Title: Brand New Dance

Author/pseudonym: Karen

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Paring: Starbuck/Apollo

Rating: NC17

Status: New, complete

Archive: Yes, please archive this.

E-mail address for feedback: Yes, please! kmdavis@erols.com

Series/Sequel: Part Three of "The Dance Sequence"

Other websites: http://users.erols.com/kmdavis/

Disclaimers: Glen Larson and Universal Studios own them; no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Apollo discovers that happy endings aren't that easy to come by, that old habits die hard, and that good things sometimes have to be fought for.

Warnings: None

I never would, never could,
Never will ever kill what's between us
So let's try again
We'll start a brand new dance
Between old friends
—"Brand New Dance", Paul Kennerly

Apollo woke up to find Starbuck in his bed. And such was his nature that almost the first thing he thought (after a wordless surge of love and an incredulous 'he's here') was: be careful what you wish for, Apollo, you just might get it. Because 'in his bed' was a bit of an understatement.

Starbuck was once again a tangle of bare limbs and bed sheets, but now that tangle was not only resting on top of Apollo but sprawled out over some three-quarters of the available surface of the mattress. He had his answer, anyway: Starbuck was a cuddler. Every time Apollo had waked during the night, Starbuck had been holding on as though he were afraid it was Apollo who was going to get and leave... Frack. Maybe it wasn't cuddling. Maybe it was a symptom of Starbuck's ingrained insecurities, and one he'd been fighting with Apollo all these years because he couldn't afford to depend on Apollo. Because Apollo couldn't be there for him.

He'd used to get angry when Starbuck showed any of that around him—because deep down he knew it was his responsibility, as the one Starbuck loved, to help him? Maybe, he could admit that now. It was Boomer who'd at least stopped him doing that by telling him, "You can't blame Starbuck for not shaking it off, Apollo. We're all of us in thrall to what we learn when we're too young to be critical, the stuff we take for Word. 'Give me a child until he is seven and I'll show you the man', isn't that what they say? And Bucko barely remembers seven, you know that, and nothing before then. The post-traumatic amnesia took anything he might have had of good memories, and what he's got all tells him the same things: people leave, he's not valuable, and death is everywhere. Sagan, Apollo, sometimes I wonder he's sane at all."

Boomer had considerately refrained from enumerating all of Apollo's little childhood quirks, but Apollo had done that himself and admitted that he was being too hard on Starbuck. But in his new mood, the one that had won him Starbuck still here, he knew he'd let his best friend, his lover—his lifemate—down pretty badly on this, yet another, score. He put his hand gently on the tawny mane resting on his chest and sighed.

Starbuck opened one blue eye, or at least that was all Apollo could see through the blond hair covering his face. "What's that for? And don't say you're sorry for something," he added quickly, "because unless I'm very badly wrong about what time it is, I don't have time enough to distract you properly from still another apology."

"You don't," Apollo agreed. "I was just thinking about waking you up. Boxey will be up any centon—"

And as if he were Diabolus and the speaking of his name had summoned him, the child himself came bouncing through the door to the sleeping room at that very moment, calling, "Da-ad."

Starbuck rolled over and stared at the ceiling as Apollo said, "Boxey! How many times do I have to tell you you are not to come in without asking—and getting an answer?"

"Sorry, Dad, but I spilled juice on my shirt and don't know what to wear to school."

Apollo rolled his eyes. "When did you do this?"

"Well, yesterday, when I was putting my clothes out for this morning."

"Then yesterday is when you should have mentioned it."

"Okay. But I don't know what to wear."

"I don't care. Wear anything." A muffled snort from Starbuck made Apollo reconsider those words. "I'll pick out something in a few centons," he amended.

"Okay. Hi, Uncle Starbuck. You spent the night this time," Boxey said with devastating accuracy.

"Good morning, Boxey. Yes, I did."

"Are you going to spend the night all the times from now on?" Boxey asked artlessly, leaning on the foot of the bed.

Apollo couldn't decide which he wanted more: to die himself, or to kill Boxey. "He's going to move in with us, actually," he said. This wasn't how he'd wanted to open this topic with his son, but one thing he'd learned in the past yahren: children often derailed your plans. He was going to ask how Boxey felt about it, but he didn't have to.

"Really?" The boy's big eyes lit up and he flung himself onto the bed, scrambling up to hug Starbuck. "You're going to live with us? For ever?"

"Yeah, kiddo, your dad talked me into it," Starbuck ruffled Boxey's hair. And got away with it, too, Apollo noted.

"Dad," Boxey turned to hug him next, "are you and Uncle Starbuck getting Sealed?"

Apollo paused. How to explain to Boxey the ramifications of homosexual civil marriages and the Church's stand on—

Starbuck said, almost casually, "Nope. Sealing is a religious ceremony and two people of the same sex can't get Sealed. We're just getting married."

"Oh," Boxey said. He pulled loose from Apollo and settled between the two men, taking their hands and putting them on his chest and both his own hands on top of them. "Does the Church not like it?"

"Dunno," shrugged Starbuck. "I'm the wrong person to ask. I'm a heathen."

"You are that," Apollo said, relishing the feel of Starbuck's hand under his. And Boxey's on top... this was how it was meant to be, he decided.

"What's a heathen?"

"What Starbuck is," Apollo said. "You've noticed he's never at Temple, haven't you?"

"Oh. Can I be a heathen?" Boxey hated getting up early on First Day.

"Over your grandfather's dead body," Apollo heard himself say.

Starbuck snickered.

Boxey considered that. "Well, if Grandfather has to die, I don't want to."

"Good boy," Starbuck said with suspicious sincerity.

"When are you getting married, Dad?"

"I don't know," Apollo said. It was a good thing his hand was on Starbuck's, else he might have missed the sudden, fleeting stillness that possessed the blond. Apollo realized then that he could lose Starbuck just as simply as he'd gotten him. It wouldn't take much. He'd let Apollo off the hook for the first question, but this one... Apollo explained his answer as much for Starbuck as Boxey. "See, I don't know anything about purely civil marriages. I don't know how long you have to wait, or how much paperwork there is. And we have to make sure our schedules will match up—"

"Don't you make the schedules?" Boxey asked.

"Not mine. Colonel Tigh makes mine—" and who the hell knew how he felt about it, as far as that went. "And people might want to come, so we have to give them some warning... I don't know how long. As soon as we can, though. Maybe a secton or so."

Starbuck had relaxed again. "That sounds about right," he agreed.

"But you'll stay here anyway?" Boxey asked anxiously.

"Yes, he will," Apollo answered, and was rewarded by smiles of pure happiness from them both. "Just try and leave," he added.

"Yeah, just try," Boxey echoed. "We love you, Uncle Starbuck... what will I call you?"

"What?"

Boxey sighed at grown-up obtuseness. "I can't call you Dad, because Dad's Dad, and if I call you both Dad you won't know who I'm talking to."

"Oh. I don't know, there are plenty of words," Starbuck said.

"What did you call yours? Before he died?"

"I don't remember mine," Starbuck said gently. "I don't know what I called him."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Boxey leaned against Starbuck's shoulder a centon, then looked at Apollo. "You call Grandfather 'Father'. Should I call Starbuck that?"

Apollo was taken aback. It was reasonable enough, but—

"I don't know," Starbuck said dubiously, "that always sounds awful formal to me. I'm not a formal kind of a guy... What about 'Pop'?"

"Pop," Boxey tried it out. "Pop. Dad and Pop... Okay, I'll say Pop."

"Pop it is," Apollo agreed, "though that makes me think of backstages and—" he broke off.

"And what, Dad?"

Starbuck was snickering again. He was going to be no help at all, Apollo could see that. "Nothing, Boxey," he said. "Just, men who sit at theater backstage doors are usually called Pop."

"Pops, Apollo," Starbuck corrected. "Pops. And I'll tell you all about backstage when you're old enough, Boxey. Right now, I think you'd better go try your hand at picking out your own clothes. One of us will be out in a few centons."

"Okay," Boxey said, crawling out from under their hands when Apollo showed no signs of wanting to let go of Starbuck. "Is it still a secret?"

"Just for today, Boxey," said Apollo. "I have to talk to Grandfather before you start telling the whole Fleet."

"I do not. But I'll wait till tomorrow to tell anybody." He went out.

"Thanks, Starbuck."

"For what? Oh... look, I know all your little quirks, Apollo, just like you know mine. Hell, we've been basically living together since we were seventeen, haven't we? And that word triggers a good half of yours. Pop is fine with me."

"I love you so much," Apollo said, tightening his hold on Starbuck's hand and leaning over to kiss him.

"Ummmmm," Starbuck said, pulling away reluctantly. "Nice... but for some strange reason I doubt the child will stay out for as long as it would take to follow up on that properly."

Apollo sighed. "You're completely correct. I'll use the turbowash first and try to make him presentable."

"Sounds good." But he didn't let go of Apollo's hand, biting his lower lip as he looked for words. Apollo waited. "Did I... push? Just then? About marriage? 'Cause you said that about moving in and I figured, with Boxey, I mean, you'd want it regularized—"

Apollo wasted a micron or two cursing his earlier hesitation and another cursing Starbuck's sense of inadequacy but finally managed to interrupt him. "No. You were completely correct. If that actual word didn't get said last night, it's only because I thought it was understood. That it went along with 'commitment' and 'for as long as we both shall live' and 'in the sight of God and the congregation assembled', though I guess that one's out... Which was my problem there. I was stuck on how to explain the Church to Boxey." He grinned at Starbuck, especially at the relief in his eyes, and added, "Apparently that wasn't as important as the vital question of what to call you."

Starbuck returned the grin, releasing Apollo's hand. "Well, no. That's a daily matter, after all. Anyway, I read a book about kids once, and it said to make sure you matched your answer to the actual question. Like," he amplified when Apollo raised his eyebrows questioningly, "when he asks where he came from, don't tell him about sex if 'Caprica City' will satisfy him."

Apollo laughed. "I'll bear that in mind. I think I read too much into him, sometimes."

"Well," Starbuck said, "he hasn't got your complicated genetic makeup, that's for sure. His mother was a single-minded person and the odds that his father was anything like yours..."

"I'm not sure if you're saying my son is simple or I'm neurotic," Apollo teased.

"Who says those are alternatives?" Starbuck riposted.

Apollo swung a pillow at him, laughing, and then climbed out of bed and headed for the turbowash. Much as he'd like to believe otherwise, Boxey was more than capable of dressing himself... in something completely horrible. As he stood in the turbowash, he wondered why Starbuck had read a book on children, decided he'd ask him someday but not now because the answer was probably depressing, and then admitted to himself that Starbuck probably wasn't exactly right about their knowing each other's quirks. True, they'd been sleeping together on and off for nearly a dozen yahrens, and living, if not together, in each other's pockets in close military quarters for a large part of that time. But Starbuck had been paying attention, and Apollo hadn't. He'd been far more preoccupied with trying to possess the other man than understand him, though in his defense, he rallied a bit, that didn't mean that he didn't understand him. Just that he didn't understand him as well as he understood Apollo.

Well, he thought as he dried himself and went back into the sleeping room to get dressed, that can change. And will. He looked at Starbuck, who was apparently sound asleep again, and smiled affectionately. Now that I know I can have him by loving him.

"Get up, you," he said as he put on his shoes. "Turbowash is free and if you're not out for breakfast in twenty centons I'm sending Muffy after you."

"It would terrible of you to deprive your son of his pet," Starbuck said without opening his eyes. "Or would it?" That sounded speculative.

"I hate that thing almost as much as you," Apollo said hastily, "but not even your credit is good enough to withstand daggitcide."

"Dronicide," Starbuck corrected.

"Mufficide. Engineering an accidental death, now..."

"I'll take it under consideration," Starbuck promised and sat up. He stretched, pushed his hair out of his face, and got up.

Apollo watched him, appreciating his grace and blond beauty and his own good luck, and admitting to himself the existence of a second and reprehensible motive for his original plan of 'letting' Starbuck sleep in while he dealt with Boxey. Old habits die very hard, unless you really wanted them to. Or had made them be a conscious choice every time and not a habit at all. Vide Starbuck...

He shook his head at himself, reminded himself there was a huge difference between the profitable activity of acknowledging one's past mistakes and learning from them, and the unprofitable one of indulging oneself in an orgy of remorse over them, and went out to see what Boxey was doing.

Starbuck beat the deadline out to the service room, so Apollo didn't get to... have to... send Muffit II in after him. Boxey complained to Starbuck about the shirt his father was making him wear but went off to school in happy possession of a secret. Apollo just hoped he'd actually keep it long enough that Adama wouldn't hear about it via HALLINT instead of his son. Oh, well, it was a probably-needed incentive to talk to his father right away instead of putting it off.

"What's that sigh for?" Starbuck asked.

"Thinking about talking to my father," he admitted. No point in dissembling; Starbuck knew that wasn't going to be something he was looking forward to. He added, to minimize it as much as possible, "And Colonel Tigh. And Sheba. And, well, lots of people. You've got your own list, right?" He heard the touch of jealousy in his voice, but couldn't help it. And it was just a touch. And he had a right to that much, didn't he?

Starbuck smiled at him. "I made a list of who I don't have to tell. It's shorter."

Apollo appreciated the teasing. It reassured him he hadn't screwed up their lives irredeemably. "Maybe that announcement on IFB is the best way, after all," he suggested.

Starbuck shrugged. "It's your family," he said. "But I don't think your father would appreciate hearing it on the news."

"Yeah, I was just thinking of HALLINT, myself."

Starbuck laughed. "Hall, rumor, secretary... it's all more reliable than official channels, that's all you can say for it."

"Secretary... no, I don't want to know."

Starbuck looked wounded. "Don't tell me you never pumped Tigh's yeoman for intelligence," he said.

"What would that be?" Apollo was diverted. "YEOINT? Or YEOMINT?"

"YEOINT, I would imagine, but I've always heard SECINT."

"Whatever," he returned to the issue at hand, "I expect I should talk to him first thing."

"Want me to come?"

Apollo considered. Adama might be more restrained with a third party present. Or he might just light into Starbuck. And even if he was restrained, it would be better to let him get it off his chest rather than have it fester. He thought. Maybe it would be better to make him think about it before he let loose. Assuming he would. Either think or let loose... Apollo's head hurt trying to sort it out. "Do you want to?"

"Honestly? No." Starbuck looked at him with candid eyes. "He likes me, at the moment, but he hated me dating Athena and he's really going to hate me dating you."

"I'm afraid you're right... Well, okay, I'll see him by myself."

Starbuck nodded.

The meaning of his words hit Apollo then. He likes me at the moment... Another loss for Starbuck. And a threat, too. Because Starbuck had certainly grown up knowing he had no defenses against someone like Adama, on any front. Which led to another worry, which was would Adama try to take some sort of official, military reprisal against either, or both, of them? Apollo sighed and said, "Well, you can always support us by gambling."

Starbuck blinked in surprise, then, following the thought, laughed ruefully. "If it comes to that, you have to stop getting on me about stacking the deck."

"If my next meal depends on it, I bet I can learn to appreciate it," Apollo said.

"Probably not," Starbuck said. "I just won't tell you." He finished his kava. "You're talking to your father and Tigh, then?"

"And Athena," Apollo offered.

"Oh, she'll be the easy one. I'll talk to Boomer, then, and Cassie... want me to let Sheba be in earshot?"

