Title: Ties Of Kinship

Author/pseudonym: Karen

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Paring: Starbuck/Omega; Starbuck/Apollo; Athena/Tigh

Rating: R

Status: New, complete

Archive: Yes, please archive this.

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

Series/Sequel: no

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

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

Summary: Starbuck's act of friendship, and Apollo's reaction, could tear the battlestar apart.

Warnings: None

I have known friendship pure and golden
but ties of kinship, I have not known them
I know no father, no mother, no sister, no brother:
I am an orphan...
"Orphan Girl", Gillian Welch

Starbuck leaned back in his chair, lit a fumarillo, surveyed the room from behind a smoke-covered smile, and tried to figure out exactly why he was in such a rotten mood. After a couple of centons, he decided it must be because the lovely and entirely unvirtuous Lyra had decided it was time to have a baby. And while he didn't have anything against babies in general, or Lyra's in particular—though he did rather think that having a baby right at this particular time was pretty selfish—what annoyed him was that Lyra had decided to buy into the growing fundamentalist movement in the Fleet. Instead of just having a baby, which she was certainly capable of, and then continuing with her job (Viper pilot, a fairly important job, after all), she'd picked herself out some engineering tech type who wanted her to stay home, and gotten sealed.

He stared at the glowing tip of the fumarillo. What was wrong with people, anyhow? Here we all are, stravaging across the stars... we ought to be trying to create a new future, not harking back to the same old past we were smothering in.

"Hey, Starbuck." Apollo slid in to the seat across from him. "No plans?"

"Nothing firmed up," he answered, pulling his legs under his chair, away from the casual contact. "Just mulling my options."

"You always have them, don't you?" Apollo grinned at him.

"Secret to my success," he nodded.

"Oh, now what is he doing in here?" Apollo's green eyes slid past him.

Starbuck turned to see who it was and watched the young pilot hesitate in the doorway before walking to the bar. "Who, Chairos?" Starbuck shrugged. "Having a drink."

"He hold up all right today?" It had been first action for several of the replacements.

"Ahhh, he did fine."

"What do you think of him?"

"He's a nice kid. A little solemn, a lot young, he'll probably be dead in a sectare."

"Starbuck," Apollo rebuked him.

"Okay, maybe not. He might get lucky. He might get lucky tonight, as far as that goes," Starbuck grinned. "C'mon, 'Pol, he's cruising. Look at him. Like a puppy... I'd pick him up myself if we weren't in the same squadron."

"What?" Apollo stared at him.

Oops. That had slipped out without thought. On the other hand, it was getting that time again: time to give Captain Apollo a good hard shove, get him back out to arm's length where he kept refusing to stay. "Hey, don't worry. Like I said, if."

Apollo was staring at him.

"Besides," Starbuck added, "he is way too young. Plus he worships me already." It was a delicate balancing act, push him to arm's length, grab his shirt to keep him from getting too far away...

Apollo grinned at that. "You never let up, do you?"

"I can't help it if I'm irresistable to man, woman, child, and beast," Starbuck said complacently. "Besides," he added, just to keep Apollo a little off balance, "guys who hit on me are usually a lot more refreshingly honest about wanting short-term fun."

"It's been a long day, Starbuck. I'm not up to figuring that one out."

Starbuck shrugged. "Just what it sounded like. Women may say that's what they want, but it turns out they're just trying to set you up half the time." Now what was that? he thought, spotting a flare of something in Apollo's green eyes. Never mind, tonight we don't try to make Apollo feel good. Tonight we remind him who exactly we are.

"Like Athena?" Apollo asked curiously. He'd never stopped trying to find out exactly why she'd suddenly stopped pursuing Starbuck and settled for having him every now and then.

Starbuck drew on his fumarillo. "Complicated woman, your sister. Ask her yourself." Apollo probably wouldn't, and if he did, and she told him, that was their business. He wasn't going to tell him that all it had taken was reminding her that he was an Orphan, with a capital O, a ward of the state with unknown bloodlines, an unidentified mother and an unknown father, not even a surety of which tribe he belonged to... not the person Sire Adama wanted fathering his grandkids even if Commander Adama appreciated his skills and just plain Adama was fond of him. Not in seven hells did those words pass his lips to Adama's son.

"Yeah, when I'm tired of living I'll start prying into 'Theni's private life," Apollo was saying. "Was that it with Cassie? Fear of commitment? I thought you were actually in love for once."

Cassie... oh, Cassie. That still hurt, though dully now. She said 'forever' but, like everyone, what she meant was 'till something better comes along'. And something better—Cain—had; something better always did. He was by all the lords of Kobol so damned tired of 'forever'... And he wasn't going to answer Apollo, so he needed something else to say. "You really ought to know better by now," he settled on. Then he spotted someone he hadn't expected to see here, and smiled.

"Hello, there, Starbuck. They said you were in here. I owe you a night on the Star. And I'm flush tonight... you game?" Omega, dark and spectacularly out of place in the pilots' part of the Officers' Club, flashed the sudden smile that transformed his face.

Starbuck could feel Apollo's surprise. He probably couldn't picture the flag lieutenant and Starbuck at the same gathering. Not many people could... except on the Rising Star, where they had acquired a certain reputation in the, well, less reputable parts of the pleasure ship. Omega was definitely a dark horse. "Sure. What are you thinking about?"

"The Lapis Lounge," the bridge officer said, with emphasizing hand gestures. "Dancing clowns. With ambrosa. And flambé."

"Flambé what?" he asked, ignoring the way Apollo had stiffened at the name of the club. "No, don't tell me."

"I won't. I wouldn't anyway. This you simply have to see to believe."

"You are a lunatic," Starbuck pronounced. Then he carefully stubbed out his fumarillo, pinching off the end to save it for later, and said, "I like lunatics. They're my kind of people. I'm in."

He stood up, grinning. Omega glanced at Apollo, but before he could extend the automatic invitation, Starbuck said, "Ah, I don't think the good captain is quite up for this kind of night. Are you, 'Pol?"

"Probably not," Apollo said acerbically.

"See you later, then."

The two headed down the corridor away from the O Club. "I'm guessing we change out of uniform for this evening?" Starbuck said. "I'll meet you at your quarters, Megs."

"Okay." Omega's bachelor office suite was further from the O Club than the single pilots' barracks.

Starbuck dressed with care but speed. He'd heard of the Lapis Lounge, but never quite worked up the guts to go there. It was the sort of place sane men went to in pairs, if they went at all. It was under constant threat of being closed down, and half the time it was Off Limits to Warriors as it was. He trusted Omega to know it was, temporarily, back on the approved list. He snickered as he headed down the hall. The not-disapproved list, anyway.

He rang at the door. He didn't get an answer, so he keyed in the pass-code. Omega hadn't changed it, and the door slid open. Oh, my. Oh, my oh my. Starbuck resigned himself to still never having been to the Lapis Lounge.

Omega was standing in the middle of the small front room of his quarters, dressed to go out in a very nice charcoal and icy blue outfit that would have had people killing to get to him. Them. Starbuck's own outfit was ivory and gold... Night and Day, they got called over on the Star. But at the moment Omega was just standing, his jacket in his hand and a lost expression on his face.

Frack. What just slipped up and hit you over the head, Megs? Starbuck took a quick look around the room; his gaze settled on the wall chrono, displaying the time and Caprican Standard Date the Galactica still ran on. It was right in Omega's line of sight. Frack. Starbuck moved between him and the chrono. Omega blinked, realizing for the first time that he was even in the room.

"This is one of Those Days, isn't it?" Starbuck pronounced the capitals. Lord, it's not often I rejoice in having no family, but, Megs, you can make me every time...

Omega stood there for a long moment more; Starbuck was just preparing to goad him a little when he spoke. "My youngest... his birthday. He would have been five."

