think I was just insulted," Starbuck said.

"Let me remove your doubt; you were," Boomer said.

"Help me out, here, Boj. I'm outnumbered."

"Much as I love a losing cause..." Bojay grinned, and Sheba finished his sentence, as she was wont to do,

"There are limits to his self-destructive impulses." She gave Bojay a fond look with only a trace of worry in it. "Fortunately."

"Some friend you are," Starbuck huffed, and Adama knew him well enough to know he was deliberately making light of the darker undertones that had crept into the conversation.

Across from Adama Tigh smiled suddenly, the humor transforming his dark face. "I've always found a certain amount of self-preservation a good trait in an officer."

"Thank you, sir," said Bojay. Tigh had given up on getting the ex-Pegasus pilot to use his name when he'd blamed it on his upbringing; he wouldn't call Adama anything but 'sir' either. But, Adama thought, he wasn't acting the junior officer, more like a young member of a somewhat formal family, and he was, the commander remembered, Wayist. Meanwhile, Starbuck was miming dying, going so far as to fall out of his chair. Apollo had hidden his face, but his shoulders were shaking, and Athena and Cassie were frankly laughing. You could always depend on Starbuck, Adama thought; that lighthearted attitude was perhaps half put on, but the blond pilot knew when to deploy it and when not to.

Adama settled back, the heavy boneless warmth of his sleeping grandson more comforting than a long drink, and looked around his front room. The evening had surpassed his most optimistic hopes. Tigh had thought him mad, inviting his children's ex-lovers, but Adama hadn't worried about that. Once Apollo had broken through his self-imposed—no; Adama knew he had to take some responsibility for the misconceptions his eldest had labored under for so long—once he'd broken through those misconceptions to the truth, he had, much like his sister, become a person much easier inside himself. And he'd never been angry at Sheba or at Boomer, only at himself. Once Starbuck had moved in with him, he hadn't been angry at anyone.

The only doubtful part of the evening had been Bojay. Adama hadn't originally intended to ask the pilot, but he was too old a campaigner not to know that plans were what people made to give the Universe something to play with. He had asked Sheba to stay behind after a morning meeting when her squadron was on the day shift. She had, clearly wondering why.

"Sheba," he'd said, "as I'm sure you're aware, Harvest Fest is coming up in three sectons and, fortuitously, it falls on Seventh Day this year. Silver Spar will be on first shift and Red on break, and I'd like very much if you and Boomer would come to my celebration. We'll have to start a little bit earlier, for Boxey's sake, and because Apollo and Starbuck are on third shift and will have to leave by 2160, but if we sit down at 1900 that will leave us plenty of time."

Sheba had looked a bit flustered. "Commander—"

"Now, Sheba, this is not a command; it's an invitation. I would very much like to have you there."

"Adama, then," she'd smiled, "I'm very grateful for the invitation, I really am—"

"Harvest Fest is a celebration for families," he'd said gently. "No one should celebrate alone."

"Actually," she'd said, "Boomer and I were going to ask Bojay and Omega to join us. Bojay's like my brother and I really can't..." She'd paused. "But I do thank you for thinking of us."

"Well, that's not a problem," he'd said without really thinking about it. "The more the merrier was never truer than about fests."

So he'd walked out onto the bridge and beckoned Omega over and asked him. Omega had been slightly startled; startled enough that he'd actually let his eyes slip sideways to where Tigh was leaning over a terminal reading the data scrolling up the screen. Adama, who'd viewed Tigh's slowly opening up to someone on a personal level with a great deal of satisfaction, had added quite truthfully, "Sheba wants Bojay, and I'm sure Tigh will appreciate your presence. As will I; it will help us feel not so outnumbered."

Omega had smiled and promised to check with Bojay that evening. Adama had then secured Tigh, as he had in fact meant to do anyway, and it had only been later in the day that he had realized that having Apollo and Bojay together was a bit like having two daggets in a room who weren't fond of each other. They'd stopped actually snarling, but Apollo certainly went all stiff-legged and careful around the Pegasan; not surprising, perhaps, but actually, Adama had decided upon further reflection, something that needed to be dispensed with. He couldn't, of course, mandate his son's friends, but he could expect him to behave well to his junior officers. Especially since the last time they were discussing who to promote to squadron command Omega had almost apologetically pointed out that Bojay had nearly three yahrens' experience. Sheba had confirmed it, and then, with an air of being hanged for a rammet, said that he'd actually been the Pegasus strike captain for fourteen sectares. But she'd been unwilling to discuss why it had never been mentioned before. Adama hadn't pressed her, though Tigh had wanted to; the whole contingent of Pegasus people had known it, including the other pilots, but there was no point in raking up discomforts from the past and secrets decided nine sectares ago. None of Cain's people had been entirely sane when they'd arrived, but they were all integrated into the fleet now, and Adama had no problems with letting the past alone.

So, when he was making final plans with his son and daughter, he'd carefully included the names of everyone who was coming. Apollo had been quiet. Athena had said, "That's... ten. Well, eleven with Boxey. And only three of us are women... I don't even want to try to balance that table, Father; you'll have to. Though," she'd added with the quick smile that reminded him of Ila, "half of your male guests don't actually want to sit by women..."

In the end, he'd kept Cassie beside him, with Tigh beside her, then Omega, Apollo, and Boxey, while on his other hand he'd had Sheba, then Bojay, Starbuck, and Boomer, with Athena at the end opposite him. It hadn't been a perfect table, perhaps, but everyone had at least one person to talk to, and Apollo was across the table from the two he might be most uneasy with (and they from him), while Tigh, who might intimidate most of the people here, had Omega and Cassie, who, in Adama's judgment, didn't get intimidated in social settings by anyone.

And as it had turned out, Apollo had been cordial to Bojay all evening. In fact, Adama had been surprised—pleased, but surprised—at how cordial. He'd mentioned it to Starbuck when the blond had been helping him bring out the desserts, and Starbuck had surprised him again by his offhand response. "Oh, that's Pol's guilt coming out," he'd said. "He never really wanted to marry Sheba and Boj is her best friend. He liked to pretend it was all about that thing over the fuel, and that was part of it, but Sheba was in that hangar bay, too. It was mostly how he was acting about her." He'd disappeared into the front room with a tray, leaving Adama to ponder what he'd said and come to the conclusion that Starbuck was not only right, but the right one. Very probably the only one who could make Apollo happy. Or, he refined the thought, the only one with whom Apollo could be happy.

After dinner, Boxey had of course wanted to play Trango. To Adama's surprise, Bojay and Sheba had volunteered to play. Boxey had made big eyes at Apollo and roped him in, and Cassie and Athena had agreed to make it a three-way contest. Boomer had begged off, saying he hadn't played since he was about nine, but he'd watched the others while Omega made quiet conversation with Tigh and Adama and Starbuck prepared the desserts. After which, Boxey had climbed into his grandfather's lap, asking for a story, and fallen asleep half-way through.

Soon Apollo and Starbuck would have to leave, to get ready for their upcoming shift and put Boxey to bed. That might break up the evening, but it was still early and Adama thought Cassie and Athena, and Tigh, would stay, and that would probably keep the rest of them. But for now he was feeling very contented and paterfamilias, in the midst of a group of young people, all happily settled with their loves, and his grandson, and his oldest friend... Ila's absence was a muted melancholy, and Zac's, but he'd grown accustomed to them and, after more than a yahren, he was able to be happy anyway. As long as his family, his children and those he'd taken into his heart, were happy. And this evening had shown him that they were.

He looked down at Boxey's dark head and thought about the story he hadn't been able to finish. "And they all lived happily ever after," he said softly.

END