Apollo so wanted to take him up on that, and equally wanted to know why Cassie came second after Boomer. He squelched the second thought and said, "No. Or whatever, I guess. I mean, she and I don't have any real understanding... I suppose I should tell her myself, though, shouldn't I?" After all, it wasn't fair of him to obsess over Cassie and dismiss Sheba. Or, for that matter, he had to admit, to pretend like he didn't know Sheba wanted to Seal with him, even if he wasn't sure how much she loved him and how much she loved his father's son.

"Yes, probably. But first things first." Starbuck moved to sit behind the terminal in the front room, logging on. "Let's see if we can get some kind of time frame, here..." Apollo watched him. Starbuck pretended that computers hated him, but he could generally get what he wanted out of them... even silicon loves him. "Oh, my."

"What?"

"We could get married tomorrow."

"What?" Apollo crossed the room to look at the screen over Starbuck's shoulder. "Only a twenty-four centare wait?"

"To run a records check... I guess the civil government is more efficient than the Church."

"Less traditional, anyway," Apollo said. "No word of mouth... Well, we're off tomorrow, too. Do you want to do it tomorrow? Or wait? We're off two days together next secton, we could take a sort of honeymoon..." He hoped he didn't sound reluctant.

"I think next secton would be better," Starbuck said. "Unless you want to get married before you tell your father?" He grinned at the conflicting emotions that were obviously playing on Apollo's face. "Seriously, tomorrow's kind of rushing it. Why don't we go on and put in the application and make an appointment for next fourthday, say 9? Then we can tell people everything at the same time."

Apollo could picture Starbuck insouciantly saying, 'Hey, Apollo and I are getting married next fourthday at 9, we'd love to have you come' and letting that serve as his entire announcement... He wondered if he could get away with that when he talked to his father. No fracking way, was his reluctant conclusion. But it would certainly help to have the license and appointment in hand when he did talk to him. And Starbuck probably knew that.

Well, that was okay. He was willing to take all the help he could get with this. "Sounds good," he said. "And you can move your stuff in today, too. Gonna need help?"

Starbuck shook his head. "I don't have much," he said. "More uniforms than anything else. I can get it."

"You take as much room as you need," Apollo offered. "Anything you've got like pictures, put 'em out. This is your home, now, too." The look on Starbuck's face took his breath for a minute. "What, love?" he asked quietly.

"Never had a home before," his lifemate said. "Just a place to live..."

He wrapped his arms around Starbuck and held him tight. "You do now. You hear?"

Starbuck brought his hands up to hold Apollo's arms. "I hear."

Apollo tightened his grasp for a minute. "Starbuck," he said hesitantly, wondering why he'd never asked before, "was it bad? The orphanage, I mean?"

Starbuck shrugged. His voice sounded neutral when he answered. "It wasn't bad. It wasn't good. It wasn't anything." He smiled wryly. "Fifty or sixty kids per adult worker... nobody got any one-on-one time. Boxey got more this morning than any of us would get in a half-yahren, maybe a whole yahren if you weren't getting into trouble."

"And you weren't?" Apollo retreated a little into lightening the mood.

"Trouble is something I learned from you."

"That's unfair!" he protested.

"But true. You were such a challenge."

"I refuse to take responsibility for that," he said, then came off his fake dignity to genuine seriousness. "But I promise to give you all the one-on-one you can handle."

"Ummmm," Starbuck closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against Apollo's. "I'm gonna hold you to that."

A little reluctantly Apollo let go. "Come on," he said. "We'd better get going if we are going."

"Yes," Starbuck agreed, a trifle shakily. "Let me grab a jacket. Isn't it a bit perverse," he added over his shoulder as he went into the sleeping room, "that we live in an artificial environment and it's always cold enough for jackets?"

"It's for the computer equipment, you know that," Apollo said. Because of Boxey, he kept his quarters several degrees warmer than the battlestar's ambient temperature, but he'd spent so much of his life on warships that he really didn't notice the cool.

"That's what I mean. The machines are more important than we are."

"Starbuck, you can always put on a jacket. The machines can't exactly strip down any." The banter felt good and they kept it up all the way to the personnel office, where they stared down the incredulous—but prudently silent—clerk and put in their application for a civil marriage license and an appointment with a recording official to make it legal. The clerk recovered herself enough to remind them that if they wanted anything besides witnessing and notarization, anything ceremonial, they'd have to do it themselves. They thanked her and left, going their separate ways: Starbuck heading toward the barracks and Apollo the bridge.

Athena glanced up at him when he came onto the bridge. He was in mufti, so nobody took any official notice of him—one of the little confusions that came from being the commander's son as well as his second officer. But his sister's pale blue eyes—inherited from some long-forgotten ancestor—widened and she spoke into her headpiece. Apollo caught the movement as the officer in charge of the bridge, the tall dark Omega, turned his head to look and then said something brief into his own headset before turning his attention elsewhere.

Apollo had always envied Omega his ease in his position. Not only did nothing ever seem to discompose him, he was the master of his job. They sat together on many staff meetings and other briefings, and Apollo had never seen the flag officer asked something he didn't at least give the impression of having anticipated. In some ways, he thought Omega would have been a better son to his father than he was... but then, he understood that Omega came from a fairly demanding family of his own, though he'd seemed comfortable there, too.

But he doesn't have Starbuck, he thought. And, though he hesitated to gloat over it, he knew the flag officer had lost his children, while Apollo had Boxey. It was another example of things balancing out, he supposed, not that he was much of a philosopher. Nonetheless, he was conscious of a sudden impulse to ask the man for his advice. Not that he intended to; the one thing Omega was more than quietly competent was aloof. Athena complained that even people he'd been fairly friendly with before were held politely at arm's length nowadays, and, though they'd gotten along well enough, Apollo had never been among his circle.

"Hi," Athena said.

He jumped. For some reason, he had neither noticed nor expected her arrival.

"What's on your conscience?" she asked.

He remembered Starbuck's prediction that she'd be the easy one to tell. He could use a little moral support, so he said, "Actually, got a centon, Theni?"

"Yes," she said, "I just got ten when I saw you show up. I thought there might be a problem with Boxey?"

"No. Not him." As she raised one of her dark eyebrows he continued, "Can you get next fourthday off?"

"A secton from tomorrow? Yes, I think so... what do you mean, 'off'?"

"Come outside for a centon," he asked. She followed him out curiously.

"Okay, Apollo, give," she said. "What have you got up your sleeve?"

He looked around, caught himself doing it and swore silently. The secret was over. His sister was looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and said it out loud to someone. "I'm getting married."

"Married?" She repeated incredulously. "Sheba would never so quick—which means it isn't her, which means you're probably going to die next fifthday. Can I have your stereo?"

He laughed; he couldn't help it. "No, but you get my son."

"Oh, gee, thanks. Just what I've always wanted... Well? I know you're serious, 'cause you've got that stag-in-the-headlights look, so who?" Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, looking absolutely stunned. "Oh. My. Gods." She was almost squealing with delight. "Starbuck?"

It was his turn to feel pole-axed. "How did you know?"

"That you're getting married? I didn't, of course. That he's crazy in love with you? He told me."

"When?"

"Oh, after he asked me to marry him," she said.

That was who... He dismissed it. He'd already known they'd dated, it didn't change anything. Besides, Starbuck had said she'd turned him down. Anyway, something else suddenly made sense. "Is that why you gave him such hell about Cassie?"

"Well, of course. Even if you were going to fall in love with Serina that didn't give him an excuse to play around with her emotions. He was exactly what she falls in love with, the shallow little... but that's beside the point. He could have hurt her. At least that's what I thought before I got to know her better. She's really not very vulnerable; even though she's fond of him, she's not going to be broken up about this. Insulted, maybe, but not broken hearted. Not that I care, after the way she treated him. Why are you laughing at me?"

"Because you're so partisan and so fuzzy about it at the same time."

"Well, I like that," she said, punching him on the arm. "You see if I keep Boxey for you to have a honeymoon."

"Will you? Please? Pretty please? With chocolate on top?"

"For Starbuck's sake, yes," she said. "If he hadn't told me to keep off the topic with you I'd have rung a peal over your head sectares ago. Before you Sealed with Serina."

"It probably wouldn't have done any good," he admitted. "Just made me angry."

"Probably," she agreed. "He said so. I asked him why he was in love with you."

"What did he say?" he asked shamelessly.

She snorted. "Egomaniac. Well, he said you were in love with him, and I said it certainly seemed like it, and he said I should have more sympathy with your problems."

"And so you should," he said.

She snorted again. "Fat chance, brother mine. I know you too well. And your problems, for that matter... But I am glad you've made this decision. He really does love you."

"I know," he said softly, remembering the wondrous light in Starbuck's eyes.

Athena cocked her head and smiled at him, like she hadn't in a long, long time. "You've got it pretty bad for him, too, don't you, Appy?" She used her childhood nickname for him, and at the moment it didn't irritate at all. "I wish you both very happy. And I will certainly come to your marrying." She hugged him then.

He returned the hug. "Father's likely to disapprove," he said.

"Likely? You really are the master of understatement. I don't care. He's not putting me in the middle. You two are my only family and I'm keeping you both. If he disowns you, you won't mind if I still talk to him, right?"

Well, she'd telegraphed the answer she wanted clearly enough. "Of course not," he said.

She nodded. "So, if he doesn't want me talking to you, he's the one who's chasing me away. Anyway, if he disowns you, I'll be all he has left."

That was said with a certain probably involuntary satisfaction. Apollo smiled at her. "Then you'll be in the pilot's seat. Take him for a ride."

"That's not what I meant," she protested, then, because she was an honest person, admitted, "Not entirely or even, I hope, mostly, anyway. I hope he accepts it."

"Me, too. But I doubt it."

She hugged him again. "Are you going to tell him now?"

He nodded. "Wish me luck."

"I'll have the firefighters standing by," she promised. "Good luck."

He grinned down at her. "Thanks, little sister. I hope you're as happy as I am someday."

"I know you do. Now get on before you lose your nerve."

He acknowledged her hit with a rueful nod of his head and went back onto the bridge. As he crossed the floor towards the raised command position, Colonel Tigh came down to meet him.

"Apollo? Something the matter?"

"No, sir," he said. Might as well get it over with. "I'm still scheduled for next fourth- and fifthday off, aren't I?"

"If you were, you are," Tigh said. "I haven't made any changes to senior staff schedules in the last few days. Planning something?"

"Yes, sir. I suppose actually I should inform you," he realized. "Officially, I mean."

"Oh?"

"I'm making a change in my personal status," Apollo heard himself fall into official terminology with the colonel. Tigh was one of his father's oldest friends, but his manner wasn't easy with subordinates. After all, he was the executive officer, which meant the heavy. But even with his old friend Adama's young children Tigh had always been formal. Now he merely raised an eyebrow and waited, his dark face still and uncommunicative. "I'm getting married."

"Married?" Like Athena, Tigh picked up on the term immediately; unlike her, he confirmed his guess. "Not Sealed?"

"No, sir," Apollo said. "On next fourthday. To Lieutenant Starbuck," he said before Tigh asked. "I suppose you can consider this his notice, too."

Tigh's face remained still but his dark eyes showed some emotion. The problem was, Apollo hadn't ever seen enough examples of Tigh's feelings to be able to name the one he was seeing now. "Come talk with me, Apollo," he said.

"Sir, I'm not going to change my mind," Apollo began.

"No, I didn't suppose you would. But come talk with me, anyway." There was steel in the soft voice, but there was something else as well, and Apollo found himself following the older man into the briefing room. Tigh leaned back against the long table and said, "This isn't official, Apollo, but— No. First, congratulations. I hope you're happy, both of you. It's not going to be easy, but you are two of the stubbornest men I've ever met, and if you put your minds to it you should do pretty well."

"Thank you, sir," Apollo said, more than a little surprised.

"Call me 'Tigh'," he said. "This isn't official. Far from it. Have you considered what you're going to do if your father takes the tack I suspect he will, and tells you that one or the other of you will have to quit flying Vipers?"

Apollo blinked in real surprise. "No. I mean, how could he do that?"

"He'll cite fraternization regulations, and they'll be on his side."

"But he assigned Serina as my wingman!"

"Yes. But, in case it escaped your notice, she was a woman. Also, you weren't actually Sealed with her; he can say he meant to reassign her afterwards but..." Tigh shrugged. "He can also point out that there was a state of emergency on, and regs were suspended. He won't need to, but he could. The Council will likely back him, some of them anyway. Enough to make it very unpleasant if you try to fight it."

"But," Apollo said, "I mean, I know we can't be in the same squadron, because I'm the Squadron Leader, but out of the Wing altogether?"

"Apollo, you're Strike Captain. You're in charge of the entire Wing."

"Frack."

"Admirably succinct."

Apollo thought about it. "I don't suppose you need a new operations officer?"

"I have a great deal of sympathy for you, but I'm not putting you in over my staff with no more experience than you have. I've always had qualms about the Strike Captain being third in command anyway."

"Well, the Lords of Kobol know I'm not ready to take your place," Apollo admitted. "But I could put on blue and come in junior to your flag officer, couldn't I?"

"If you want to do that, yes, you could."

"Thanks. And we both know Boomer is more than ready to be a Strike Captain."

"Yes," agreed Tigh. "Might I suggest—?"

"Anything."

"If you're willing to lose position, you could stay in brown. We could promote Boomer to Strike Captain and give you one of the other squadrons. As long as you and Starbuck aren't in the same squadron, the regulations have no problem with your being married."

"It'd be hard on Boomer unless I took a grade reduction as well as position," Apollo pointed out, feeling a surprising amount of relief. "And it would be criminally irresponsible to take Starbuck out of the Wing."

"I agree. You'd be willing to become a Lieutenant again?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Frankly, yes."

Apollo nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "It surprises me, too. But it's not like I'm quitting. Under normal circumstances one of us would be transferred to another ship in the battle group. If they're going to push it, this is the only reasonable solution." He hoped that Starbuck would see it that way. But the only other ways out were for Starbuck to go into ops—which would be a waste of his talents and bore him to death—or one of them to resign his commission. And that would put a probably intolerable strain on their marriage before it began.

"You are going to be happy," Tigh said. "Adama's not."

"I didn't think he would be."

"He's going to be furious. Trust me on this, Apollo: he's going to be madder than you've ever seen him. He's my oldest friend, and I love him dearly; we've been like... well," he smiled suddenly; it transformed his face. "I was going to say you and Starbuck, but I suppose I'd better say you and Boomer. But there's a whole part of my life I've never let him get near; never even let him get a hint of. I suppose he's told you about the woman I loved?"

Apollo nodded. The subject had come up once or twice when they were children: why hadn't Tigh ever married?

"Tell me," Tigh sounded curious. "When he told you, was it noble? Or idiotic?"

"Noble," Apollo said, surprised. "And sad."

"It was usually idiotic when he braced me about wasting my life..."

"And you weren't?" Apollo guessed.

"No," Tigh smiled again, this time with a sad fondness. "I wasn't. His name was Ruel, and he was an Arian. He taught middle-school; he was very good at it. But Ariana isn't quite as liberal as Caprica, especially not for children's teachers. And he had elderly parents to support. And the service didn't use to be happy at all. Oh, it wasn't against the regs, but I'd have never made colonel if I'd been open. So we both had reasons to keep it quiet."

"How long, Tigh?" Apollo asked quietly.

"Forty-seven yahrens. He died in the Destruction, trying to save his pupils. If he'd lived, I'd have said to hell with it all and brought him on board the Galactica. As it is, well," he shrugged.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. But we had a good life. Better than we could have hoped for as youths. But your father would not have accepted it. He still won't, from you or me, though I'll be happy to tell him if you think it would help."