Starbuck regarded him compassionately. Then he took the jacket away from the dark man and tossed it at the nearest chair. "We're not going to the Rising Star tonight, then," he said. Because you are no longer in a party mood. You are about one dancing clown away from suicide.

Omega looked at him, a fragment of concern showing on his face. "You want to go, Bucko," he said.

"You know me." He took off his own jacket and tossed it after the flag lieutenant's. "All days are alike to me, and they're all just lead-ins to the nights, which means I can go to the Rising Star any time and it'll be just like this time. But you don't want to go. You don't need to go. In fact, Megs, you need not to go." And you know I'm right. And you know I won't leave you with this. And I won't.

"You go—"

"No chance, Megs. Now," Starbuck took his arm and sat him down. "So what do you want to do?" He wouldn't want a woman. He never did when his family was the Black Daggit on his back. When he did, there was no one Starbuck would rather go hunting with; his dark elegance complemented Starbuck's blond beauty to perfection and guaranteed success. But Omega didn't need a woman tonight. "Do you want to drink yourself into a coma, talk about it and drink yourself into a stupor, or have me fuck you into tomorrow?"

Omega looked at him sideways. "I couldn't talk about... him, I couldn't bear it. And drinking doesn't help anymore."

Starbuck felt relief at that. If Omega had finally figured out that drinking was supposed to be recreational instead of therapeutic, his life would be a lot longer. Or a helluva lot shorter. He pulled himself up; he wasn't going there tonight. "Okay, then," he said.

He rose to his feet and took Omega's hand, pulling him upright. He held the hand between them and unbuttoned the cuff of the icy blue shirt, kissing the palm and nibbling on one finger when he was done. Keeping that finger in his mouth, and his eyes on Omega's dark sorrowful ones, he reached for the other hand and unbuttoned that cuff. He could feel Omega's thumb caressing the line of his jaw; he smiled and began unbuttoning the shirt's collar and front.

"Starbuck..."

He pulled away enough to say, "Shhh." He put his hand on Omega's mouth, felt the other man's teeth close gently on his fingers. "No talking. And no thinking."

"I can't help it."

"No talking," he repeated. "And trust me. I'll stop you thinking." He slipped the shirt off Omega's shoulders, let it drop, and ran his damp fingers down the throat to a nipple. Omega drew in a sharp breath and let it out with a heartbreaking sound of need. Starbreak caught his hands and led him to the bed, pushing his shoulders gently to seat him on it, and dropped to his knees to get at his shoes. As soon as they were off he climbed onto the bed, grabbing the blankets and yanking them out of the way for later, and finished stripping Omega, moving quickly but carefully.

Omega's body was perfect. The first time Starbuck had seen it, he'd thought so, and closer acquaintance had only intensified that impression. It was athletic, and responsive, and when it was his turn it could send him screaming into oblivion. But that was then, or later. Now he had to take care of Omega. Not that it wasn't going to be a pleasure. He leaned over and tongued the nipple he'd dampened earlier.

He knew every spot to hit, and he hit every one of them at least twice before he finally slid a hand onto the straining cock. By then, the dark-haired man was well past thinking, writhing under Starbuck's hands and tongue. Gauging his moment, Starbuck took Omega in his mouth, planting one hand firmly on his hip to hold him down. When he came, Starbuck could get whiplash if he wasn't ready.

As the other man subsided, trembling and moaning, Starbuck moved into phase two, licking a trail upward to a nipple. He curled up next to Omega, suckling gently, while his right hand began caresses designed to bring him to arousal again instead of gentling him into sleep. His own body's demands were getting insistent, but he'd had years of learning how to control himself when need be. He moved to devour Omega's mouth, tongue delving deep, and this time it was slow and passionate.

Afterwards, his mouth drifted, depositing small, tickling kisses as he pulled off his own clothes. By the time he reached for the lube Omega kept in the drawer for bad nights, the man was a nearly boneless pile of contentment who needed almost no prepping—just as well, for Starbuck's own body was screaming its need. He satisfied himself quickly, taking the edge off for later, and collapsed on top of Omega for a catnap, cuddling even as he drowsed. It was the next time, just before midnight, when he took all the time he could, prolonging it until Omega was literally whimpering with need beneath him. No way in eight hells was he thinking about a dead child. No way he was thinking at all.

Starbuck fell asleep on Omega's chest; Omega's slumber was so profound Starbuck wanted to hear his heartbeat to be reassured he was still alive.

Omega was on early shift, apparently. When he got up he tried not to wake Starbuck, but Starbuck always woke when someone left him. He didn't show that he was awake, he knew Omega would regret disturbing him, he just lay there with his eyes barely open and watched the other man pad around the sleeping room, head for the turbowash, get dressed. It was enjoyable.

And then the outer door hissed open.

"Omega?" The voice from the front room was Tigh's.

And the sleeping room door is wide open.

And, "Is Starbuck—" Oh, frack. Was that Apollo?

"Colonel? Why are you here?"

"I think you owe me an explanation, lieutenant." Tigh sounded pissed. Starbuck instantly decided to pretend to still be asleep. Until someone yanked him out of bed, anyway.

"With all due respect, sir," oh, nice. That was Megs's bridge voice, the we-have-only-ten-centons-till-we-all-die-fiery-deaths-sir-shall-I-order-tea voice. The there-is-nothing-that-disturbs-me voice... "I can't imagine what gives you that idea."

There was dead silence for a centon. And then—yes, that had been Apollo's voice earlier. Oh, frack, thought Starbuck again.

"I want to talk to Lt. Starbuck."

"Captain, stop." Omega was still calm. "These are my private quarters. You have no right to be here uninvited."

"Starbuck—" That was half a call and half the beginning of a sentence.

And entirely stomped on. "He, I assure you, was invited. Now, I am not yet on duty, and neither is Lt. Starbuck, and you have no right to be here. Unless you have a writ from the Council, I'm asking you to leave."

"I want—"

"I don't care what you want. These are my quarters, not the barracks. If you take one more step, let alone go into my sleeping room, I will have you arrested."

How did Megs get a sentence like that out without losing his calm? If the man understood probability better, he'd kill at pyramid.

"Lieutenant, I'm sorry," Tigh apologized. "You're correct. But I'm sure you can understand that the captain was concerned for one of his pilots."

"With all due respect, sir, the captain can see that his pilot is safe. And with all due respect to you, captain—no. There's actually no way to finish that sentence. Leave."

"I am going to talk to Starbuck."

Frack. He was truly pissed. Thank Sagan that Megs doesn't work for him. Or even with him.

"Starbuck is asleep," Omega said. "You can wait for him in the hall." The faint stress on 'you' made that so insulting Starbuck almost got angry.

"Apollo." Tigh was using his 'I-am-not-kidding' tone. "I'll see you on the bridge, Omega."

"Yes, sir. For my shift. Sir."

The door hissed shut. They'd actually left. Point, game, and set to Omega.

The flag lieutenant spoke, and his voice was alive again, warm with just a trace of amusement—another tribute to his self-control; in his place, Starbuck had to admit, he'd have been laughing his ass off. "I have to go. You stay as long as you want to, Bucko."

"Is that offer good for the rest of my life?"

Omega laughed, and Starbuck relished the sound of it. He'd accomplished his mission. "If you want... I'll think you'll go crazy, but I'm not sure I'd notice. See you later."

The door hissed again. Starbuck rolled over in the bed and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing Tigh could do to him—well, actually, there wasn't anything anybody could really do to either of them, they were so completely not in the same chain of command even if that concept hadn't been shot down when Adama let Apollo's fiancée be in his squadron—but he did not want to face Apollo. On the other hand, he's definitely pushed. And that's what you wanted.

He rolled over and reached for the other pillow. Deal with it later, Bucko. He crumpled the other pillow up and, his nostrils filled with the scent of male sex, he reacted to years of experience in knowing that you never know when you're going to get another chance and slid back into sleep.

* * * * *

Apollo actually waited in the hallway outside Omega's quarters for half a centare before realizing that Starbuck wasn't coming out to talk to him. He waited a half a centare more before realizing Starbuck wasn't going to come out at all. Then he stomped off to his office, where he intended to redo the duty schedules to make sure Starbuck and Omega weren't off at the same time ever again in their natural lives.

Except that would give the superior bridge officer something on him. And anyway, it wasn't like he gave a damn who Starbuck slept with.

Was it?

Of course not.

And a good thing, too, since Starbuck had slept with... half? two-thirds?.. of the women on the Galactica, maybe the in the whole damned fleet. This was completely not about who Starbuck chose to...

Although that supercilious damned bridge officer, that chair pilot ... standing there cool as could be in that no-guts blue uniform while Starbuck lay naked in his bed. Apollo knew full well that nothing, nothing, said 'possession' like being dressed while the other was naked. The only times he'd made it with Serina—because she died. That was that was about. They'd only been married a day and she died.

And. That. Was. Not. The. Point.

(so what was?)

The point was... the fracking point was that Starbuck said he was going to the Rising Star, to that bar, that Lapis Lounge. Which was about to be closed down, again. And then when he, Apollo, acting like a good commanding officer, tried to check that he was all right, then he wasn't there. And when Apollo, acting like any commanding officer would act if any of his men was unaccounted for after announcing plans that an idiot would have known better than to think of, had searched the Rising Star, unobtrusively, then Starbuck wasn't anywhere. On the whole damned ship. Though plenty of people knew who he was talking about... "those two, oh they've been here. Not tonight, though, captain." And when Apollo, still acting just like any commanding officer with a missing man, had checked the barracks, Starbuck wasn't there. In fact, checking the shuttles—like anybody—Starbuck had never come back to the Galactica. And when Apollo had gotten that flag-lieutenant's commander involved, and they'd overridden security to get into his quarters—not patrol, just two concerned officers—what had they found?

What had they found?

Apollo growled at the duty rosters in front of him. He wasn't even going to think about what they had found, or that damned lieutenant—flag-lieutenant, jumped-up son of a daggit—and the way he'd spoken, to a full colonel no less, or the tangle of Starbuck's tawny hair against the black sheets (pale skin on black sheets) and the gold and ivory clothes piled on the floor by that bed or the icy blue shirt in the front room...

He. Did. Not. Care.

He only cared that Starbuck had lied to him. Gone missing. Wouldn't have been found if they'd had to scramble. It was that simple.

And it was at that moment that Boomer put his head into the office and said, "I saw Ruby in the mess. He said you were here, so I'm assuming you found our missing boy?"

Later, much later—too late, in fact—Apollo recognized this as the crucial moment. If he'd had more time to cool off, or if he hadn't been so angry to start with, or if he'd just thought for a centon before he answered, the whole thing would have blown over in half a day. Less. If only he'd said, 'Sure. You know Starbuck, when did he ever do what he said he was going to do?', Boomer would have laughed, they'd have spent a couple of centons good-naturedly abusing the absent Starbuck, and that would have been that. Oh, maybe he and Omega would have had problems, but given how infrequently their paths crossed, who would have noticed? Tigh and his flag-lieutenant would have worked out their own issues on their own time, nobody else would have gotten involved, and he and Starbuck would have... whatever they would have done, they would have had time and privacy to do it in.

Of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are: it might have been...

Unfortunately, he was too angry, it was too soon, and he wasn't thinking at all. So what he said was, "Oh, I found him all right. Apparently he and Omega didn't actually need to go to the Rising Star and get drunk before they climbed into bed after all." Boomer's face took on that blank look that meant he'd been blindsided. And Apollo almost instantly wished he hadn't said anything at all.

Especially when he realized that his voice had been carrying, and that Boomer was standing in an open door, and that the outer room was filled with pilots from Green and Gold Squadrons...

When he walked into the ready room five minutes before the mission brief, he found out just how bad it had already gotten.

Sheba's particularly penetrating voice reached him first. "Who would have thought it? I knew Starbuck was a slut, but I didn't realize he'd lie down for anybody. Of course, you do have to wonder—"

Boomer, with the attitude of a man who's only half certain he ought to be speaking, interrupted her. "A word to the wise, Sheba. You haven't been on the Galactica long enough to know everybody yet. That 'flit flag-lieutenant' will eat you for breakfast if you cross him."

Sheba snorted and sneered at the same time, an unattractive combination she had apparently mastered in childhood. "Starbuck's boy?"

"Make up your mind," Greenbean seemed pleased to get on somebody else's case for a change. Plus, he had never liked her much. "If he's Starbuck's boy, then Starbuck's not the—"

"That's enough." Apollo put an end to it. "A little decorum if you don't mind." It had been all he could do not to slap Sheba across the room for that 'slut' comment, despite what he'd said himself earlier. And wouldn't that have encouraged morale and such... He hadn't missed that half the squadron had agreed with her about at least part of what she was saying.

The squadron quieted and looked at him, but they weren't chastised. He looked at his wrist-chrono; Don't be late on top of everything else, he thought, and wasn't sure if that was a plea, an exasperated command, or a prayer. Then the door opened and Starbuck slid in to stand in the back with twenty microns to spare.

The mission was rough. Not operationally; thank the Lords of Kobol, they encountered nothing on their way to fuel the tankers, or on the flight back. Apollo had half-way hoped for a little bit of action—he'd have liked to shoot at something, watch something explode—but he had to admit that tensions were high. The wrong thing could have been blown up if lasers had been deployed.

But he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't heard Starbuck's voice on the air during a mission. And he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't wanted to. And he had never had to tell as many other people to shut up as he did today. So when they got back, he went and hid in his office, door closed.

That evening, something did explode. Apollo had been aware that there were a lot of tensions. What he somehow hadn't expected was for an actual fight to break out in the barracks. Fists. Feet. Blood. Starbuck and three other pilots. What dismayed him was that nobody got involved in it—nobody else jumped Starbuck, but nobody, not even Boomer, wanted to help him out, either.

Colonel Tigh—the man was psychic, everybody knew that, he was always where you didn't want him to be—beat Apollo to the scene by centons. By the time Apollo got there, Tigh was handing out on-the-spot disciplinary actions, which was a slap in his face. He accepted it; he should have seen it coming. He was going to have to fix it.

If only he knew how without transferring half of his squadron. Or half of himself. Oh, frack, Starbuck, he thought with sudden resignation. Why couldn't you just be... normal?

He stared at the paperwork on his desk without seeing it.

Or why couldn't I? But what he wished he wasn't, he still wasn't ready to admit. So he grabbed his uniform jacket and went home, looking for Boxey, and family, and noise.

* * * * *

Starbuck stood in the hallway. He didn't feel up to keying himself in, because he felt less like finding out the combination had been changed. Several officers had gone past; none had spoken. This is shaping up to be the worst secton of my life, he thought wearily. Sagan help me if it keeps up like this.

Omega turned the corner. "Hello," he said, then broke off and took Starbuck's chin in his hand. "Why didn't you go to the life center with this?"

"It's not that bad," Starbuck shrugged. Omega's fingers tightened on his jaw and didn't release him. Starbuck sighed. "Besides, the other guy was in there."

"I'm sure. All right, come in here and let me take care of that. Unless," he paused and let go in a hurry, "you came here to say 'it's been fun, but.'"

"Not exactly," Starbuck said.

Omega keyed in the door and went in, waiting for him. "I'm changing that today, by the way," the dark-haired man said. "I was thinking of 3723."

Starbuck took a centon to process that—the fact that Omega had pronounced it three-seven-twenty-three helped—and laughed. "Sagan," he said, "is nothing sacred to you?"

Omega shrugged. "Not anymore. Sit down here."