"No, thank you, Tigh," Apollo said, touched. "I appreciate it, I do, but... he's going to need to be able to count on you if he loses me."

"That's true." Tigh was able to say that without sounding vain.

"He's very important to the Fleet," Apollo said. "It's probably safe to say, he's crucial."

"Some would say that about you."

"I brought back the damned course coordinates," Apollo said. "That's all. He's the one that holds us together. I don't want to hurt him... But he doesn't have to lose me over this. It's his choice."

"In a manner of speaking."

"Do you think I shouldn't?" Apollo asked, even though he was afraid to hear the answer. If Tigh said yes, then Apollo would have to consider it, and that could so easily cost him Starbuck...

"No." Tigh said. "I don't. I think we need to loosen up. As a people," he added to Apollo's disbelieving stare. "There's no reason to believe the Lords of Kobol couldn't tell you and Starbuck were in love eight sectares ago—you were, weren't you?"

"Oh, yes."

"And they didn't blast the two of you. In fact, they saved your life and sent you home with the coordinates. And it's not like they didn't have a nice heterosexual choice in Sheba. I think I can put the argument that they approve. Or at least, that they don't give the proverbial tinker's damn."

Apollo grinned in relief. "So, if he says anything about fraternization, I'll just tell him I've already stepped down. In fact, I think I'll tell him anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"It'll be a sure-fire way to prove I'm serious. Plus..." he considered what he was thinking and then said it. "I'm tired, Tigh. I can't keep this up. It's such a strain, and not just on me. On both of us, and Boxey. And you know there are people who accuse Father of setting up a dynasty. Well, having Boomer as Strike Captain will take that weapon out of their hands, especially when I'm handing another one to his enemies."

"You're long-headed for someone so short in the tooth," said Tigh. "For what it's worth, I think you're making the right decision though I'll be sad to see you step down. You're a very good Strike Captain."

"Boomer will do a good job."

"Yes," Tigh agreed with dismaying alacrity. "Especially with your brains around to pick."

"Besides," Apollo grinned at him, "it's regulation."

"Yes. As you say, it's regulation." He held out his hand. "Congratulations all the way around. I'm sure you'll be very happy. I almost envy you."

"Only almost?"

"He'd drive me insane inside a secton." Then Tigh smiled that transforming smile again. "But what a way to go."

"On that note, I think I'll go see my father."

Apollo took a deep breath, metaphorically girded up his loins, glanced over his shoulder at Tigh, and knocked on his father's door.

"Come," Adama called.

Apollo opened the door and went in.

"Apollo!" Adama rose. "This is a pleasant surprise. At least, I hope it is—there's nothing wrong with Boxey, is there?"

"No, sir," Apollo hastily reassured his father. "This is about me, not him."

"Ah. Well, sit down, son."

Apollo debated for a couple of microns but then sat. No point in being confrontational off the bat. He could pretend like he thought Adama was going to be accepting. Who knew, maybe the old man would fool them all.

"What is it, Apollo?"

"Well, sir," he said, "I've decided to make a couple of changes in my life and I wanted to tell you about them. They're going to make me very happy, but I know not everyone is going to be pleased to hear them."

His father leaned back in his chair. "Not everyone includes Sheba, I suppose?"

"That's a safe bet, sir."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, as I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear. But I want you to be happy more than I want you to Seal with any particular person. Have you spoken to her?"

"Sheba?" Apollo didn't do that on purpose and only realized he had when he heard himself. He plowed on. "No. Not yet. She's on duty, and, well, I only proposed last night, so I haven't had a chance to talk with her yet. I'm sorry if she had the wrong idea, but it just isn't right. Not for me. Or her, either."

"Not if you've already proposed to someone else," Adama nodded. "Who is she?"

"Er," Apollo stopped and took another breath, looking at the wall over his father's shoulder. "She's not. He's Starbuck."

There was a long silence. Apollo looked away from the wall at his father and wished he hadn't. When Adama got angry, he got loud. When he was enraged, he was quiet. And he was very quiet.

Apollo decided to pretend as though he thought the silence was at least a neutral sign. "He accepted. So we're getting married next secton, fourthday, 9 in the morning. We'd very much like you to be there, Father. And I know I can't be his commanding officer if we're married, but don't worry, that's taken care of, I won't be asking for any special favors. I'm stepping down as Strike Captain, I'm going to get another Squadron. Red, probably, since Boomer's being promoted—"

"Is this a joke, Apollo?" Adama interrupted, his voice very calm. Icy, even. "Because I don't find it amusing."

"Well, sir," Apollo heard himself and marveled. He sounded a little like Starbuck might in such a situation; maybe it was catching. "I don't think it's that funny, either, but it is regs. I can't be my spouse's commanding officer, and since all the squadrons are in the one wing, there's really no other way out of it."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh." Apollo realized he'd decided to make his father say it first. What's gotten into you, Apollo? he wondered, and decided he was just burning his bridges with abandon. In for a cubit, in for a gross, as Starbuck would say. "Boomer's more than qualified."

"It's not Boomer I want to talk about."

"Oh. Look, I know what you're going to say. But he's not going to run around on me. I trust him."

"Then you're an idiot." Adama paused, aware he was being decoyed. "But that's not the point either. Or perhaps it is."

"How so, sir?" Apollo could do icy, too; he'd caught enough grief in his short career about being cold and indifferent to have faith in his facade.

"Starbuck is not merely promiscuous to the point that he might be the dictionary definition of it. He is of no breeding. He is irresponsible."

For a moment, Apollo thought the entire objection might be personal. That would certainly be something he could live with; frack, lots of people's parents didn't like their spouses. That was normal. And Adama could get over that, in time, when he saw how happy Apollo was, how Starbuck would change. But the moment didn't last.

"He's irreligious—no. He's worse than irreligious. He's an outright unbeliever. And he's a man."

"I had noticed," Apollo said, almost gently.

"What you are contemplating may be legal, Apollo. But it is not natural. It is, in fact, a perversion of nature."

"Are you calling me a pervert?"

"I'm calling Starbuck a pervert," Adama said, "and one who has trapped you in, in—"

"Love. That's what he's trapped me in. And for your information, I," he tapped his chest with his finger, "I seduced him. And not just yesterday, either. A very long time ago. I did my best, my damnedest, to be what I was supposed to be, but that doesn't matter anymore."

"Oh? Why not? What has changed since you married Serina? Or—"

"Serina... No, no. Don't think losing her 'turned' me somehow. When I said a long time ago I meant it. A dozen yahrens, not just one. Marrying Serina, that was against nature. My nature. But Zac had died and I still thought it mattered that I get married and have children. But it doesn't, does it? I mean, why? Children... if I need children we have a whole shipful of orphans, and as for genes, well, if I'm so screwed up maybe I shouldn't pass mine on anyway. I love Boxey, but I should not have married his mother."

"You're wrong. Marrying her was your chance for salvation. Her death was the worst thing that could have happened to you. But you married a woman once, you can do it again—"

"I don't want to—"

"Sin is attractive. You have to rise above it."

"I am not going to debate the nature of sin with you. I can't win. But only because to enter the debate at all is to accept the terms of the Word, which aren't debatable. I'm going to marry Starbuck. It's legal. That's all I care about."

"Much is legal that is immoral."

"And much is moral that is stomach-turning, if you mean by 'moral' that the Word sanctions it," Apollo riposted. "Times change. Besides, the Lords in the Lightship didn't fry me." And thank you, Tigh, for pointing that out!, he thought, knowing he tended to think about that whole episode as little as possible. "If they're so all-knowing, they knew I was sleeping with Starbuck."

"Are you planning to expose Boxey to that?" Adama shifted his ground.

"To loving parents? I think it will do him good. He's my legal son, Father. You can't take him away from me. And if you try, I'll point out your parenting style produced me. Why give you another boy?"

That was, he saw as soon as he'd said it, the last straw. Adama went as icy-cold as his son had ever seen him—and that included the unfortunate incident involving Zac, a stolen air-car, too much ambrosa, and a friend who was bad company. An ex-friend, Apollo thought, remembering the ruthlessness with which Adama had separated his adored younger son from his "bad influences". Zac had learned to be more careful. Apollo had learned to fear...

This. He had learned to fear this. That his father would somehow separate him and Starbuck. Well, frack that. It couldn't happen. Maybe if he'd been sixteen, like Zac had been. But he was nearly thirty. His father couldn't separate him from anyone.

"I won't accept it," Adama said.

"I'm sorry," Apollo stood up. "I wish you would. But I can't make you."

"Apollo, where do you think you're going?"

"I have things to do, Father."

"Sit down, Captain. We're not finished here."

"On the contrary, Commander. We're very finished. You can't forbid me to marry Lieutenant Starbuck; there's nothing in regulations against it now that I'm no longer his commanding officer."

"I'm still yours."

"And I'll follow any lawful order you give. And I know you won't stoop to retaliation; it's beneath you. So I won't have to resign my commission."

Adama's angry brown eyes met and held his for a long moment. "If you marry Starbuck," Adama said, "you will no longer be my son."

"I'm very sorry to hear that." Apollo was surprised at how calm he was. "You'll always be my father."

"I mean it, Apollo."

"I know you do. I wish you understood that I mean what I'm saying: I love Starbuck. We're going to be married. You're always welcome." He turned toward the door, paused, turned back to Adama and said, "I won't say 'goodbye'." Then he left.

The door shut behind him, and he sagged momentarily against the wall. Gods. That had been worse than he'd expected. At least he hadn't lost his temper. And he hadn't lost his composure, either. He was still surprised at how calm he'd been. Tigh's voice reached him; he looked up to see the colonel standing in front of him.

"You look like you could use a drink," Tigh said. "Briefing room."

Gratefully he trailed after the older officer. Even more gratefully he accepted a glass of ambrosa and a seat at the table. Tigh leaned against it again, contemplating the toes of his boots. Apollo drained the glass in three gulps and set it down on the table, refusing a refill.

"Took it badly, did he?" Tigh asked.

"And my sister calls me a master of understatement."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks... Somehow, though, I'm almost not."

"Really?"

"It's probably just reaction. But..." Apollo looked at the older man. "For the first time in yahrens I know exactly where I stand with him. Maybe it's knee-deep in felgarcarb, but I know. There's no more guessing, no more trying, no more disappointing him. We're done with all that. We're starting over..." He paused, found himself laughing wryly. "I seem to be doing that all over the place today. With everyone. Maybe I should change my name while I'm at it."

"I suppose you could, though it's a lot of trouble."

Apollo shook his head. "Behold, a new man, born again. Lieutenant Apollo, Squadron Leader, husband of Starbuck, father of Maboc, son of no house. It's liberating."

"How long ago did you eat?"

"I'm not drunk." Apollo laughed. "I'm free. I think I'm going to be very scared, but... My mother always said nothing good comes easily. Starbuck and me, it's so very good it only makes sense it's costing so much. Am I making sense?"

"You are, surprisingly."

"I do wish he wasn't so angry."

"You can't change him any more than he can change you. Even less."

Apollo nodded. "I know. I'm sorry for it. When I get less angry myself, I expect I'll be very sorry."

"He may, too," Tigh offered, but not with any real hope.

"Maybe." Apollo stood up. "I need to find Sheba. And then," he glanced at his wristchrono. "Sagan. Is that all the later it is? Not even lunchtime yet. Feels like it's been centares since this morning."

"Time flies when you're having fun," Tigh said gently.

"Is that what this has been? Starbuck always tells me I don't have enough of it; I don't see what he sees in it."

Tigh laughed. "Get out of here, Capt—Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." Apollo paused at the door. "Tigh—thanks. I mean it."

"It's my pleasure, Apollo."

Apollo left the briefing room. He wasn't terribly surprised to see Athena waiting at the bottom of the raised platform. He smiled at her, but when she saw through that and put her hand gently on his arm, he let the smile go.

"How," she paused. "How are you?"

"I've been better," he admitted. "But I'll make it. I feel, not adrift exactly, but definitely cast off."

She tightened her hold on his arm. "How far?"

"Oh, all the way." He quirked his lips at her, not quite a smile. "We left it badly."

"How bad?"

"I'm not his son," and that only hurt a little, oddly. On the other hand, it had started to hurt, which probably meant it would knock him out before long. "He's still my father. So I'm not sure if you have a brother or not."

"What do you mean, you're not his son?" Oh, yes, Athena could do icy as well as any of them. "He actually said that? Oh, Apollo." Her voice warmed considerably on the last two words.

"He did. So—"

"So, don't even say it. I told you," and she ignored protocol and hugged him, briefly but fiercely, "you're my family. I'm not losing you over his stubbornness." Then she smiled at him. "Anyway, I like having two brothers. I don't need a sister."

"It's always about you, isn't it?" he teased her.

"Of course," she said complacently. "Apollo, what about Boxey?"

"He came up," he said, feeling anger again. "He loves Starbuck and I don't think it's going to damage him to see us together."

"Did he say that?" she demanded. "I'm about get very unfilial myself. But I meant, am I going to get stuck with all the baby-sitting from now on?" Her tone was forcedly light, but her eyes were frosty.

Blue eyes did that better than brown, he thought absently. Athena rarely got really angry with him; they'd fought with each other as children, though after Apollo was sent to his boarding school they'd reached a modus vivendi which had, as they entered the Service, turned into friendship. But that had cooled a bit after Apollo was transferred to the Galactica and Athena again had thought she was in competition for their father's affection. And, he admitted, he'd been angry with her for dating Starbuck, though he'd tried hard to keep her from figuring that out. When, he wondered, had all that disappeared? He wasn't sure. Maybe after Zac had died... He'd known she was going to blame him, and instead she'd fought his guilt like a tigress. Maybe it was losing their mother, needing someone to show grief to, since Adama had given it no more than five centons' expression. Whenever it had happened, whatever had caused it, they'd been closer this past yahren than ever. And this new Apollo was going to need that. He smiled at her and watched her eyes reflect an unexpected warmth back at him.

"I don't know. It'll be very hard for me to keep Boxey from seeing him, he loves him so. But I don't know if I can let Boxey go there if he's going to try to poison him against Starbuck."

"Would that be possible?" Athena asked seriously. "He adores Starbuck, and he loves you very much, and I think he'd get angry at Father before he'd believe him."

"It would confuse him. I just don't know, Theni. I guess Starbuck and I will have to talk about it, but probably it'll depend on what Father does. If he asks for Boxey, I'll have to lay down some laws to him... Gods, that is so strange to hear myself say."

"You'll be fine," she said. "What about the colonel? What did he have to say?"

"That's okay," he reassured her. "It's just, I can't be Starbuck's CO—"

"How are you going to avoid it? You're technically in everybody's chain of command except Tigh and Omega, and him only because he's directly under Tigh."

"Not any more," he said. "I'm just a Squadron Leader now. Got to go buy some lieutenant's pins." Her eyes widened, then narrowed, but before she could say anything he forestalled her. "No, listen, Theni. It's the only way. I can't be his CO. It's bad for morale, discipline, it's against regs... this way I'm still flying. It's okay. It's worth it."

"He demoted you?"

"No, I told him," he said, selfishly taking credit for Tigh's idea. As he'd thought only that morning, old habits did die hard.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" she asked, only half joking.

"I don't know," he said seriously. "I just told Tigh I feel born again... not religiously, mind you. I never thought I could stand up to Father like that."

"It's because you have Starbuck."

"What?"