Starbuck complied. At his most irreverent he wouldn't have chosen the 3rd Book, 7th Chapter, Twenty-third Verse—all life is sacred, all love is joy; only hatred is abhorrent in Their sight—for a keypad mnemonic. It made him laugh, which hurt.

Omega came out of the bathroom with an herbal salve, which he applied with a delicate touch. "What happened?" he asked neutrally.

Starbuck shrugged. "Let's just say I'm no longer the most popular guy in the barracks. Which is why I came by..."

"Yes?" Omega sat down next to him.

"I'm broke. Got to get into a game before I can afford a room somewhere, and I'm confined to the Galactica. For fighting." He gestured at his face.

Omega looked at him. Starbuck wasn't entirely sure what his eyes were saying; he was trying for casual hit-up-a-friend-for-a-loan, but it had been a long day and he didn't know if he was succeeding. "I'm not that flush myself," Omega said, adding, before Starbuck had time to do more than begin to react, "but you're welcome to stay here. I told you so the other day."

"I thought you were joking." Not since he'd graduated the academy had anybody invited him to their home, and never, never open-ended...

"In context, I suppose I was," Omega acknowledged. "But think back on everything I've ever said to you: how much of it haven't I meant?"

He stood up and went to put the salve away. Starbuck did just that and realized it was true. It wasn't the sort of epiphany that made you turn handsprings down the hall, because Omega hadn't said all that much, really, no great declarations—no little ones for that matter—but it was true that what he'd said had always been so. But if handsprings were out, relief wasn't. He'd been unhappy at the thought of needing to find a game to pay back a stake—Sagan knew his luck was out (though maybe turning)—and way more than unhappy at that of spending another night in the barracks. He'd contemplated sleeping in a chair on the Observation Deck. Tigh or no Tigh. He sagged back into the cushions and closed his eyes.

"Staying then?" Starbuck looked up to see Omega leaning against the door jamb, smiling.

Suddenly Starbuck knew this was a bad idea. "Look, Megs, you don't want to get stuck with me—"

Omega snorted. "Bucko, if you think you're sparing me the gossip, everybody on this ship has got our names coupled. Granted, the people I work with haven't punched me out, but two of them did tell me I was a lucky daggit, one hoped I wasn't serious, and one reminded me of the scriptures against perversion. If you don't stay, people will only think we broke up. Probably that one or the other of us is scared of public opinion."

Starbuck contemplated that for a while. "I guess so. You don't mind?"

"I don't give a damn, Bucko, you know that. You're the one whose reputation will be shot."

"I have no reputation," Starbuck said bitterly. "At least not one that can be ruined."

Omega flashed that incandescent smile. "So, surprise them all. Stay put." He straightened and added, "Besides, having you around is not the worst thing I can think of. You're decorative. You're amusing. You're the kindest person I've ever known."

"You have had bad luck in friends."

Omega grinned, then sobered. "And it's my fault you're out of a place to sleep."

"Felgarcarb," said Starbuck. "Apollo wasn't looking for you. And if you mean what I think you do, don't even start." But that in fact made him feel better. If Omega had decided to quit drinking to kill his pain, he'd need someone around to watch him for a while.

The darker man shrugged. "We both know what happened. But regardless, you should stay."

"I will. Thanks, Megs."

"Don't mention it. You can have the couch if you want, though even for you I think it's short. Or you can have your half of the bed. No strings."

"I don't want to cramp your style," Starback said. Of course, a room-mate sprawled out in the front room wouldn't add much to the ambience. Never had for him, at any rate.

Omega's smile was bittersweet. "I don't bring them here, Bucko. Only friends get through that door. Well," his tone turned ruefully amused, "as a general rule. Don't let me forget to change that code before we turn in. Do you need to go get anything?"

"I rented a locker," Starbuck said. "I'm giving them time to cool down."

So they went to the rental center and collected Starbuck's meager possessions—at least Omega actually had less, since he'd been only temporarily assigned to the Galactica when the Cylons had changed the universe. Then they went to the O Club for dinner, sitting on the blue side for a change, where everyone was cool and civilized and the wine was golden and the music soft, and went back to Omega's quarters where it was Starbuck's turn, and Omega, whisperingly gentle on the bruises, stopped him from thinking about anything whatsoever.

And Starbuck went to sleep wrapped in Omega's arms, and he didn't dream at all.

* * * * *

In one of the smaller conference rooms near the bridge, Athena swallowed nervously and looked over the assembled bridge officers. All of First Watch had shown up, and they were sitting, neatly ranked by position and duty, only a few talking quietly among themselves. She couldn't remember seeing them like this before. Ever. She wasn't sure this was really her place, but as Adama's daughter she carried more weight in this sort of moral grey area than perhaps she should have. In any case, somebody needed to say something, and say it soon, before the tensions infesting the Viper pilots got into the operations staff as well. Colonel Tigh had set a good tone the day before, behaving as if nothing whatsoever had occurred—he and Omega both had carried themselves so normally that no one on First Watch had known anything had happened until they went off duty. And heard the rumors running the Galactica's corridors like rodents.

Apollo had brought Boxey over for a while the night before, and she and he had spent one of the most unpleasant evenings she could remember. Boxey had been upset and whiny, and while you could excuse that in a child of seven, in his father it had been a lot less tolerable. Frankly, she was sick of his attitudes, and the way he tried to force the people he loved to behave the way he thought they should; he was getting more like their father every day. And the thought of him as head of her family made her think about grabbing the nearest single man she could find and getting sealed. And when Cassie had called, looking to see if she'd heard anything about Starbuck, and Athena had forced her brother to tell her about the barracks fight... well. Viper pilots were creatures of violence and adrenaline and reactions. But the Lords of Kobol wouldn't be able to save this fleet if the Galactica's operations staff fell apart like that.

Besides, on the topic of her father, those same Lords of Kobol knew Commander Adama could be a stiff-necked man. Like his son, unwilling to back away from a publicly taken position. It wouldn't hurt to preempt him, or at least show him what First Watch thought. Always assuming she was right. Or could make herself right. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing, even if he had always preferred the boys.

"Okay," said Athena. "Good of everyone to show up early. No need to be coy about this: we all know what's up. I think we need to be together on this."

"On what?" Altair, one of the long-range comms techs, asked.

"On where we stand," she said.

"And where is that?"

"With Omega," put in Rigel. "Isn't it?"

"That's what I say," nodded Athena. "The man's been through six kinds of hell since he hit this ship and never once has he let it bleed through into his job. He deserves to know we appreciate that."

"Him." The voice was unexpected.

"What?" Rigel turned.

Dathan blushed to the roots of his red hair. He was a devout Kobolian, and shy as well; this topic had to disturb him, and the number of times he'd volunteered anything besides what his scanner's job required in the past two yahrens could have been counted on one hand with fingers left over. But he repeated, firmly, "Him. Appreciate him. He's a good officer."

"Yes," Athena smiled at him. "He is. Are we agreed?"

Everybody nodded. Altair said, "Sagan knows putting on brown lowers your IQ by forty points. Let's prove the midnight blue adds points on."

There was a general murmur of agreement. And even Athena, whose brother was the leader of those who "put on brown", couldn't argue the point. Didn't even want to.

"Sagan," said Falco, a software support tech who'd had his share and half of several other people's dressing downs from the flag lieutenant. "We aren't living in a theocracy, after all. People's private lives ought to be just that."

Athena liked the phrase. She looked around the room and saw no disagreement. "Okay," she said. "Rigel, you distract Omega when he comes in—"

"I can screw up your board from my position," Falco volunteered.

"Good. And I, and Altair and Dathan?" she checked; he nodded; she continued, "will corner the colonel." She double checked that First Watch—the cream of the Galactica's ops crews—were in agreement and found not a single averted gaze. "Okay, then. Let's go to work, people." She watched them file onto the bridge, taking over from third watch, getting quiet updates, staying calm. She felt so proud, she could hardly stand it.

"Do you mind?"