"Well, I mean, it's because you're admitting you have him. Because you're... you're whole," she suddenly found the right word. "When you were a boy you were scared to disappoint him, and when you got older and should have gotten stronger than that, you weren't because you were always just sort of half of yourself. The other half was locked away and you were pretending it didn't exist. So you weren't strong enough to stand up to him. Now you are. I saw it earlier, and I'm really seeing it now. I'm finding you... inspirational, which I never did before."

"Never?"

"Oh, making me want to do better than you so I could rub your nose in it isn't inspiration." She smiled at him, this time her mischievous smile. "That's something much less noble."

"Do we want to explore it?"

"No, probably not." She regarded him with a depth of affection he couldn't remember seeing directed at him before. "I like this new you. Maybe he'll like me, if I let him."

"He already does," Apollo said. After a moment's silence, he asked, "What am I inspiring you to do? Father's going to need you."

"I know that," she said. "I hope he does... but don't worry. My White Stag's not leading me through the thickets of Father's disapproval."

"Poetic."

"I have hidden depths."

"I'm sure you do," he said, torn between amusement and seriousness. He yielded to temptation and added, "Quicksand usually does."

"Okay," she flashed a grin at him, "I see the rebirth is more a custom paint job... get out of here and let me go back to work."

"Sure. See you later?"

"Count on it," she nodded and then rose on her toes and kissed his cheek.

He returned it and then left. He'd come out ahead, really, he thought as he headed for the Wing Administration Section to find Boomer. And Sheba, he forced himself to admit. He'd thought Starbuck was being a bit optimistic about Athena, that she'd be a little cooler than this, but he'd known their father would be intransigent. He hadn't exactly expected to be disowned, but it wasn't a real surprise, either. The surprise had been Tigh. That support was unexpected and very welcome.

And had already proved useful. If he'd not thought about it, he'd have been blindsided by the Strike Captain issue. His father would have insisted that one of them—Starbuck for a certainty—resign his commission, and he'd have lost his temper and resigned his first, and despite their joking about it earlier, he was afraid in retrospect of what that would have done to their marriage. He wasn't sure he could handle being somebody's dependent, and he didn't know what else he could do... Fortunately, it wasn't an issue. Convincing Starbuck he didn't mind the grade reduction was a much more resolvable problem.

Sheba's Silver Spar Squadron was on duty today, so she was going to be around somewhere, unless she was one of the four pilots on patrol. He found himself harboring the hope that she was. Unlike his father, she was a shouter. Telling her was going to cause a public scene, something he always hated. But he couldn't in good conscience avoid telling her if she was around, so he hoped very strongly that she wasn't. Let her hear about it from someone else.

"Apollo!" Boomer's voice cut into his reverie. The new captain was in mufti, too, but he was standing in the door of the Wing Commander's office and looking puzzled. "What's going on?"

Apollo joined him. "What do you mean?" he asked, feeling a worm of unease start uncoiling in his stomach.

"This," Boomer said, picking up a printout from the desk and waving it at Apollo. "Is the commander serious?"

Oh, no. Apollo took the printout and read it. All active-duty Viper pilots are confined to the battlestar, and all bachelor pilots are to spend at least six centares before going on duty in the BOQ barracks until further notice. He had to read it twice. "I can't believe he did that."

"This is a low-level emergency order," said Boomer, "so we can scramble four squadrons at short notice. But nothing else is indicating that... you were on the bridge with the colonel just now? What's going on? And what's this?" He took the printout from Apollo's loose grasp and pointed at the address line. "Brevet Captain Boomer? What the hell is going on?"

"You haven't seen Starbuck today, have you?"

"No. Red is off today, too, you know. Tigh found me—the man's half tracking daggit and the other half psychic—and told me to report to the wing office ASAP, that you'd be right down... Apollo, what is going on? What does Starbuck have to do it? And what's with the brevet-captaincy?"

"That'll be permanent probably before COB today," Apollo said. "You and me, we're swapping places, Boomer. Sir," he added.

Boomer stared at him, then reached behind himself to find the desk and sank down on it. "Would you mind explaining what's happening?"

Apollo shrugged. "First, there's no emergency, low-level or otherwise. That's my father punishing Starbuck—and everybody else at the same time. Sagan, everybody'll hate him for this."

"Starbuck? Not too likely, but what's he done? Seduced the wrong Councilor's wife?"

"What he's really done or what my father thinks he's done?"

"You thought about setting him straight?"

"It wouldn't matter. What he's really done isn't anything my father would like better... sorry, he was supposed to tell you and I haven't practiced for you. We're getting married next secton, fourthday. Love to have you come," he added.

Boomer whistled. "You and Starbuck?" He mulled that over. Apollo waited. "Well. That explains a few things... So, this," he gestured with the printout, "is to keep him away from you?"

"It won't," Apollo said, "but it is."

"And next secton it'll be moot, anyway. If you get married."

"We will," Apollo said firmly. "We could tomorrow."

"If this'll go away when you do, you should. But that would be pretty obvious... it might be better if you and Starbuck suffer a little, too."

"I can't believe he's doing this."

"Be glad one of you isn't temporarily transferred to another ship," said Boomer. "Now, what's this brevet-captaincy? What do you mean, we're swapping places?"

Apollo shrugged. "I can't be Starbuck's CO if we're married. And the Strike Captain is in overall command of the whole wing." At least he wasn't the only person that hadn't occurred to.

Boomer whistled again. "So, you're stepping down from Strike Captain? For Starbuck?" He sounded incredulous.

"He's worth it, Boom-Boom."

"If you say so..." He shook his dark head.

"He is. Besides, wait till you see all the felgarcarb that comes with the job."

"I think I'd rather have that than Starbuck. No offense."

"Actually, I'm glad to hear it."

"Your father's not happy. That means we aren't going to be happy, doesn't it?"

"If this is any indication. Sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be, I'll bet... For Starbuck?" he repeated. "Sorry. It's just... you think he's going to stick with it? You?"

"I do. It's my fault we didn't do this yahrens ago."

Boomer shook his head. "Well, I hope he's consolation enough. And vice versa. Because I'm not putting my head on the line by cutting you two slack."

"Of course not."

"Huh." Boomer said eloquently, putting the printout back on the desk. "Fourthday?"

"Yes. 9. We really would love to have you there."

"Oh, I'll be there. I have to see this to believe it." But Boomer's tone was warmer than his words, and Apollo smiled at him. "Who's your best man this time, since you're marrying the last one?"

"It's civil... still, I suppose we do need witnesses. Would, ah, you...?"

"Promise me that you won't want to marry me next, and yes."

"I promise. Thanks, Boomer."

He shrugged. "I won't say it doesn't weird me out a little, Apollo, but, Hades. I've known you both a long time. You're a good man. You both are. And at least now I'll know where to lay my hands on Starbuck when I need him. In a purely operational sense, of course."

"Of course."

"Well, I suppose I'd better go talk to the Colonel." He glanced at his clothes. "After I change into uniform."

"Here," Apollo reached around the desk and opened the drawer. He pulled out a little box. "Some extra captain's pins. Why buy them? I'll let you have the rest of mine, if you'll give me yours."

Boomer's eyes widened. "You're demoted? Over this?"

"It's better. There's only one captain. If I kept the rank it would mess up the chain of command."

"It must be love."

Apollo smiled. "It is."

Boomer shook his head, but took the box of rank pins. "Thanks. Congratulations. Sorry. I'm not sure in what order."

"Thanks. For all of it."

"You talked to Sheba yet?"

"No. And I'm not looking forward to it."

"I'll bet." He paused in the doorway and looked back. "For Starbuck?" He shook his head again and left.

Apollo sat down at the desk and looked around the office. He'd spent a lot of time in here over the past four yahrens. A lot of long days, extra shifts... youngest Strike Captain in the Fleet. Commander Adama's son. Well, now he was neither.

He reached out and picked up the obligatory desk picture. Serina and Boxey smiled at him out of the frame. He stared back at them for a few moments, then laid the picture down on the desk. Definitely time to get a new picture to put on his new desk. Starbuck and Boxey... maybe all three of them. "Corporal?" he called.

"Yes, sir?" the duty NCO showed up at the door, his carefully schooled expression proving that what Apollo had said to Boomer hadn't gone un-overheard.

"Is there a box around here somewhere?"

"I believe so, sir. Just a centon." He disappeared and came back with a box that had probably held file folders. "There's nothing bigger, sir. Shall I run down to supply?"

"No, that'll do," said Apollo.

"Yes, sir." The corporal handed over the box and left.

Apollo laid the picture down in the box and opened the drawer. Considering the amount of his life he had invested in this place, there was, he realized, precious little here that was his as opposed to the Strike Captain's. He probably didn't need even this box. He rummaged around and pulled out two little notebooks that were personal. He flipped through one of them, filled nearly to the end with his handwriting, and found himself looking at an early entry:
Foreign and shining and fair as the dawn,
Bright as a flame, and, so, hard to hold,
Like sunlight, like fire, illusionist's gold:
Why am I breathing yet now you are gone?

Dancing, entrancing, not looking my way,
Falcon-like winging high over my head,
Not knowing or caring if I'm quick or dead,
Why do you trouble my night and my day?
Not very good, he thought, even though the emotion still touched him. He'd written that on Naiacap, the summer Starbuck spent with them between junior and senior yahrens at the academy. He closed the book and hefted it: not much to show for more than a dozen yahrens of writing. He tossed it into the box and picked up the other, which held lists of people and their birthdays and things they liked to get. Nearly everyone in it was dead but he'd never been able to bring himself to get another notebook and replace that one. Sentimental idiot, he said to himself, but tossed that one into the box, too.

A few more things followed: a stylus with Cadet Colonel Apollo engraved on it; a shoulder patch from the Aquila, his first squadron command; the ugliest woven plastic keychain ever made, presented to him with pride by Boxey; a chunk of lucite with a bloodstained shard of glass about as big as his thumb embedded in it—he stared at that and decided he'd better hang onto it; a cheap braided copper ring that was one of a trio Starbuck had won at a crafters' fair on Naiacap and shared out with Apollo and Athena; one of Zac's ensign pins, still shiny... Knowing Boomer, he dumped most of the styli and paper clips into the box; the other man was going to steal all of the ones in the squadron leader's office. Rummaging blindly around in the drawer to make sure he wasn't leaving anything, his fingers brushed against something smooth and oval. He pulled it out and stared at the opalescence playing across the nacreous surface. He'd forgotten that was in there...

"It's a Tear of the Sea."

"The sea cries pearls?"

"We cry salt water... and it's not really pearl. It's a shell."

"It's beautiful..."

The first time Starbuck had ever seen the ocean...

He rubbed his fingers across the surface again and blinked back sudden tears. He dropped the Tear into the box and shut it. Time to move on, he thought and stood up and left the office.

And ran into a group of pilots reading the administrivia bulletin board and complaining. Bitterly. Now was the time to show valor and backbone and to bravely shoulder all the blame...

"My girlfriend is not gonna be happy about this."

"Forget that... I'm gonna miss half my seminars."

"You notice blue-suiters aren't on this."

"Maybe they are, and we just didn't get told..."

"What the frack is going on, anyway? What do we need to be on near-scramble for, anyway?"

"Hey, Captain! Apollo, what is this, anyway? And how long is it going to last?"

They looked at him expectantly as he stopped trying to edge past. "I don't know. How long it's going to last, I mean. I'm guessing about a secton, maybe two. And Blair, I think you get dispensation for those seminars."

"But what's it about?"

"And what's this Brevet Captain Boomer?"

"I should let him explain that... but, since he's not here, I will," he added hastily. This was not how he'd pictured telling everyone, but... no plan survives contact with the enemy. "Boomer's being promoted to Strike Captain, effective today—"

"Where are you going, sir?" Barton asked.

"Red Squadron," he said. "It's Lieutenant now."

A dead silence fell over the group. Nobody wanted to meet his eyes. He said, "It's not disciplinary. It's just that I'm getting married, and since the Strike Captain is second officer on the Galactica, I've got to get out of the chain of command."

There was another silence, then several people began offering him congratulations on his nuptials. He hadn't noticed Bojay in the group until he became aware of the man, simmering with resentment and jealousy he was doing his best to restrain—an emotional state Apollo knew too well to mistake. Frack, he realized. No time for subtlety. "Thanks," he said. "The marrying's next fourthday; Starbuck and I would be glad if you all showed up, if you're off anyway."

Silence again. Amazing how eloquent silence could be.

"That's Lieutenant Starbuck?" asked Barton.

"I don't think there's another, Corporal," Apollo said, and wished he hadn't used the man's rank.

"Frack," said someone unidentifiable at the back of the group, which began to disperse. Apparently a lot of them didn't want to talk to him. Not unexpectedly.

Bojay was staring at Apollo like he couldn't believe his ears. "You're marrying Starbuck?" he asked in tones of purest, absolute bewilderment.

Well, he'd been carrying a torch for Sheba for a long time, Apollo reflected. "Yes," he answered cheerfully. "We finally set a date."

"Starbuck?" Bojay repeated.

Apollo wondered if Bojay objected to flit couples, or if he couldn't comprehend anyone passing on Sheba, or if he was combining the two into a sort of that's-disgusting-but-it-means-Sheba's-free emotional deadlock. He just shrugged and said, "I know. I thought he'd never settle down myself."

"I think it's splendid," Blair said, offering Apollo his hand. "It's a shame you have to lose rank, but then, 'If you love and are loved, all the rest is background music'."

"Thank you, Blair."

"Thank you," said Topher, offering his hand next, "for taking him out of circulation. Maybe the rest of us can get lucky once in a while."

"Lucky man," said Marta, grinning at him.

He made himself smile at those two, though his old jealousy was telling him to snap, especially at Marta... and then there was another silence, of an entirely different quality, and the corridor emptied. He barely had time to think, Frack, Topher's her wingmate, before he saw Sheba.

"Sheba," he said.

"Did I just hear correctly?" she asked, her voice stripped of all the amusement it usually held, fined down to a knife-edge of anger.

He didn't try to dodge. "I'm marrying Starbuck."

"When did that happen?"

He looked into her angry brown eyes—no ice here, pure storm and fire—and admitted the truth. "A long time ago, Sheba. Before you ever got here."

"Have you been sleeping with him?"

"Yes."

She took two steps—he hadn't realized she was that close—and slapped him, hard enough to rock his head back and make him stumble. "How dare you," she said. "He's a slut, but at least he's never pretended to be anything else. You... I knew he loved you, after that incident on the Lightship. He practically screamed it to the universe, and when you came back to life," her voice broke for a micron, then she resumed, bitter and hard, "he damn near jumped on you. But it was me you embraced, wasn't it, Apollo? Me you kissed. Me whom you've taken to dinner and dancing and who has lived in daily expectation of being asked. And all the while you're fracking your blond catamite. Or is he fracking you? Is that what it is? Are you his boy? You can't get it up with a woman?"

"Sheba—" he began.

She slapped him again, the sound echoing through the corridor. "Don't. Just don't. What were you hiding from? Daddy, is that it? And he caught you, so now, what do you have to hide? Gods, you disgust me. I loved you. I deserved better from you. I can take no for an answer, but you used me... You bastard."

"Sheba, I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough. I would have Sealed with you. I would have loved you for the rest of my life. And you were cheating on me the whole time. Your first wife is lucky she died. Or did she like being taken like a boy?" She took a deep ragged breath. "You bastard. I don't ever want you to speak to me again on a personal level. I'm a professional; I can work with you. But I despise you." She stared at him with hot eyes a centon away from tears, and then she turned and stalked away.

Apollo watched her go. There wasn't anything to say or do. He'd deserved every word of it. He hoped she'd turn to Bojay, who'd kill himself to make her happy. As for him, though, he wanted to go home.

And he wanted Starbuck.

Who wasn't anywhere he was supposed to be.

Apollo came to that depressing conclusion after several centares of wandering around the Galactica looking for him. He wasn't in the Wing area, not the admin section, the simulators, nor the launch bays. He wasn't in the barracks. He wasn't at the Life Center, though one of the techs said she thought she'd seen him earlier. Cassie was off, and not in her quarters; neither was Starbuck, which was a mixed blessing to Apollo, who by then would have welcomed knowing where he was. Jenny hadn't seen him, though she'd heard and took up some fifteen centons of Apollo's time in a mix of making sure he knew about Red Squadron's mechs' little quirks (all of which she defended before he had a chance to comment) and making even more sure that he knew he could anticipate a catastrophic systems failure if he ever disturbed Starbuck's equilibrium.

Starbuck also wasn't at the O Club, whither the news had preceded Apollo and where people wanted to buy him a drink, ignore him, and give him the cut direct in an approximate 1:2:1 ratio. Nor was Starbuck in the Rejuvenation Center, the Information Center, the Instructional Center (he had a vague memory of Starbuck mentioning an instructor once), the bridge (for which Apollo was grateful), or even—last resort of a desperate man—the Celestial Dome. He even checked at the passenger shuttle terminal bay, in case Starbuck had gotten off the ship before Adama had cut that order.

Finally, growing tired of the search and not quite ready to put out a bulletin on IFB, and also growing tired of carrying the box around, he decided to go home, drop off the box, eat something, and play the old "if I was Starbuck, where I would I go" game on a full stomach.

He made his way through Married Officers' country distracting himself with visions of his and Starbuck's fiftieth anniversary—thinking about Tigh—and wondering if they'd have found Earth by then, and if so, how Kobolian would they be, and, for that matter, how Kobolian was he going to be any more. He turned the last but one corner on his way and froze, his foot not hitting the ground for several microns. Then he stepped back around the corner as quickly and silently as he could and stood there, trying to get his breath back.

Not to mention his heart.

If there was one thing he could recognize a metric away, it was Starbuck's back. At no more than four or five metrons in front of him, there could be no doubt. And gods knew he'd seen that particular sight far too often over the past dozen yahrens. He closed his eyes, trying to regain control.

Starbuck. A woman in his arms. Kissing. Long platinum hair hanging over his arm.

My Starbuck.

That brought him up short. Not that again. He became aware that the items in the box he was holding were rattling. His hand was clenched on the box so tightly he was bending the edge, and he was trembling. He had to leave. He had to.

With a colossal effort of will, he managed to turn around and walk to the nearest turbolift, where he punched for the furthest he could go. Twelve levels later he changed his mind; he needed to get inside his own quarters where he wouldn't have to face anyone. He went back a different way, avoiding the fatal corridor—wincing as he heard himself call it that—and leaned against the door as soon as it shut behind him.

Gods.

He went into the service room in search of a drink, and was brought up short by the sight of a large box on the counter, its tops folded under to interlock and Starbuck's name written on the side of it in his near-calligraphic handwriting. He put his little box down beside it and stared at it. Starbuck's stuff. Starbuck had been to the barracks and back here. Starbuck was moving in.

He resisted the urge to open the box and snoop. He also resisted the urge to pour himself a drink. Instead, he went to look at the closet in the sleeping room. Most of Starbuck's non-uniform clothes were there, hanging next to his, which Starbuck had shoved over to the side in a cheerfully literal interpretation of 'You take as much room as you need.' Should have come home sooner, he thought. And if he's been and gone, twice, then he couldn't have had much time... Not that he needs much.

He shook his head sharply. This wasn't profitable. He needed to calm down, not indulge in speculation. Or jealousy. Or possessiveness.

He sat on the bed, grabbing the pillow Starbuck had used last night (when he wasn't using Apollo), and breathing in the lingering scent. Starbuck was his. He didn't have to teach him that, he knew it. He'd proved it. It was Apollo who had the doubts. And it was Apollo who could destroy everything he'd just sacrificed so much for...

After all, he and Starbuck weren't married yet. And he knew that Starbuck had... entanglements. People to say goodbye to who might not be pissed off, like Sheba, since Starbuck was never serious. Almost never... He was now. He was.

He was. Apollo took a deep breath. Starbuck was just saying goodbye to somebody. Somebody who wanted a goodbye kiss and took it farther than Starbuck thought. Somebody who offered a goodbye kiss that Starbuck was male enough to take. Somebody who offered a goodbye that Starbuck was male enough, Starbuck enough, to take... As he'd observed to himself a couple of times already this very morning, old habits die hard. And when it came right down to it, whose fault was it that Starbuck had acquired the habit of falling into bed with people?

It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.

"Apollo?" Starbuck's voice preceded him into the quarters; Apollo hadn't even heard the door open.

"I'm here," he said, coming out into the front room.

"Apollo," Starbuck said, his voice sharp, "what—" He stopped, doing a double-take, and said in an entirely different tone, "What happened to you?" He reached out and gently turned Apollo's face to the side so he could get a better look. "Or should I say, who happened to you? Sheba, from the size of it?"

"Yes. She was a bit upset."

"Bitch," Starbuck said. "Does it hurt much?"

"Not any more, and she was justified."

"Not in violence. Sit down here."

"I'm all right," Apollo protested, but let Starbuck push him down onto the couch. "And she had a point—I did lead her on. Sort of."

"She overreacted," Starbuck said firmly. "You weren't promised—you weren't promised, were you?" he asked anxiously, dropping to sit on his heels next to the couch. The expression in his eyes cut right through the knot of jealousy still in Apollo's gut, and it dissolved into nothingness.

"No," Apollo reassured him. "We weren't. We weren't even talking about it—though apparently everybody else on this ship was."

Starbuck grinned at him. "I was running a book on it," he admitted.

"I hope you're not going to lose any money. We can't afford it."

"I'm running the book," the blond said with dignity. "I didn't bet; it would have been unethical..."

"You mean you were waiting for inside information."

"I'm going to ignore that slur on my character. But you've reminded me. What's this about your getting demoted? Did your father take it that badly?"

"That wasn't him. Well, not really. Tigh pointed out that I was in your chain of command no matter what—"

"Well, thank you, Colonel."

"No, no," Apollo protested Starbuck's bitter tone. "He meant well and he did well, too. If he hadn't given me that heads-up, Father would have hit me with your having to resign from the service, and I'd have ended quitting in protest—"

"Apollo. You're too good a pilot for that."

"I know," he accepted it, and then pointed out, "I'm still flying this way. And I won't miss the paperwork, the extra hours, the politicking with the Council... really, Starbuck. I won't."

"It's not right. Serina was your fracking wingman."

"We weren't married then. Tigh pointed out that Father could claim he was planning on doing something about it... Starbuck, Tigh's on our side. He really is."

"If you say so."

"He is. He grabbed me before I talked to Father and helped me figure out what to do to minimize the damage."

"This is minimized?"

"Compared to one or both of us out of the service altogether? I think so. In fact, Tigh's the one who suggested this. I was thinking more of going into ops somehow..."

"Ops?" Starbuck wrinkled his nose involuntarily. "And he didn't want you?"

"More, he knew I didn't want it... Starbuck, Tigh knew Father's reaction better than I did. It's not surprising, he's known him for almost a hundred yahrens... and been hiding from him that long, too."

"Hiding? You mean—?"

Apollo nodded. "I think he envies us, really. His lover died during the Destruction, on Ariana."

"Gods, that's sad. They never married?"

"The man was a teacher. And back when they met, well, Tigh said he'd never have gotten ahead if he'd been open."

"Neither will you, apparently." Starbuck returned to the original topic with renewed bitterness.

"Starbuck, what would you have done if Father had told you it was against regs for you to be married to me 'cause I'd be your CO no matter what, being Strike Captain?" The blue eyes faltered before his; he sighed and said, "Starbuck, I couldn't stand it if you'd quit. You live to kill Cylons."

"Yeah, well," he acknowledged, "I'm working on getting a new primary function."

"I know," Apollo said, and they looked into each other's eyes for a long moment of silent communication. Then Apollo swallowed and said, forcing himself back on topic, "But even then, you'll be living to love me and kill Cylons... I couldn't be the reason you lost that."

"I'd survive it."

"But you don't have to, that's the point. Starbuck, you were born to fly."

"So were you."

Apollo laughed. "No. I was made that way, and I love it, but it's the only thing I really love about the service. I could give it all up and barely miss it as long as I had something to do. Honestly, Starbuck," he insisted. "I realized that today. You're so much more important to me than rank or position. There's damned little I wouldn't give up for you, and nothing I did give up that I'm really going to miss."

"You shouldn't have had to give up any of it."

"Normally, I'd agree with you," Apollo admitted. "But things aren't normal... I didn't give up anything that mattered. Not that I wouldn't—" he added as Starbuck's irrepressible nature produced a laugh at the phrasing. "But honestly. How could I miss staff meetings? Council meetings? Politics? All those extra centares away from what does matter?"

Starbuck laid his head on Apollo's knee. "I love you." Then he looked back up at him, those eyes so candid they made Apollo's heart ache. "But we should have talked about this."

"I know. And we will from now on. And we would have if I'd thought of it... but all I thought of, all either of us did," he reminded Starbuck, "was that you'd have to transfer out of Blue. It caught me with no time to find you and talk." Not completely true, he realized even as he said it. He'd made the decision on his own. Habit...

"I guess," Starbuck accepted it. "But don't give up anything else without at least consulting me. Promise?"

"Promise. Not that I've got much left to give up," he added wryly. "I'm sort of stripped to the bone. I told Tigh he was looking at a new man, born again, but Athena put the right name to it."

"She would," Starbuck smiled. "She's not angry?"

"Not so I noticed. She expressed a certain annoyance with the way we've both behaved in the past, more me than you I think, but she's happy now. She told me I was whole for the first time in my adult life. She was right." He laid his hand against Starbuck's cheek. "I am."

Starbuck leaned into his palm. "Me, too, Apollo. For the first time ever."

Apollo caught his breath. What was wrong with him that he could doubt this man? He slid his hand around to the back of Starbuck's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Starbuck sighed, leaned in, and opened his mouth. Apollo raised his other hand to Starbuck's face and kissed him gently, but with an aching desire. A soft sound escaped Starbuck's throat, a sound Apollo had never heard before, a pleading sound, and his hands caught in the front of Apollo's shirt, pulling them close together. Apollo deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing against Starbuck's, and across his palate. The blond made the sound again, and freed one hand to find the back of the couch and pull himself onto the cushion next to Apollo. Then that hand found Apollo's dark hair and he fell backwards, bringing Apollo with him, so that he was underneath. Apollo felt his openness, his desire, feeding his own. He pulled away to catch breath enough to say, "Sleeping room, love." Starbuck kissed him and he almost gave in to the other man's need, but, "Boxey—if he comes in," he said, "come on, love."

Starbuck let go and they rose together, kissing again. By the time they got into the sleeping room, Starbuck was pulling his own shirt off. He dropped it on the floor and almost dragged Apollo onto the bed, and onto him. Normally, when Starbuck wanted to be taken, Apollo was in a hurry to do it. Dominance wasn't something he forced—not now, not ever again—but he enjoyed it. But somehow, things were different now. He was different now.

He eased onto the bed next to Starbuck and kissed him again, then moved to brush his lips over Starbuck's eyes, to kiss the blond temple and nibble on his ear. Starbuck moaned softly, his hands running over Apollo's back and then sliding under his shirt. Apollo moaned, too, as he felt his lifemate's hands on his bare skin. A moment of that, and then Starbuck was pulling the shirt over Apollo's head. Apollo paused kissing him long enough for that, then began lapping at the pale throat laid open to his mouth. Starbuck shivered. Apollo noticed, and was ashamed of himself, that Starbuck smelled only of himself. He gentled his touch even more, and felt the other man give up all his defenses, even those he'd had for so long Apollo had thought they were inalienable.

Somehow, the rest of their clothes came off, Apollo wasn't sure how, it didn't seem as if they'd stopped kissing and caressing long enough to strip each other. But his hands were on Starbuck's hips, his mouth kissing his belly and teasing his cock with feather-light tonguing. He heard the drawer open and then Starbuck was handing him the lube, and turning over. Apollo stopped him, leaning forward to kiss him on the mouth, deeply. "No," he whispered into Starbuck's throat. "I want to see your eyes, love."

Starbuck pulled his head back and looked at him, then raised up and returned the kiss, hungrily. Apollo wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, it could have been forever, but eventually their mutual desire drove them apart long enough for Apollo to slide fingers into Starbuck, two and then three, needing to be certain. Then, a little unsurely, he raised Starbuck's legs and entered, drawing a sob of pleasure from his lifemate, who threw his head back, eyes closed, as Apollo pushed all the way in. But, as Apollo began to thrust, Starbuck opened his eyes and Apollo lost himself in them, the hot blue of a young star, surrendered to him. He reached for Starbuck's cock with his left hand and when they came, it was at the same time, and Apollo fell forward on Starbuck's body, and when he tasted salt on his lips, he realized it was his own tears.

He clung to Starbuck, who pulled him close and wrapped the edge of the spread around them. "What's this?" he asked gently, brushing his fingers across Apollo's face.

"Love," said Apollo.

"I love you, too," Starbuck whispered. Then, after a long, cuddling silence, he brushed his lips across Apollo's cheek and said, "I could get used to coming home to this."

"Good," Apollo said, then, "And where have you been, anyway?" He pushed the tawny hair out of Starbuck's eyes. "You hadn't talked to Boomer when I got there."

"Couldn't find him," Starbuck answered. "He wasn't there when I stopped by. So I went looking for Cassie."

"She didn't damage you," he said, and there was barely a trace of jealousy left in him. He'd probably never lose it all, he realized, and he was still possessive, but now he knew he trusted, and that made—would make—all the difference. He'd have to work at it for the rest of his life, he couldn't shed all his bad traits so easily, but he rather thought he'd just have to remember moments like this and the work would be a joy.

"No," Starbuck answered. "She's a nicer person than Sheba... Are you two going to be able to work together?"

Apollo shrugged. "She said so. If we can't it'll be her. Boomer is going to have to be careful, but he's fair. He'll keep her professional if she can't."

"I hope so. I'd hate to have to depend on her to watch your back. Or mine, for that matter."

"Oh, it's me she's pissed off at. And Bojay'll keep you alive," Apollo chuckled.

"Bojay as my guardian angel... that's surreal."

"Ummm... So Cassie's not going to poison me the next time I wind up in the Life Center?" Maybe it was just a trace, but he couldn't help it.

Starbuck laughed. "No. Nor me, either. She told me," he added, "she knew I didn't love her when I didn't fight for her with Cain. Figuratively speaking, of course. That was working so well I didn't point out that my preferability to him rested solely on being eighty years younger. And not having Sheba as a blood relative, I should add."

"Those are both very nice attributes," Apollo agreed, damning Starbuck's insecurities to the seventh hell, "but I'd overlook them."

"Oh, you," Starbuck said fondly. "You've never been in love with Cain. You haven't, have you," he added with mock anxiety. "Please say you haven't even if you have."

"No," Apollo laughed. "I can honestly say I never was. And I can add that that's a very disturbing notion and I really wish you hadn't put it in my head."

"Sorry," Starbuck said unrepentantly, then more seriously, "I am sorry about your father, Apollo."