Athena jumped, then turned with a rueful smile to Rigel. "Sorry. I was a million light years away... But mind? Why should I mind?" She shrugged. "Starbuck and I haven't dated in a yahren. Maybe longer."

"I actually meant Captain Apollo."

"Oh." Athena shrugged again. "My brother's acting like a bigoted idiot. You'd think he was a as devout as Dathan—except Dathan doesn't care."

"Dathan isn't best friends with the flag lieutenant, like your brother is—was?—with Lieutenant Starbuck."

"It's Apollo's problem," Athena said. "He's not going to make it mine." And she meant that as surely as she'd meant anything in her life. "What about you? You knew Omega's wife."

"Clementia would have wanted him to have what he wanted," Rigel said. "She always did. I think it's odd he wants Starbuck, but then again, it's not my business. I just hope Starbuck isn't going to hurt him. He can't take much more hurt."

Athena was in such complete agreement with that it startled her, but what she said was, "Anybody who takes up with Starbuck expecting forever hasn't been paying attention. Omega always pays attention. We'd better go; the colonel will be here soon."

* * * * *

When Tigh came on duty that morning, on the stroke of the centon, he was greeted by just exactly what he needed to ease the tensions from the mess the night before: a brisk "Colonel's on the bridge!" and the welcome sight of every single one of his bridge crew at their positions, those who could springing to attention and those who couldn't still managing by their body language to say they were waiting on him even though their duties weren't on pause.

He smiled as he surveyed the bridge. "As you were," he said, and watched as they resumed their jobs. He hadn't expected many of them not to show up today, but after the way the Viper pilots were reacting... at least one of First Watch was a devout fundamentalist, and others belonged to tribes who were even more disapproving of same sex relationships than Capricans. But not a one was missing. He was proud of them. Duty before emotions: that had always been his credo. Maybe that was why he'd never sealed, but it was also why the Galactica had held together the way she had in the face of everything that had been thrown at her. Duty first...

He was aware of Omega's tall figure bent over one of the comms...no, Viper control positions, the tech—Rigel—gesturing at the readouts. No tension in either of them, just annoyance: another bad board. He turned to look at the night shift's reports, giving one last once-over to the bridge, and realized that Athena, Altair, and—speak of a nightflyer—the fundamentalist, Dathan, were standing in front of him. Frack, he thought, taking in their body language. I can't have been this wrong.

"Sir?

"Yes, lieutenant?"

Athena took a deep breath. Before she spoke, Tigh realized that every person on the bridge—except Omega and Rigel, the former just becoming aware that something was happening—had risen to their feet and were watching. This was a united front.

"Sir, First Watch felt it was if not necessary at least prudent to let you know that we feel we do not live in a theocracy." She paused.

Tigh raised an eyebrow. That was an interesting way to put it. However, it seems I wasn't wrong, and that's good. All the ways there are. "I'm aware of that, Lieutenant. Nonetheless, I appreciate your bringing it to my attention."

"I hope so, sir," she said. "I hope you understand us."

"I do, Lieutenant." He looked over her shoulder at his flag-lieutenant, standing like an elegant piece of sculpture but alive and taking the measure of the room. Tigh appreciated loyalty more than any other virtue, and he always had. Looking around the bridge, he made a decision. He'd been thinking about it all night without reaching any firm conclusions, ever since he'd had to break up that fight in Blue Squadron—the premier squadron in the fleet, the Strike Captain's Own. The original decision had been made nearly two sectares ago, scheduled for next secton. But now he felt it couldn't wait. It wouldn't be long before he, or Adama, or both of them were called in by the Council. A day, maybe two... This wasn't a theocracy. No more was it a democracy, or a republic. It was a military. He wanted to head this thing off before it even started. He reached into his pocket and then raised his voice just the slight bit necessary to carry the bridge and get everyone's attention. Adama might be annoyed at his precipitateness—frack, Adama might be pissed off—but this was his bridge, and he was going to do it anyway. "Lieutenant Omega. Front and center."

If the bridge had been still before, now it was silence incarnate. When the man was before him, he began, as he had countless times before, "Attention to orders." Incredibly, the silence grew deeper. He paused, then looked out over the crew. "Rest," he said. "Ladies and gentlemen. As you are aware, the bridge of a battle star is the care, normally, of a flag lieutenant. But a battlestar's group is, as a general rule, no more than six or seven ships, combatants all, with trained crews of their own. The Galactica is the caretaker of a civilian fleet, and that fleet holds our entire race. It has long been realized that the bridge and operations personnel of this battlestar have duties above and beyond the normal call. And it is also known that you have met them, with courage, with skill, with dedication, and with grace under appalling pressure. You have saved our people time and over. I wish I could promote you all, but—" he let himself smile for just a moment "—you know how that goes. Still, it's fair to say that the actions of the group are both reflected in and reflections of the leader. This watch, this operations staff, is far and away the best I have served with. Ever. In no small part, that is due to your flag lieutenant. Attention to orders!" he snapped again. "Lieutenant Omega, you are hereby promoted to the duties and privileges of the rank of captain, with all the attendant duties and responsibilities of the position of flag-adjutant to the commander of the Battlestar Galactica, effective immediately." He held out the rank insignia to Omega's subordinates, the ones who'd just put themselves on the line for him. Athena snapped up the left one, but Altair held back, allowing the youngster Dathan to pin on the right one. As soon as that was done, and they'd stepped back, Tigh saluted.

When Omega returned the salute, the bridge erupted in cheers. Adama looked out of his office, but he didn't join them. Tigh wasn't surprised, but he wasn't disappointed either. This was their moment, not the fleet's. He held out his hand and Omega took it. "Long overdue," he told the new captain.

"Thank you, sir."

"It was posted a sectare ago, for next secton, so you won't get paid for it till then."

"Isn't that always the way, sir?" Omega smiled slightly.

Tigh nodded and stepped back, allowing the others to offer their congratulations. He'd caught the glint in Athena's eye that meant she at least realized that Omega now functionally outranked Apollo: both captains, with the pilot's date of rank earlier, but flag-adjutants outranked all others of their grade. It added a new dimension to the mess, and Tigh wished he hadn't felt compelled to publicly award the promotion early, before the Council took a notion to step in and make an example of someone. He wished more strongly that he didn't think that was exactly what they were going to do. Well, he thought, watching his staff return to their places, the light murmur of conversation replacing the silence, I've protected my man. I hope someone is looking out for Starbuck. I don't know what I can do for him...

* * * * *

Apollo made an excuse to go to the bridge on his next shift. Athena spotted him and avoided him, which wasn't enormously surprising given their last conversation. What was surprising was that everyone else did their level best to do the same. The only two, in fact, who didn't were Omega, the last man on the Galactica Apollo actually wanted to talk to, and Tigh, who, mercifully, intercepted him before he had to. But he'd seen it with his own eyes: the man was wearing captain's insignia.

He must have documentary evidence on somebody, was Apollo's involuntary thought as he stalked back to his own office. Nice for some people.

Four more requests for transfer were on his desk. And he couldn't delude himself that the ones who hadn't asked were happy, they just thought being in Blue Squadron outweighed it. He didn't really know what to do. The situation was his fault, but that was beside the point. The situation existed, and had to be dealt with. He couldn't transfer three quarters of his pilots; for one thing, he didn't know if he could find replacements for them. He didn't know if he'd want pilots who wanted in, as far that went. But nobody was going to take Starbuck off his hands.

Frack. How did this get so out of hand?

"I think it's because you've been spending the last few days hiding in here," said Boomer.

Apollo stared, then realized he must have said that out loud. "Who asked you?"

"Sorry, I was under the impression you were," Boomer said. "Forget I said anything, if that's how you want to play this."

"Why are you here? Want a transfer, too?"

"No," said Boomer. "I don't. I worked too hard to get here. Just don't try to put me in the middle of this, because I won't go."