He grunted. "I know you are, but it's hardly your fault."

"I'll bet he doesn't think so."

"Oh, yes, it's all your evil, heathen influence. He told me to marry Sheba anyway, for my 'salvation'."

Starbuck growled.

Apollo basked in that for a moment, then said, "You know, he should marry Sheba. She could give him an heir and they'd both be happy."

"He disowned you?" Starbuck was outraged. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"

"Why? I told you—"

"That you didn't give up anything important. That mattered. That was a lie, and you know it."

"I didn't give him up," Apollo said quickly. "He gave me up, but I told him I wasn't saying goodbye. Don't blame yourself for that, please, Starbuck. It's not your fault."

"Apollo—"

"No. I mean it. Yes, I'd rather he hadn't reacted like that, but I had the choice. I could have tossed you to the lupines and crawled back inside the safety of his approval. And died."

"Apollo, love," Starbuck hugged him and Apollo burrowed into the safety of that hold. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I'll survive. I've got you, and Boxey, and Theni. And I knew he'd be bad."

"Who's comforting who, here?" That was said with a little laugh.

"Each the other?" Apollo guessed. "That sounds like a nice way to live."

"It does, doesn't it. Don't get too used to it right away, though."

"What?" Apollo pulled back to see those blue eyes laughing at him.

"Boomer told me. I'll be sleeping in the barracks for the next secton."

"Not tonight! You're off tomorrow."

"Well..."

"What?"

"By-name assignment to fill in tomorrow for Keili, in Green."

"Bastard."

Fortunately Starbuck knew who that was for. "Yep," he agreed. "Still, it's only six centares; I can stay here till almost midnight. And I'm still in Blue, so we're on the same duty schedule, almost, just one day offset. You're the lucky one."

"How so, pray tell?"

"You won't be sleeping in the barracks with twenty pilots who are pissed off because they'd rather be sleeping someplace else."

"Starbuck—"

"Ah, don't worry. I'm sure I can focus their anger where it belongs. God knows I don't want to be there."

"I hope so. About the focusing anger."

"Boomer will help. He's pissed about it. Now, there's a man who was born to be an administrator. Gods help the man who tries to mess with his schedules."

Apollo grinned. Something else occurred to him. "You are still in Blue? I mean, this Green thing is just tomorrow?"

"Supposed to be today, too, but Boomer said he gave it to somebody else because he couldn't find me... but he also said he'd fight it if anyone suggested making it permanent. He does the squadron rosters, thank you very much."

"That's nice. He told me he wouldn't put his neck on the block for us."

"Well, he told me that, too, but he added he meant special favors. He's a fair man, Apollo. You know that. You just said so yourself."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm just gun-shy, I guess."

"Now why would you be? But this won't be easy for him, either, you know, not for a while. It'll help, having Tigh on our side."

"He's worse than fair," Apollo warned. "He's by the book. Besides, we agreed that he need to stay in Father's favor. After all, Commander Adama is very important to the Fleet—"

"Only if you buy that we have to go to Earth," Starbuck put in, as he usually did.

"Let's not get into that again. Not now. He's what's holding the Fleet together, you can agree with that, can't you?"

Reluctantly, Starbuck nodded.

"Then he needs to be able to trust Tigh. He has to have someone, and Boomer's going to be suspect, and Theni's his baby girl..."

"Okay, you win. You want me to smile at him next time we pass in the hall?"

"Gods, no."

"Good."

"And speaking of Boomer—you never answered my question." That was just curiosity, he told himself.

"Which question?"

"Where were you all day?

"Well, after I couldn't find Boomer, I went looking for Cassie, took her for kava and pastry and broke the news—what?"

"Kava and pastry? I should have tried that."

"It never hurts," Starbuck observed.

"So if you show up with food, I should beware?"

Starbuck smiled enigmatically. "I'm not the predictable one... Of course, after last night, neither are you. Not that I mind. So, after Cassie finished psychoanalyzing me, I went back to the barracks and still didn't find Boomer, though I ran into Giles..."

The worm of jealousy raised its head, looked at Starbuck, tried to picture him with the hero-worshipping young ensign, failed utterly, and lay back down again. Apollo was a bit dismayed at how quickly it had reappeared when he dropped his guard against it. He was going to have to work at it. Keeping that piece of window-pane had been a good idea after all. Not entirely new, this reborn Apollo, he admitted.

Starbuck apparently hadn't noticed; his defenses seemed down for good. Scary. "He seemed genuinely unsurprised and offered to help me move. I let him carry the box cluttering up your service room."

"Our service room."

Starbuck flashed a quick smile. "Right. I'll get used to it. Eventually... Then I went looking for the other people I needed to tell. Of course, as the day wore on most of the people I ran into had already heard, so—"

"Most of them?" Apollo asked. He couldn't help it so he tried to keep it light. "Not that I want names—"

"Liar," Starbuck said, but fondly.

"—but how many are we talking about? Rounded to the nearest dozen?"

Starbuck raised himself on one elbow and regarded him seriously. "It's all over," he said gently. "You do know that, don't you?"

Apollo's heart stopped for a minute. When he finally comprehended Starbuck's question, he had the answer he needed in his own panic. "Yes. And I don't need to know anything else. Anything at all."

Starbuck reached for him and pulled him down again, resting Apollo's head on his heart. "To the nearest dozen, none. Five, counting Cassie, and two were mere courtesies after a couple of sectares of not seeing them. Darcy—" an ebony-skinned shuttle pilot Apollo was mildly acquainted with "—offered to help me remember the difference between men and women, but I told her I was pretty sure I had it down. And you'd already told Marta."

Marta. Lucky man. Marta, who lived around the corner, whose son was a year younger than Boxey, and who was now dating Jolly. Long platinum hair falling over Starbuck's arm. Flamboyant Marta. Honest Marta. Meaningless goodbye-and-good-luck kiss in finest theatrical fashion...

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," though he couldn't possibly know for what. "I forgive you."

"You always do, don't you?" And sometime he'd tell him for what. But not now.

"Always... and it's a good thing, too, don't you think?" He ruffled Apollo's hair with the question.

"Yes. Yes, I do," he raised his head and looked into Starbuck's eyes and kissed him.

After Apollo settled his head back on Starbuck's chest, the blond said, "Okay, now for the tough problem of the day."

"Oh, gods, what could that be?"

"What do we tell Boxey—" He broke off as Apollo swore and grabbed his wrist to look at the time. "Now what?"

"Boxey. He'll be home in twenty centons. It's his friend's mother's turn to pick them up and bring them home." He scrambled out of the bed as he spoke. "And you get up, too. Spending the night is one thing, he can deal with that concept, but I'm not getting into sex in the afternoon, or any time for that matter, with him until he's much, much older..." He disappeared into the turbowash room then came back out. "Tell him about what?"

"Don't rush," Starbuck said, "my chrono's fast."

Apollo looked at his own and relaxed. "And why don't you get it fixed?"

Starbuck shrugged. "I know it's fast."

"That would drive me crazy."

"I know. You're chronologically-obsessed."

"At least I'm on time for things... which you're not, even with your chrono nearly fifteen centons fast..." He shut the door.

After Starbuck joined him in the service room, and turned down a sandwich ("I've been eating all day," he pointed out), Apollo repeated, "What do we tell Boxey about what?"

"Why I'm going back to the barracks tonight. We both said I'd be moving in."

"Oh. Frack. So we did."

"Well, we either say it's a new reg and take him down and show it to him if he looks worried, or we put the blame where it goes. That depends on whether you want him to be pissed off at your father or not, I guess." Starbuck ran his fingers through his damp hair. "If he would be."

"He would, I think. And I don't. But... I do."

"So do I. But I'm vindictive. Besides, we're going to have to explain the whole no-more-captain thing, too."

"That's simple. It's regs, and if we don't make a tragedy out of it, he'll accept it."

"Are you dodging my question?"

"No. We have to decide this together. And even then, it might be moot. I don't know if Father's even going to want Boxey."

"He'll want him," Starbuck predicted in dire tones. "He'll want to counteract my presence."

"Well, that's what I mean. We have to decide. I don't want Boxey listening to him talk about you being a pervert. But even if he promises to stay off that topic altogether, I don't know if we want Boxey over there."

"Do you? I mean, assuming he stays on neutral ground regarding us, it might be the thing that brings you two back together."

"He'll never accept you in my life."

"He might. But even if he doesn't, if he accepts you—"

"There is no me without you," Apollo said simply.

"He's your father." As simply.

"And you're my lifemate. Here," he opened the little box and pulled out the Tear. "Do you remember this?"

Starbuck took it and ran his thumb over its smooth surface. "I remember," he said softly. "You kept this? All this time?"

"Apparently," Apollo smiled at him.

Starbuck smiled back, a bit misty-eyed. "I remember. Naiacap. We wangled a six-day pass and went to your family's place there, though you complained it was the middle of winter and no one would be there, not even servants, and there'd be nothing to do."

"And you said you could do for yourself, and you wanted to see the ocean, and it was freezing—"

"It was the tropics. It was barely jacket weather!"

"—and I couldn't get you off the beach, even when that storm blew up you wanted to stay and watch—"

"It was the most incredible work of nature I'd ever seen."

"And it would have killed you. And after, we went back onto the beach and picked our way through all the litter and you found those Tears."

"I've still got mine, too," Starbuck admitted. He reached without looking into the larger box, putting his hand right on the other Tear to pull it out and hand it to Apollo.

After a moment, Apollo said, "At least that summer you found out what the weather was supposed to be like."

"It was nice. But I liked the winter better."

Apollo stared at him. Naiacap in winter was, all right, not bleak, but it was empty. Only the handful of villagers on the northern end, nothing to do except wander around on foot or equine as all the sports complexes were locked up and it was too dangerous to swim in the wintry ocean. In the summer, Naiacap was a resort thronged with people, dancing and parties and sports, and warm ocean pools to swim in, and sailing... Starbuck had enjoyed himself immensely that summer, Apollo would have sworn. "Really? You did? Whyever?"

"Because it was just us."

"We weren't 'us' yet," Apollo said after a moment.

"We were always us, to me," Starbuck answered.

They sat in silence, looking at each other over the counter and the boxes, before Apollo managed to say, "We should put these out somewhere we can see them every day."

"Yes, we should."

"What else have you got in there?" Apollo asked, genuinely curious.

"Not a lot," Starbuck said, pulling the box over closer to himself. He laid down the Tear he was holding and pulled out several decks of pyramid cards. Setting them down in a neat stack, he then pulled out several more. Apollo snickered. Starbuck grinned at him and produced two small carved boxes.

"What are those?" Apollo asked, then broke out laughing as the blond opened one to reveal a fancy deck, the kind where each card is different and a work of art—this one of pagan gods and goddesses and mythic beasts for the three suits. "You'd better not have one of those Gemonese decks," Apollo warned, still laughing.

"Why not, Dad?" Boxey had arrived unnoticed.

"You need to get your door noisier," observed Starbuck.

"Our door."

"Yeah, our door, Uncle Starbuck. I mean Pop. Why noisy?"

"So you can't sneak up on us, kiddo."

"Oh." Boxey was unoffended. "Do you have a Gemonese deck?"

"No," Starbuck dodged the whole what-is-it issue by adding, "I've never been to Gemoni."

It didn't work. "Cassie's from there. So's Sheba. Maybe they could give you one."

That was so loaded Apollo would have short-circuited trying to answer it. He could only watch in admiration as Starbuck shrugged and said, "Gemonese decks aren't any good for playing with. Did you learn anything useful today?"

"I don't think so. Dad, can you come on the field trip tomorrow?"

"What field trip?"

Boxey sighed, rolling his eyes. "To the hydroponics ship. You signed for me to go last secton."

"Oh. I remember," he lied.

"Anyway, Barkla's father was supposed to go but he can't and we need another grown-up and I said you'd come."

Torn between relief and disappointment Apollo said, "Well, I'm sorry, Boxey, but I can't."

"Why not? You're off duty," Boxey said, nearly whining. "We need someone or we can't go."

Once again Boxey was demonstrating how pointless it was to plan how to tell him something. "I'm not off duty," Apollo said. "And neither is Starbuck," he added as Boxey's eyes went that direction and his mouth opened. "You need to learn to ask me first."

"Why aren't you?" Boxey ignored the stricture. As he had the last sixty times he'd heard it.

"Because I have to fill in for a Green pilot tomorrow," Starbuck said.

"And I'm in Red Squadron now, and they were off yesterday and today."

"You're in Red? Not Blue anymore?"

"I can't be in Blue if Starbuck's in Blue," said Apollo. "It's against the rules for people who are married to have one of them in charge of the other one."

"Why?" Boxey obviously thought that was stupid.

"So people won't think your dad is giving me special treatment." Starbuck grinned at them both. "I'm looking forward to a CO who's fair and impartial."

"You mean one you can put things over on," Apollo said while Boxey giggled. "Boomer's got your number."

"But you're still his boss, aren't you, Dad?"

"I wish," Apollo said involuntarily. "He never listened to me before. But if you mean his CO, no. I'm Red Squadron Leader, not Strike Captain. Otherwise, we couldn't get married."

"That's a stupid rule."

"Tell you a secret, kid: most rules are."

"Starbuck!"

The blond slapped his chest. "Did I say you didn't have to follow them?"

Boxey ignored them, though Apollo knew the quote would surface some day. "That's not a secret anymore, Dad, but I didn't tell," he said virtuously. "Lots of kids' parents were talking about it."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. They kept looking at me, but I didn't tell. Really."

"I know. Starbuck and I did, after I talked to your grandfather."

"Some of them said they thought you were going to marry Sheba. I'm glad you're not."

"Me, too."

"Me, three," added Starbuck.

Boxey giggled again, then said, "If you're the squadron leader, can't you give yourself the day off?"

"It doesn't work like that. And I'd better call your instructor and tell her I can't come."

She accepted it with apparent regret, whether for losing him or having to find another victim he wasn't sure. At least she hadn't sounded like she had been trying to figure how to call him and tell him not to come. He sort of wished he were free, until he thought about being trapped on a shuttle with twenty-five seven-yahren-olds. He wasn't that eager to make a point.

When he got back to the service room, Boxey had convinced Starbuck to give him something to eat. Apollo bit back the urge to say the child would spoil his dinner; it was a piece of fruit and anyway, they could eat later. Instead he stood in the doorway and looked at them, tawny head and dark one bent together over one of the Tears as Starbuck pointed out the little node that marked the original starting point.

Boxey looked up after a centon. "Dad, I never saw this before. Where did it come from?"

"Naiacap," he said, coming back into the room and sitting down.

"Where's that?"

"It's an island on Caprica," Apollo said, feeling a surge of nostalgia.

"Your dad's family had a summer place there," Starbuck said.

"You only went there in the summer?"

"Yes—when school was out. It was for vacations. Your grandmother, your aunt, your Uncle Zac, and I went there every summer when we were children."

"What about Grandfather?"

"He came when he could, but he was a high-ranking officer and he couldn't always get to Caprica every year," Apollo said. "Back then the Fleet was much bigger and he was very far away sometimes."

"That's too bad," said Boxey.

"Ummm," said Apollo.

And Starbuck said, "I've got a picture of Naiacap in here somewhere." He pulled out two framed pictures and set them down on the counter as he reached back into the box.

The top one was of him, Apollo, and Boomer at Caprica Military Academy, in dress grays. Boxey had seen it before and he ignored it in favor of the second. "What's this?"

Starbuck didn't glance at it, just answered, "The Thorn Forest."

"Where's that?"

Apollo reached over and turned the picture so he could see it. A dark, even gloomy picture—tall trees girdled with spiky vines, a few blue flowers, long leaves, a pervasive feeling of things closed in, dim light. Apollo felt a shiver run his spine.

"Near Umbra. Where I grew up," he added for Boxey's benefit.

"Did you play there?" he asked a bit dubiously. Apollo didn't blame him.

"When I could," Starbuck said. "Now, here's Naiacap."

"Who's that with you?"

"That's your grandmother," said Starbuck, surprised. "You've seen pictures of her before, haven't you?"

"That's not her... is it?"

Apollo turned this picture around, too. It was Ila, though after a moment he realized what was puzzling Boxey. The other pictures he'd seen of her were all posed portraits. This was a candid, and a very good likeness of her in one of her light-hearted moods, but she might have been a different woman from the poised Siress.

Apollo had never seen the picture before. He stared at it, paying little attention to the conversation. Boxey was asking about the surf in the background—it was the eastern shore—and the flowers and why the sand was black and was that a live avian, and Starbuck was answering, but Apollo was looking at the people in the foreground and wallowing in emotions.

He didn't know when the picture had been taken—Starbuck looked much older than he'd been the summer he'd spent with them. He was sunbrowned and barelegged, his tawny hair streaked with gold and wind-tangled, a jewel-feathered macawan on his left wrist, its crest raised. Ila stood next to him, his arm around her slender shoulders as she offered the avian a piece of fruit. The wind was lifting her dark blonde hair with its glints of summer gold, and she was wearing a bright floral-printed skirt to her knees, her arms and midriff bare, earrings that rivaled the macawan's plumes dangling to her shoulders. She looked so happy she was glowing, and so did Starbuck.

Apollo remembered her like that, but he didn't think he'd ever seen a picture of Siress Ila looking quite so undignified. Certainly his father hadn't been around when it was taken... she'd never looked like that when he was on the island. Apollo remembered summers when his father had been able to join them. As a teenager he'd been sure his mother hadn't meant it, though now he thought maybe she had, but either way they had all looked forward to Adama's last morning, when they would all line up outside the house by the landing pad, dressed in spotless summer white. Adama would pat Zac on the head and tell him to be a good boy; kiss Athena's cheek and admonish her to behave like a lady; and shake Apollo's hand and leave him with more detailed instructions, varying slightly as the yahrens went by—improve your range scores; work on your math... Then he'd kiss Ila as he had Athena and get into his aircar and his driver would lift off into Naiacap's azure sky. They would watch him out of sight, and then Ila would turn, clap her hands once, and say, "All right, children: get dressed! We're for the beach!"

And she didn't mean their private stretch of the southern coast with its white sands and emerald water, either, but the black sands of the public beach with its booths and games and crowds of tourists and day-trippers from the cruise ships. That's when she'd looked like that, romping through Naiacap's playground with her children.

"Who took this?" he asked when Boxey ran out of questions.

Starbuck shrugged. "Some child," he said. "The avian was his; it damn—dang near took off her finger about twenty microns later."

"It bit Grandmother?" Boxey's eyes went wide.

"It tried. I dropped it and it scratched the... heck out of my arm, too, I can tell you."

"How do you drop an avian?" Apollo laughed.

"Its wing was clipped."

"What does that mean?" asked Boxey.

"You cut the feathers," said Starbuck, "and it can't fly till new ones grow in."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It's like fingernails. Or hair."

"Oh, good."

"When was this?" Apollo asked.

"She never told you about it?"

Apollo shook his head.

Starbuck shrugged. "You were on the Aquila. I was on the Falca. It was right after Semtek. We put into the Caprican shipyards, they turfed us all out and made us take leave, and first thing I knew Ila was there, throwing her weight around and dragging me off to Naiacap for the whole two sectares. It was just us—it was spring and Zac was at that military prep school and I don't remember where Athena was. Cap City Base, probably. Ila opened the house. I had fun."

Apollo remembered Semtek. The Falca had been lucky to survive, and more than half of her Viper pilots hadn't. But he and Starbuck hadn't been in real contact then. They'd ended scrapping the Falca and Starbuck had gone to the Galactica, and then Apollo had come a yahren later...

"She looks like a nice lady." Boxey employed his all-purpose approbative adjective.

"She was the nicest person I've ever known," Starbuck said. His blue eyes were on Apollo, slightly tentative.

Apollo understood that. Ila had adored him the first time Apollo had brought him to the Caprica City townhouse, and Starbuck had returned the feeling, and now he was worried that she might have felt like Adama did. He was worried that he was somehow betraying her, that he shouldn't keep the picture. Or the memory. "She loved your Pop more than she did me," he said, ostensibly to Boxey. "They were kindred spirits. She'd be so happy to see him and me together."

"Can we put this up in the front room?" Boxey asked.

"Yes, we can."

"And this one?" he held up the Thorn Forest.

"If we can find a place," he temporized; that picture got on his nerves. He didn't know why Starbuck kept it.

"What else is in here?" asked Boxey.

"Just some books," Starbuck said.

"Let's put them on the shelf," said Boxey, "and find a place for the picture. Can I put this one in my room?" He picked up the one of the Three Pleiades, as they'd been called.

"Sure," Starbuck said.

"Thanks, Pop!" He hugged Starbuck and ran into his room with the picture.

Apollo picked up the one of Ila and Starbuck. "I love this picture," he said sincerely. "You know if my father ever sets foot in our quarters and sees this, he'll have a stroke."

Starbuck peered at him and then, reassured, said, "She had a lot of fun, I think. And she sure flanked me. I'd never have gone if she'd just called."

"She knew that. She really was crazy about you..."

"I loved her," Starbuck said simply.

Apollo smiled at him. "Let's get those books out before Boxey decides to help and breaks all their spines. Who'd have figured you to actually own any?"

Starbuck feinted a punch at him and picked up the box. Together they slotted his books, mostly military history and tactics but the occasional novel, too, among Apollo's more substantial library. Then Apollo left Boxey and Starbuck to decide where to put the picture while he started dinner. And tried to figure how to tell Boxey that Starbuck wouldn't be moving in until after they married. That all of Starbuck's belongings were here should help. Maybe Starbuck would think of something. Coward, he thought, and then, damn straight.

Apollo pulled some trays out of the fooder and set them for reheating, then poured drinks. Starbuck liked ale with his meals, but Apollo didn't have any; he poured juice for all three of them and hoped it would do. He listened as Boxey directed Starbuck in moving pictures and knick-knacks around on the shelves, reassured when the final decision always seemed to come after Starbuck said, "What about here?" Then, grinning at himself, he wondered why he was assuming Starbuck was any better at interior decoration than Boxey.

Out in the front room, the conversation was veering off. Apollo realized he'd missed Boxey's original question, and Starbuck's answer was apparently non-verbal, but Boxey's response was in his unmistakably insistent tone, the one that said he wasn't quitting until you either answered or lost your temper. "Yeah, but why?"

Starbuck sighed. "Because that's the regs."

"But it wasn't last night. And it's not a real 'mergency, or you and Dad wouldn't be here now. So why can't you stay?"

Apollo contemplated joining the conversation, but then paused. This was Starbuck's issue, much more than it was his. Starbuck was the one getting punished, getting set up to take the heat if it came, being called the pervert and getting blamed for what was at least equally Apollo's idea and very nearly all Apollo's mess... Starbuck deserved the chance to make up his own mind about what he felt, without getting Apollo's input. And if he said something that turned Boxey against Adama, well, Adama had asked for it and it wouldn't exactly break Apollo's heart. In fact, Apollo decided, he'd only intervene if it started to sound like Starbuck was going to make excuses designed to try and keep Apollo and Adama in some sort of connection.

What Starbuck actually said, when he finally answered, was, "Because your grandfather is the commander and gets to make the rules, and he doesn't want me to."

"Why not?" Boxey demanded inevitably, and then, "What about when you get married?"

"When we get married, there won't be anything he can do. Right now, he can make a rule about the single pilots—"

"Dad's single. Does he have to stay in the barracks?"

For one moment, Apollo gloried in that notion. He could get someone to stay with Boxey, move solemnly into one of the squadron leaders' rooms, and snag Starbuck in with him, and his father could just choke on it. But he knew it wasn't a good idea; Boomer had been right when he'd said it would be better if he and Starbuck were suffering. Some of the pilots would think it was ironically appropriate, but most of them would be pissed off, regardless of their general attitudes towards the subject. He sighed. Only one morning of waking up to Starbuck, and he already knew he was going to miss it dreadfully.

"No," Starbuck was saying, "he's technically not a 'single pilot' because he has a dependent. He'll be here."

If he thought that was the end of it, he didn't know Boxey. He'd inherited Serina's single-minded nature, her reporter's instincts that allowed her to be distracted by every little thing that came up without ever once losing sight of her main objective. She had always come back to what she wanted, and so did her son. "Good. But why doesn't Grandfather want you to spend the night?"

"Well, your Dad and I aren't married yet," Starbuck tried. Apollo didn't even think about going and correcting that; Boxey wouldn't accept it.

"Mom spent the night when they weren't married," the boy said. Thank the Lords of Kobol that wasn't news to Starbuck, Apollo thought. "And he's always asking Aunt Theni if she has plans for the evening, in case he needs to call her, and I can tell it's 'cause he wants her to get another boyfriend. And he used to do the same thing with Dad. That's not why. Why?"

"Boxey... he doesn't want me to marry your Dad."

"I know. He wants Dad to marry Sheba. But he keeps asking me if Dad has other girlfriends—"

Now that was news to Apollo, and it irritated him.

"—and he always says he wants Dad to get Sealed again and be happy. Is it 'cause you're a heathen?"

"That's part of it."

"Then start coming to Temple."

"That won't work," Starbuck said gently. "It won't make him like me any better if I pretend to be churched, and if I really am I can't marry your dad."

"Oh. Why not?"

"The Church doesn't like two men getting married."

"Oh..." Boxey sighed. "There's a lot the Church doesn't like, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is."

"Why?

"I have no idea," Starbuck said, and even Boxey could hear the truth in his voice.

The boy sighed again. "Grandfather's being a bully, isn't he?"

"Yes," Starbuck said with feeling.

"Dad says to stand up to bullies."

"He's right." Apollo could picture the look in Starbuck's eyes, though, since he'd often heard his betrothed explain why sabotage was better than confrontation...

"Well," Boxey said firmly, "I'm not going to visit him until he says 'sorry'."

"That'll show him," Starbuck said approvingly.

Whether he cared or not, especially enough to alter his behavior, would be a different story, Apollo thought, and called, "Dinner in five centons, you two."

Starbuck came into the service room and watched Apollo stick the trays in the heater. "My," he said admiringly, "he cooks, too."

"Shut up," Apollo said amiably.

Starbuck laughed, then sobered to say, "Boxey's decided..."

"I heard."

"You didn't say anything."

"When the boy's right, he's right. You know it, that order is pure bully."

Starbuck shrugged but his eyes were relieved. "He told me he has a vid he wants us to watch with him."

"Oh, gods," Apollo said involuntarily. "Not Avi Avian Takes a Trip?"

Starbuck's lips twitched. "Bad, is it?"

"Do you think you could manage to destroy it when you play it tonight?"

"Apollo," he said, "I'm shocked. Shocked."

"Wait till you see it. Then you'll be motivated."

"See what?"

"Your vid," Apollo answered him.

Boxey sat down at the little table. "It's my favorite, Unc—I mean, Pop. Avi Avian looks just like the one in your picture with Grandmother. Except he's all this blue and doesn't have those feathers on his head. And he can fly."

"Sounds very similar." Starbuck put the glasses on the table with a raised eyebrow at the contents.

"That was a big avian. Was it heavy?"

"Avians aren't heavy. That's why they can fly. Their bones are hollow and most of their size is just their feathers," Apollo said.

Boxey looked expectantly at Starbuck, who said, "No. It wasn't heavy," and then laughed at Apollo. "Just like your dad said," he added.

Apollo put the plates on the table and sat down. Starbuck picked up his fork, then paused as Boxey folded his hands and recited, "God is great, God is good, and we thank him for our food, amen. Do you believe in God?"

Starbuck blinked and answered, carefully, "I believe in the gods, Boxey. I just don't believe in the Church."

"Oh." Boxey began eating.

Apollo and Starbuck looked at each other across the table. Apollo tried to convey that he didn't give a good damn what Starbuck believed, but he knew they needed to talk about it. Still, it wasn't like it was a surprise to him. And it wasn't like he wasn't reevaluating his own beliefs, for that matter. Boxey chattered on about avians and then moved to the ocean, which he'd never seen, and his grandmother. Thankfully, Apollo accepted the topic change and told several stories from his childhood which featured Ila's penchant for doing what she wanted, reflecting midway through the third, looking at Boxey's round-eyed stare, that just possibly he was projecting the wrong message.

"—so she won both of the dolls," he said. "And then gave them to the little girls."

"And made the man have a fair game from then on?" Boxey said, apparently more intrigued by that than his grandmother's willfulness.

"If she was around," Starbuck said cynically.

"Yes," Apollo corrected. "From then on."

"I wish I could have met her."

"Me, too," Apollo said. "She would have loved you."

Boxey looked a little troubled. "You remember her better than I remember Mom."

"Well, I'm older," said Apollo. "I knew my mother a lot longer than you did yours."

"And I don't remember mine at all," said Starbuck. "Everybody's different, and it's not wrong if your memories get a little faded over time."

"You remember my grandmother, though, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"And she'd be your mother now that you're marrying Dad, so you have a mother to remember," Boxey concluded. "Are we having dessert?"

"Later, I think," Apollo said. "After all, you already had something—"

"That wasn't dessert!" Boxey was outraged.

"We'll have something when the vid's over," Starbuck said.

Boxey sighed a martyred sigh, then brightened up. "Can I get the vid now, Dad?"

"Yes, go ahead and get it. I'll clean up and then we'll watch it."

Boxey jumped up.

"I can wash up," offered Starbuck.

"You can dry," countered Apollo. "I like washing."

Starbuck grinned at him and leaned back against the counter, towel in hand. "How late does he stay up?"

"Not anywhere close to midnight," Apollo said, leaning in over a stack of dirty plates for a quick kiss.

"Yuck! Are you two going to do that a lot?"

"We kind of have to, Boxey," said Starbuck, "it's what married people do."

"Yuck. I'm never getting married. The vid's ready."

"We'll see about that," said Apollo, still blushing slightly. "You may change your mind."

"About marriage," Starbuck interpolated before Boxey could say anything about the vid. "We'll be there as soon as we're done. With the dishes."

"If you're going to kiss again, I'll be glad to wait in my room," Boxed said with dreadful scorn.

"Good," muttered Apollo while Starbuck collapsed over the counter, helpless with laughter.

The vid had barely started when the door signal chimed. "I'll get it," Apollo said, standing up quickly. "Don't worry, I've seen it before, you don't have to pause it."

He went to the door, hoping that it would be someone who could occupy him for the next centare and a half. But he wasn't expecting who he saw, which was Red Squadron. All of them, except Boomer's wingman, Ferris, and including Blue's Lieutenant Megeara, who was paired with Giles.

"Evening, Lieutenant," Fenrir, the squadron's prematurely silver-haired executive officer said, his blue eyes unreadable. "Hope this isn't an intrusion, or a bad time."

Okay, not exactly what I was wishing for... "No," he said cautiously. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, sir, we thought we might ought to talk with you. Before tomorrow," Fenrir said.