Apollo regarded him with mixed emotions, but gratitude won out. "Thanks, Boomer."

"For nothing." That didn't sound like formula. "Anyway, while you were out, Starbuck left a message."

"Left a message? Where the frack is he?"

"Where he's supposed to be," Boomer said neutrally. "Viper bay. Scheduled inventory."

"Oh. Oh, right. So, what's the message?"

"New contact number. I logged it." He waited, but when Apollo didn't say anything, he shrugged and left the office.

Apollo found half a dozen things to do before he checked the number. As he'd suspected, it was Omega's.

That was hardly a surprise, except that Starbuck would move in with anyone, but for some reason, it infuriated Apollo. I have to do something about this, he thought. I have to stop him.

He caught himself in mid-thought. Stop him? Stop him from what? He wasn't sure. Frack that. Of course he was sure. Stop him from destroying the squadron, what else. Not that he was sure what to do with him; he hadn't committed any actual breach of discipline, if you didn't count the fight in the barracks, which Tigh had already settled. And which wasn't that serious anyway...

He had to find someplace to put him. Frack. He'd worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, he'd see if his father had any suggestions.

When he got home, he changed quickly and went to collect Boxey from his after-school care. "Hi, Dad!" Boxey called, running out and then stopping. "Where's Starbuck?"

"He's not here. I told you he wouldn't be here. We're going to your grandfather's for dinner tonight."

Boxey brightened right up. He loved Adama, and Adama doted on him. He darted down the corridors and Apollo followed more slowly, thanking the Lords of Kobol that Serina and her first husband had produced a child as... he broke stride for a centon. What was he thinking? As well-bred and acceptable, was what he was thinking. As perfect a grandson.

"Come on, Dad!"

Apollo looked down the hallway and smiled. So, where was the crime in that? Sure, Boxey had been Serina's first attraction for him. And of course he thanked the Lords of Kobol that Boxey was a suitable grandson for his father, because otherwise... he shook his head sharply. Otherwise he'd have had to fight his father about marrying Serina, and he hadn't had to, and that was a good thing. And that was all that was.

Boxey rang at the door. It was opened by Athena, dressed for going out. "Hi, Aunt 'Theni! Is Grandfather home yet?"

"Not yet," she smiled, ruffling his hair. "I'm waiting for him, too... come on in. 'Pol."

"'Thena," he kissed her cheek and followed his son in.

Boxey pulled his game set out of the cabinet Adama kept it in and began setting up. "Aunt 'Theni," he said, "are you eating dinner with us? 'Cause you're dressed up better than Dad is."

"No, Boxey, I'm going to a party. I'll let you and your Dad give Father the message for me."

He cocked his head at her. "Aunt 'Theni, are you mad at Starbuck, too?"

Apollo didn't look at her.

"Mad at Starbuck?" she said. "No, honey, I'm not mad at Starbuck. Why?"

"Dad is. A lot of people are. Why? Did he do something bad?"

Athena sat down on the table and looked at the boy. "No," she said deliberately. "He didn't. Some people don't like what he did, but it wasn't bad."

"What did he do?" Boxey asked.

"Nothing much. Do you remember Flag-Captain Omega, my friend that you met last sectare?"

Apollo glared at her over Boxey's head. She ignored him.

"I thought he was a lieutenant."

"He was, but he got a promotion."

"That's good," Boxey said. "What about him?"

"He and Starbuck are friends, too," Athena said. "And Starbuck got tired of living in the barracks, and Omega didn't want to live by himself anymore, so they're roommates now, and it's annoyed some people."

"Why?" Boxey persisted. "Is it because Captain Omega is a blue-suiter and Starbuck is a fighter pilot?" He blushed suddenly. "Not that there's anything wrong with—"

"Being a fighter pilot?" Athena laughed. "No, there isn't. And yes, it's something like that. It just annoyed a lot of people."

"Well, that's okay. Starbuck annoys a lot of people all the time, doesn't he?"

Athena looked at Apollo and then said, "Yes, he does. It'll blow over and then I'm sure you'll be able to see him again. 'Pol, tell Father I'll be out all night, at Lyra's, and I'll talk to him tomorrow. I can't keep Cassie waiting."

Apollo went to the door with her. "Athena, you shouldn't tell Boxey—"

She interrupted him. "Apollo, he's your son and you'll raise him as you see fit. No arguments from me. But do not look to me to explain your decisions to him. You do that on your own, too." She went through the door without a backwards glance.

Apollo followed her, letting it shut behind them. "Athena, I'd appreciate it if you didn't have... I mean, when Boxey is with you... I mean—"

She cut him off. "Apollo, my friends are my friends. I won't invite people you don't approve of to associate with your son, but I'm not going to tell him they aren't. I work with Omega. He comes to my place sometimes on business. If you want me to send Boxey into the sleeping room, you tell me what I tell him: your father hates the Flag-Captain? Your father doesn't want you associating with 'blue-suiters'? What?"

"Flag-Captain," Apollo dodged the question. "What's that, anyway?"

"That has nothing to do with this. How long have you been in the military, anyway? You can't even confirm a battlefield brevet in less than two sectons."

"She's right," Adama said. They both jumped; intent on their argument, neither of them had even noticed their father's approach. "That promotion was decided several sectares ago. It was not Tigh's impulsive decision. Only his timing was his own. Why are we standing in the hallway having this discussion?"

"Boxey's inside," Athena said. "I wanted to tell you that Cassie and I are staying at Lyra's tonight after the shower. If you should need me."

"Have a good time," he smiled at her and went inside.

"What do I tell him? Or do you need time to think about it?"

"Oh, don't tell him anything at all," he snapped at her and went inside himself.

* * * * *

Starbuck got home before Omega did the next evening. He caught himself thinking that and was brought up short. Was this home? He stood in the front room and looked around. Was this home? Was this what home felt like? He'd never been home before... only been where he was living. This didn't feel like the orphanage, like the academy, like the barracks... but was it home?

Or was it just something that would do till home came along? Assuming it ever does, of course. Which is asking a helluva lot of my life.

At the moment, he hoped it was home.

He sat on the couch, dropping his jacket to the floor, and laid his head on the back of it. He had never seen Apollo so angry in his life. No, not angry. This wasn't angry. When Apollo was angry he was lit up with it. Passion blazed from his green eyes, and put a glow on his skin, as if there was a fire inside him. Even if he was too angry to talk, he was ardent with it. This was not Apollo being angry. This was Apollo being something cold and distant.

This was Apollo calling him into his office and telling him he'd been 'detailed'—nice word—to be Commander Tigh's personal pilot for the next three sectares. Which basically means sitting around for days until something happens, and then transporting him to a barge and sitting around till he wants to come back. Adama's idea. Apollo loved it. No arguments.

On the bright side, he got to sit around in his own little office. Which meant he'd avoid the cheerful company of his fellow pilots. And he could certainly live with that. Word choice deliberate.

The door hissed open. He didn't move.

"So." Omega's voice said he'd heard. Well, of course he'd heard; he was flag-adjutant to Starbuck's new boss. "How'd it work out today?"

"Oh, just fine. I could pose for the ad campaign: Become a Colonial Warrior—it's not just a job, it's a five-yahren Adventure!"

Omega regarded him for a centon, then sat down next to him, bumping him over companionably. "You know," he remarked, "I'm no stranger to the deflected question."

Starbuck snorted. "You never deflected a question in your life. You just refuse to answer, get all flag-adjutant and raised-eyebrow... You've always been like that, haven't you? Born to be a flag officer. They can't teach that."

"Nicely done," Omega said. "And that's what I meant, actually... I've heard more young warriors try to put me off than you could imagine. Granted, you're the best, though this isn't really up to your standards, but you're not getting away with it, Bucko. What else is wrong?"

Starbuck looked sideways at him, the grave, classically handsome face, the patient dark eyes looking directly at him, the elegant hands at rest in his lap, the body language that said, I'm not going anywhere, talk to me, I want to hear you... He caved. He couldn't hold out against that. He reached for his jacket and pulled the leaflet out and handed it over.

Omega gave it a cursory glance, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash. "And that felgarcarb bothers you why, exactly?"

Starbuck shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like I haven't heard it before. It's just..." He paused. What was it, as Omega had said, exactly, that bothered him? It really wasn't the words, he had stopped listening to the words—damned to perdition or worthless orphan, whichever—yahrens ago even if the source could still rip out his heart sometimes. Maybe it was where he'd found it, tucked into his Viper. He gave Omega another sideways glance; how odd was it that of the two of them, it was Omega, the man whose picture was in the macropedia next to the entry for "aloof", who was the one whose superior officer went out on a limb for him, whose coworkers ranged themselves solidly behind him, and whose subordinates put themselves on the line for him... even if they were saying the same words to him in private... "Frack," he said tiredly, "I just don't know. What are we doing out here, anyway? Saving humanity? Not necessary. How many planets have we gone past that were lousy with humanity? Saving this particular little bunch of humans? I guess I'm just not sure any more that's worth dying for. Or even doing without the dying."

Omega was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed and, tucking his left knee under himself, reached out and pulled Starbuck into an embrace. Starbuck sighed as well, settling himself into the hold, Omega's legs alongside his and his back against the taller man's chest. He put his hands up and laid his own arms on top of the ones that cradled him. They weren't the right arms but they were the arms that were here, the arms that offered him what he needed, and he accepted it, them, taking a deep breath and relaxing. If he couldn't hold out against 'talk-to-me' eyes, 'let-me-hold-you' was irresistible. He'd yield to that with people who had only a temporary, if strong, interest in his body and who were more annoyed than not with the person inside it—or even that there was a person inside. When it came from someone who cared, regardless of how much or how little, it could kill him and he'd die happy.

Which, of course, made it so easy to get hurt, so easy to be left wounded and alone. Too easy...

He closed his eyes and rested, surrounded by warmth and affection, physical and emotional. Time got away from him; he didn't have any idea how long they'd been sitting there when Omega sighed and, resting his chin on Starbuck's hair, asked softly, "May I say something personal to you?"

It could have been funny, given the past secton or their history before that. It could have been, but it wasn't. Without opening his eyes Starbuck answered just as softly, "Yes."

"Have you considered that, maybe, he's jealous?"

"No."

"Perhaps you should."

"Megs, honestly... jealous?" He didn't think he could wrap his mind around that concept. He wasn't sure he wanted to try.

"His behaviour has been classic."

"Classically deranged, maybe."

"There's a very strong element of derangement in love, Starbuck," Omega said seriously. "Trust me on this, I know whereof I speak."

"Yeah? Well, he's never acted like this before, no matter how much I shoved my love life in his face."

"You were never with a man before. As far as he knows. Knew."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, as far as he knew, there was never a moment when he could have had you, and now he knows he could have. Allowing for the natural egotism of healthy love, that is. At the very least, now he knows he could have tried. Now he knows you were available."

Starbuck considered that. It was true, at least as far as it went. He'd occasionally, very occasionally, made a joke about it, but Apollo had never taken him seriously for more than a centon or two. His reaction to the jokes had kept Starbuck keeping them only jokes... He shook his head. "No. This isn't jealousy. This is him despising me."

"Despising somebody," Omega agreed. "But himself, I think. Again, something I know a little something about."

Starbuck caressed Omega's arms while he thought about it. "You mean," he said carefully, trying to treat it as a philosophical problem with no immediate application to his life, "if I had made a pass at him—"

"He would have killed you."

"All things considered, you're probably right."

"He's been far too well brought up... but now, I think, he's having emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. So he's dealing with them very poorly."

Starbuck thought about it some more. "You could be right... So now—"

"Can you have him?" Omega hit the gold. "I don't think so."

Starbuck sighed heavily.

"I don't mean, it's a bad idea," Omega clarified. "I only mean, I don't think it'll profit you to ask. He's from the wrong kind of family—"

"How is it different from yours?" Starbuck asked without thinking, and then flinched internally.

"They're alive." Starbuck stroked his arms again, but, unlike a yahren ago, the dark-haired man was finally able to contemplate that as a simple fact. He shrugged and continued, "They're far more important and far more rigid than mine ever were, too. It's difficult to escape your family even if you aren't living with them in conditions like this. When your father is not only a living legend and the savior of your race, but also your commanding officer, it's mostly likely nigh impossible. And if he's also a devout Kobolian patriarch of the old school, well," he sighed. "He never stood a chance."

Starbuck thought about how quickly Athena had fled the possibility of creating the desire to cross her father; how Apollo had driven himself—still drove himself—to please Adama; how Zac had quite literally died trying to find out if he was at least a satisfactory son...

"Besides," Omega added, "a man who'd seal with Sheba, a person whom my limited acquaintance with makes me glad it is limited—unless she improves with greater exposure?"

"She does not," Starbuck said automatically, trying to process the beginning of that sentence. Seal?

"I thought so. Such a man isn't a man ready to acknowledge his feelings, let alone act on them."

"Seal?" Starbuck managed to say. "With Sheba?"

"You hadn't heard yet? I know you're out of the loop..."

"I can't be that much out," Starbuck protested. "I mean, I'd've thought she'd've put it on IFB."

Omega turned his head slightly to rest his cheek against Starbuck's head. "I'm sorry. I suppose he hasn't made it public yet. Athena told me today that her father told her that he, her brother I mean, had told their father last night that he was going to. I should have realized he'd have to ask his father before he asked her. I'm sorry," he said again, and tightened his embrace.

"He keeps getting sealed."

"He keeps running to women who—"

"Take over? At least Serina was..." he tried to remember her, but she'd really only been Boxey's mother who stalked Apollo like a bounty hunter, single-minded and ruthless; she'd hated him but never got near enough to him that he'd known her at all. The best he could come up with was, "At least she wasn't a vicious bitch who goes out of her way to cripple the less fortunate." He sighed. "I suppose Sheba will take care of Apollo, though, if he's her ticket to paradise. And she's hardly the maternal type, so she'll have to keep Boxey alive." That was only half a joke.

"I am sorry."

"I know." He rubbed his cheek against the soft blue of Omega's uniform. "I know."

"I thought you might like to think of him as—"

"Eating his heart out over me?" Starbuck made it into a joke.

"Something like that," Omega answered gravely.

"Well, it's better than thinking of him as despising me, that's for sure. Thank you."

"It was nothing. Omega's Advice to the Lovelorn."

"Lorn," Starbuck said, "the story of my life." That, too, was supposed to be a joke, but it didn't come out as one.

Omega freed one of his arms and cradled Starbuck's face in his hand. "Let me help?"

Starbuck looked up at him. Warm dark eyes that knew what pain was and that mouth which could comfort in so many ways more than verbally. He closed his own eyes and leaned into the warm hand. "Please," he whispered.

"Of course," Omega whispered back and leaned down to kiss him.

* * * * *

Apollo woke up, bolt upright in his bed and covered in sweat. He sat there for a moment, trembling, and then—frack! He scrambled for the turboflush, tangling one foot in the spread and falling but managing to make it before he lost the entire expensive meal he'd eaten on the Rising Star that evening. Sagan, he thought, sitting on the chilly floor and leaning his head against the wall, I didn't have that much to drink...

Although, he remembered, practically everybody in the restaurant had wanted to buy them a drink and toast their happiness...the children of two living legends united, the future in good hands. And he had looked across the table at Sheba's shining face and realized he was going to be sealed with her, he really was, and he'd accepted every drink he'd been offered.