"We've been over at the ready room, talking," chimed in one of the flight corporals; Apollo tried to remember her name. Alita. "After Lieuten... Captain Boomer explained things to us."

"We thought it might be good if we sort of cleared the air a bit, sir," added Colby.

Apollo was unsure what to do. But he couldn't talk to eleven people in the hallway, and he couldn't suggest the O Club, not with Red having five enlisted pilots... Private might be better anyway. Hell with it. "Come on in," he said, stepping back. "Find someplace to sit, I'll just be a centon."

He walked back to Boxey's room, where the boy was giggling over the avian's attempts to fly with a suitcase in his beak, and gestured to Starbuck.

"Be right back," the blond said, sliding away from Boxey. "What's up?" He looked over Apollo's shoulder and drew his eyebrows together with concern.

"I'm not sure," Apollo admitted, "but they want to talk. If you hear blows, call Security." It was a joke, but Starbuck didn't seem to find it funny.

"You've already been beaten up once today," he pointed out.

"Slapped. Not beaten up. I can't exactly tell them I don't want to talk with them, you know."

"I know. I'll keep an ear up."

"Okay. But don't worry Boxey." He shut the door as Starbuck turned back to the boy and went into the front room. Somebody was sitting on every piece of furniture except one chair, which they'd left for him, and five of them were on the floor. Apollo sat and looked at Fenrir.

"Sir, we wanted you to know, we think it's a shame you had to step down so you could get married."

"We've got a feeling there's a sort of a double standard at play here, too," added Sergeant Freya. "Like, if you'd married Lieutenant Sheba this wouldn't have happened."

"And we think that sucks," Corporal Toomy stated. "Sir," he added.

"We're not all crazy about it, but, well, it's your life," said Lieutenant Harker. "If you want to do this, I mean..."

"It's not illegal," said Alita, "and it's your business. Nobody else's."

"So," Fenrir said, "we thought, perhaps, given some of the things that have happened today, we might ought come and tell you that you can count on Red to be professional about this."

Apollo looked around the room. He knew Harker to be Kobolian, and he thought he remembered seeing Alita, Kris, and Colby in Temple, too. But they seemed no less sincere than the others, including Freya, who, if he was remembering correctly, was civilly married to a female medtech. "Thank you," he said. "I'd never doubted it, but I'm glad to hear it. One question, though—Megeara, why are you here?"

She smiled. "Boomer wanted to take Ferris with him, they're used to each other, so someone from Blue had to come over here. And it couldn't be your wingman, sir, that would have been pointless. And Giles fell over himself volunteering to fly wing to Starbuck, who's getting the section in my place—and welcome to it," she added quickly, "I've decided I'm not cut out for command at any level." She seemed sincere about that, and not cut up about Giles's defection—but everybody knew how Giles felt about Starbuck.

Apollo smiled back at her. "Then you'll be my wingman? That'll be fine."

"Minimizing disruption, sir," said Fenrir. "Whenever possible, that is," he added, acknowledging Apollo's right to make wholesale changes in the squadron's structure if he so chose.

"It's a good philosophy," Apollo answered the underlying concern. "You and Feist will stay as exec and Third Section; I don't want to change anything that's working."

Fenrir smiled his slow smile. "That's good to hear so. Red'll do you proud, you'll see."

"I'm sure of it."

Ensign Wotan produced a bottle of ambrosa. "Drink to the new Red, sir?"

"Let me get some glasses," Apollo said. He didn't have twelve that matched, but he doubted it would matter. He handed them around and they passed the bottle, all of the pilots rising to their feet.

"Red Squadron," said Apollo.

"Blood before breaking," Fenrir answered.

"And kicking Blue's butt," Wotan added with a Starbuck-like grin.

"Red," the others said, the one closest to Wotan smacking him on the side of the head as though it were a common duty shared among them all.

There's always one, thought Apollo, downing his drink and feeling pretty good about it. This was certainly a load off his mind. And considering that most of these pilots would be in the barracks tonight, it was a relief on Starbuck's account, too. He had a feeling that Silver Spar might cause problems, not least of all because Bojay, who even though he wasn't in Silver Spar since his promotion to squadron leader was nonetheless influential with them, was going to feel that Sheba, or he himself, should have gotten the Strike Captaincy. And that wasn't going into what Sheba herself might do. But Starbuck was well liked by Blue, and Red was, well, acting like grown-ups. It gave him faith that not much beyond harsh words would pass between anybody. And one thing you had to say about Starbuck, words slid off his back like water off a waterfowl.

"Another, sir?" Fenrir offered.

"One more," Apollo accepted, "a short one."

"That's right, you're not much of a drinker," said Harker.

"Not usually," Apollo acknowledged, "but, well, not much about today's been usual."

"It's been a day for different, sure enough," Fenrir agreed.

"We were going to leave you the bottle—" Wotan started.

"Leave it anyway," said Megeara, pouring her drink and passing the bottle. "Starbuck'll take care of it. And he's just gotten a promotion, too."

"Starbuck's promotion, then," said Fenrir, raising his glass.

They drank and then, after a "See you in the morning, sir" from Fenrir, they left, talking among themselves. Lieutenant Feist lingered while Megeara exchanged a couple of words with Apollo. After she left, Apollo regarded Feist with some curiosity. He'd barely spoken to the wiry redhead, who hadn't been a Galactica pilot before Cimtar, being the only survivor of the Columbia.

"Something else, Feist?" he asked.

"So you don't get blindsided," he said, "I was civilly married before. To an infantry lieutenant."

"I'm sorry," Apollo said.

"Thank you. I just thought you should know," Feist said softly and ducked his head. "I'm looking forward to serving as a section leader with you, sir."

"Thank you." Apollo watched the man leave. He was finding out about a lot bereavements he hadn't known of before. He hoped it stopped soon, though on the other hand... if his father knew all the perverts who were serving on his ship, it might shake him up a little. He shook his head and took a deep breath, looked longingly at the bottle of ambrosa, and then went back into Boxey's room for the end of the video.

He nodded reassuringly at Starbuck, who'd looked up inquiringly when he came in, and sat down on the floor on Boxey's other side, leaning back against the bed and discovering, to his horror, that he knew all the dialog. He refrained from joining Boxey in reciting any of it, but he actually knew it. It was appalling. Worse, though, was Starbuck's appreciation of the vid... he can watch it from now on, Apollo decided. He can watch them all.

Even more disturbing, after it was over, and Apollo escaped to the service room to decide what to put out for Boxey's before bed treat, Starbuck was actually able to discuss it with the child. Apollo shook his head. "If I'd known your appalling taste in entertainment," he said when they came to join him, Boxey in his sleepwear, "I'd never have contemplated marrying you."

"Not funny, Dad," Boxey said, a little sharply.

"Don't worry, kiddo," Starbuck said, "your dad's just a cultural Philistine."

Boxey perked up a little at the new word. Apollo, who realized a bit late that Boxey had to have figured out that his and Starbuck's marrying wasn't universally approved of, and who of course was worried about the commander, addressed the real issue. "Yes, don't worry, Boxey. There's nothing and no one that could make me change my mind now."

Boxey looked hard at him and then grinned. "Good," he said. "I want Starbuck to be in our family for ever."

"You'll just have to get used to us sniping at each other," Starbuck said. "We've known each too long to change our habits overnight. It doesn't mean we don't love each other."

"In fact, it means we do. It's not serious."

Boxey sighed in contentment. "That's okay, then." He finished his dessert.

"Now, I think you need to go to bed," said Apollo.

"Can Pop tell me a story?"

"Sure. But you need to wash your face, first." Boxey and Starbuck disappeared into the boy's bedroom and Apollo washed up the plate and spoon. When he looked in, Starbuck was sitting on Boxey's bed, casually resting one foot on Muffit's head while he told Boxey about the time Zac tried to "rescue" a simian from one of the Naiacap booths, and how the little animal had had to be flung up into a tree, and then it pulled nuts and twigs off and threw them ungratefully at Zac's head before escaping back into the safety of its well-provisioned home. Apollo waited until the story was over, and allowed his son three questions, before stepping in with a "That's enough, now. Good-night."

Boxey got hugs and kisses from both men and then they cut out the lights and left. "Philistine, am I?" Apollo growled as soon as they were in the front room, wrapping his arms around Starbuck from behind.

"That thing's a piece of—"

"Yes?" Apollo nuzzled Starbuck's neck.

"Art," Starbuck finished.

"Is that so?" Apollo said. "Well, I don't know much about art—"

"But you know what you like?"

"And that's not it."

"What is?" Starbuck said, twitching his hips suggestively.

"Oh, that," said Apollo, licking Starbuck's ear. "That's what I like. Let's go to bed."

"I don't know," Starbuck said, sliding out of Apollo's loose hold. "It's pretty early yet."

"But you have to leave," Apollo said.

"Oh, I've got centares yet." The last word was almost unintelligible, spoken as it was into Apollo's mouth. "Hey," Starbuck pulled away. "You've been drinking."

"Oh, yeah," Apollo remembered. He recaptured Starbuck's mouth and later added, "Red brought me a bottle." Another kiss. "They left it." Kiss. "You want a drink?"

"God, no." Starbuck grabbed him as he feinted going to the service room. "I don't need a drink. I need you."

"You've got me," Apollo said, kissing him again. "But let's remember to set the alarm."

"Yes... wouldn't do to be late..."

While Apollo set the alarm, Starbuck pulled back the bedcovers, and kicked off his shoes. "Red brought you a bottle, huh?" he asked. "I could tell they were being civilized, but I didn't know they were celebrating. Are they that glad to get rid of Boom-Boom? Or is it losing Captain Hard-Ass they're so glad about?"

"I thought you liked my ass." Apollo sat on the bed next to him.

"Oh, I do," Starbuck assured him. "I love your ass. But most people haven't had the chance to get to appreciate it the way I have."

"That's so true," Apollo said, suddenly hungry for Starbuck's appreciation. "No one but you..." He fell backwards to lie cross-wise on the bed, looking at the other man. "I think they wanted to clear the air... I want—" He broke off as Starbuck leaned over and kissed him.

"Yes?" Starbuck murmured later, licking Apollo's throat.

His warm breath on Apollo's wet skin made him shudder. "You," he said, "you, inside me, Starbuck..."

"Can do, Capt—" Starbuck paused, shrugged slightly, and began unfastening Apollo's shirt, kissing his throat as he did. "How long," he asked after a moment, "has it been?" He made it impossible for Apollo to answer by biting gently on a just-bared nipple.

"Since what?" Apollo gasped when he could speak again.

"Since I made love to you and you were a lieutenant?"

Apollo lifted his arms one at a time while Starbuck slipped his shirt off and thought. He didn't count that afternoon, since Starbuck wasn't—that was him to Starbuck, not the other way around. "Four yahrens," he said, "then five, six—" He arched his back as the blond sucked on one nipple, twisted the other with his fingers, and used his free hand to pull down Apollo's pants, freeing his stiffening cock with a maddening pull of fabric across its length.

Starbuck chuckled slightly. "You realize," he said, scattering teasing kisses along Apollo's body among the words, "my date of rank's before yours now."

"Is... not."

"Is," Starbuck insisted. "Yours is today. Mine's seven yahrens ago. Almost eight."

"Starbuck," Apollo gasped. "I was a captain."

"Now you're not. You're a brand-new lieutenant."

"It... reverts. I still... outrank you."

Starbuck sat back on his heels between Apollo's sprawled legs. "Oh, really?"

"Damn you," Apollo said.

Starbuck ran his fingers up the inside of Apollo's thigh. "Really?"

"All right. Yours is earlier. Take me, damn you."

Starbuck laughed, uncapping the lube he'd pulled out of the drawer when he sat up. "Gods, you're easy when you're hot. I'm gonna have to remember this."

Whatever Apollo was going to say to that—he couldn't remember—was lost in the feeling of Starbuck's finger entering him. He moaned, arching his back, trying, as he always did at first, to escape what he needed. "Please." The finger thrust in and out, and that part of Apollo that had to be in control shuddered and then, suddenly, surrendered. He flung his head back, gasping, "Now, please, Starbuck."

The finger slid out. He took advantage of the momentary abandonment to roll over on his stomach. The phrase a day for different slid across his mind and then Starbuck's hand on his ass took away all thought. Two fingers worked their way inside him; he shuddered again, raising his hips to meet the thrusts. Starbuck pushed on his legs, spreading them and bending his knees to raise his ass more. A third finger, and Apollo was moaning his need into the sheets between his clenched fists.

"Now?" Starbuck asked.

Apollo moaned again, wordless with need. He raised his hips, pushing against Starbuck's withdrawing hand. He felt the head of Starbuck's cock nudging his ass and he pushed back, wanting to be possessed. Starbuck seemed to understand; he drove home with none of the slow patience he usually showed at this moment, filling Apollo in one hard thrust. Apollo cried out, but not from pain: from surrender, from losing control of what was happening, from being utterly the other's... The feel of Starbuck was different from this angle, and it took several hard drives before the blond found Apollo's prostate, but he did, and Apollo found himself screaming with abandon and pleasure into the mattress, hoping it was muffling the noise enough that Boxey wouldn't hear. He bit down on the next cry that tried to come out, and rocked with Starbuck's pumping in as near-silence as he could, which wasn't all that near. Starbuck was grunting as he thrust, slapping hard against Apollo's ass and holding him with both hands. He'd touched the darker man's cock once, but seemed to realize how close he was to coming, and they both knew that when Apollo came with Starbuck inside him, the blond came immediately. Now Starbuck seemed to know that Apollo needed this to last as long as possible, and he left his aching cock alone, riding him hard. Then he reached for Apollo's body, pulling him upright to bite his shoulder and coming, filling him and muffling his own cry in Apollo's flesh. He collapsed against the darker man, the sudden weight driving him to the bed; when his cock hit the mattress he came, too, shuddering and gasping Starbuck's name into the crumpled sheets.

They lay still, legs entwined, Starbuck still inside Apollo and his arms holding tight. As Apollo regained sanity he cocked an ear for Boxey but heard nothing. Thank God for soundproofing, he thought muzzily and stroked the arms that were holding him so tightly. Thank all the gods for Starbuck.

He never wanted to move again.

When the alarm went off, he startled awake. Starbuck, still sprawled across his back, was already awake, judging by the ease with which he avoided a flailing elbow in the face. "Stay in bed," Starbuck said. "I can let myself out." He didn't add that he'd been doing it for yahrens.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Apollo said.

"Me, too. But I do. I'm pushing it as it is. I'll see you tomorrow. And it's only for a secton." Starbuck slid out of bed and headed for the turbowash.

Apollo lay awake in the dimly lit room and waited for him to come back. Then he watched him get dressed; it was the first time in a long time he'd been able to lie there and do that, and he liked the sight of it. It wasn't as nice as watching him get undressed, but there was something... he didn't know what... decadent, maybe, or primitively satisfying, something, about being naked and well-fucked and in bed while Starbuck, fully clothed, leaned over to kiss him goodbye.

Then he remembered. "Starbuck," he said softly as the blond straightened.

"Yes, love?"

Apollo almost didn't say it. "I'm a squadron leader. New lieutenant or not, I still outrank you."

A moment of silence, then Starbuck's teeth flashed in the dark room as he laughed. "Some things are constants," he said obscurely, and leaned over to kiss Apollo quite thoroughly. "Good night, 'Pol," he said softly. "See you in the morning."

"Night, Starbuck." And after the door hissed shut, Apollo closed his eyes and slept.

the end
Karen
http://users.erols.com/kmdavis/