He swallowed experimentally and thought about getting up, but decided not to risk it. Besides, for some reason this seemed an apt place for sitting just now. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the end of the meal, how he'd gotten back here... He couldn't. All that would come was a hazy memory of thinking that she wouldn't want to be his wingman at any rate, and then another one of those stabs of anger at Starbuck for leaving him needing a wingman... He shook his head to clear it. That was a mistake.

When he could, he leaned back against the wall very carefully and vowed not to move again till morning. Thank the Lords of Kobol Boxey was at his father's tonight—Adama had been even more willing than usual to take the boy, anything to facilitate Apollo's plans for the evening... Boxey. Boxey needed a mother, that was for sure; a boy needed a mother, a woman's influence around him... Cain was Adama's old friend, and Adama had practically invited Sheba into the heart of his family when her father had gone off with the Pegasus... actually, there was no 'practically' about it. He remembered Athena, who hadn't particularly cared for Sheba then and seemed to like her less now—maybe after they were sisters that would change—he remembered her saying that Adama had certainly opened up with uncharacteristic alacrity... 'Theni's eyes on been on Starbuck when she'd said that, a Starbuck who'd been by himself in a shadowed corner of the O Club, watching the party, a Starbuck who had almost seemed to know he was being talked about as he apparently got his second wind and plunged back into the celebration, not to reappear until two days later, with that smug smile... Apollo wondered now who he'd been with, but that was displaced by the memory of his father's response to his sister. "I knew her father," he'd said as if it were self-explanatory and then, following her gaze, he'd added, "Starbuck never had a family; Sheba's lost hers. Who do you think is more in need?"

He still didn't know. He knew who had clung to him and who pushed him away, and he knew who had always been there and who was pursuing her own ambitions... which was good. He didn't mind she loved Silver Spar more, no not more, just as much as, she loved him. He didn't mind her having a career, he'd been proud of Serina's career, it would be best if his wife had something to do besides wait for him to come home, there was a war on after all...

Boxey liked Sheba. He'd said she was 'okay', which was a tribute from him, he still didn't warm to strangers that easily. Apollo tried not to remember the rest of the conversation he'd had with his son that morning, yesterday morning now he supposed, but he was too exhausted to fight the memories. The whole day came back to him, and longer: every bad move he'd made, beginning with his inexplicable irritation over Starbuck's night out with Omega. Somehow, he knew, that was the key to why he was now sitting on this cold floor, shivering and worn out and sick and scared. He couldn't understand himself. He'd never cared before (oh, really? asked the little voice he always tried to ignore) if Starbuck went to the Rising Star looking for women. Why it had bothered him so much that he was going with Omega he didn't know (oh, really?). It wasn't as if he wanted to go himself, and it wasn't as if he could have guessed...

And once he knew, really, what else could he have done? Not been so precipitous, or so public, with his reactions, of course, tried to keep the whole thing under wraps so the squadron didn't suffer. Squadron? It was worse than that. He wasn't the only person from the Wing getting cold-shouldered by the operations staff, the rift between brown and blue, usually not quite semi-serious, was deep and getting deeper. He flinched, remembering some of his own comments over the past few days. If he didn't want all Viper pilots tarred with Starbuck's brush, then he shouldn't have been attacking Omega's uniform... and he knew, if he faced it—and he was too tired to run from it—that the flag-captain was anything but a coward. The one time Apollo had been stuck on the bridge for an entire Cylon attack, he hadn't felt like he was "safe at ringside while someone else ran all the risks."

Your Aunt Athena is safe on the bridge, Boxey, the Cylons can't get her...

And that brought up that morning's conversation with Boxey. "What do you think of Sheba?"

"She's okay, Dad. She's a good pilot, isn't she?"

"She's a very good pilot. Do you like her?"

Boxey shrugged. "She's okay... why?"

"What would you think if she and I got sealed?"

Boxey had looked at him with those big eyes that had seen more than a child's should. "Are you?"

"I want to."

"So does she," Boxey said. "Grandfather likes her. I guess it'll be okay... She'll be my step-mom, huh?"

"You know I loved your mother. But—"

"I know," Boxey said, sounding a little bored. "Like she did my other dad before she sealed with you. Life goes on... Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Is that why Starbuck didn't come live with us?"

"What?" Boxey flinched; Apollo hadn't mean to yell like that. He tried again, "It's okay, son, I'm not mad, but what do you mean?"

"Well, Aunt 'Theni said he got tired of the barracks and that's why he and Omega—"

"Captain Omega," Apollo didn't want his son on a friendly basis with that man.

"Captain Omega," Boxey sighed, "are sharing quarters. He could have moved in with us, but not if Sheba's moving in. Am I going to have to call her 'Mom'?"

"I don't know. We'll talk about it, all three of us. Now go to school."

"It's early!" Boxey protested.

"Go anyway. I have a lot to do this morning." And he had. Like calling Starbuck into his office (and ignoring the stiff way he walked and the rather colorful bruise on his cheek, the voice pointed out, not to mention the wariness in his eyes—and that's new, isn't it, hmmmm?) and implementing his father's suggestion. "You like living with the blue-suiters so much, go work with them for a while. Out of my sight... our sight. Maybe I can stitch this squadron back together again." He wasn't sure if he'd actually said that, or just thought it, but he might have. He'd been saying a lot of things lately he wished he hadn't... "he and Omega didn't actually need to go to the Rising Star and get drunk before they climbed into bed after all... who asked you... shut up; I don't want to hear it...I thought I knew him; I was wrong..."

(Hey, don't forget the big one, nagged the voice. Don't forget, 'Father, I want to seal with Sheba.')

Automatically Apollo rejected that. He did want to seal with Sheba. It was perfect. His father approved; frack, his father had been pushing them together since the Pegasus had returned. Her father approved...

(So you make your life decisions based on what your father wants? Actually, I guess you do. You didn't want to be a Warrior, and here you are, a Strike Captain. And you did want to be a singer, and you scribble the occasional song in the middle of the night and never tell anyone. And you didn't want to marry Serina, but you did... at least you got a grandson for him out of it.)

"Shut up." He was surprised at how bitter his voice sounded. That he was talking to himself wasn't that surprising; he'd argued with this voice for yahrens before it had gone away, back his first term at the academy.

(So now you seal with Sheba. Because you know she'll say yes, and nobody else even suspects you're interested. And because you thought you saw something scary in your father's eyes last night? Who's no-guts now, Strike Captain?)

"Boxey needs a mother."

(Why? You had a mother.)

"What the frack are you insinuating?"

(Oooo, big words. I'm not insinuating, I'm saying.)

"I thought you stinking little voices were supposed to push us away from our animal natures," Apollo said desperately. "Push towards the good."

(How do you know I'm not? Why do you assume that?)

"Because this is wrong."

(Why? Because everyone says so? You want a mother's wisdom? Try this: 'Oh, 'Pol, if all your friends were jumping off the Pons Tibra bridge, would you?')

"The Books say so."

(No they don't. Any more than the regs do. They don't mention it, one way or the other. You just assume that since they don't say, Blessed are the different, that they mean, Damned are they.... Where is it written, Blessed are the normal, Apollo?)

"Shut up."

(Cogent argument. You're at your best in the dead of night, aren't you?)

"I am not listening. I am not like that."

(Oh, no. Of course not... Apollo, wake up. Ask yourself why you were so damned angry about it. Why you lashed out at Starbuck like that. Why Omega was so different from fill-in-the-blank-as-long-as-she's-female. Go ahead. I dare you.)

The chill was creeping into his bones. He sat there, trying very hard not to think.

(Okay, then. Don't. But what about your dream?)

"No..." But it was too late. The dream that had woken him from a dead sleep, that he'd been trying so hard to forget, was back. He didn't remember his dreams, usually, but this one...
He was inside a temple, filled with light and flowers and music. Everyone was dressed in white. He was facing his father, who was robed as a Kobolian priest-king, and Sheba was by his side. He was fettered, too, light chains, silvery, golden, something shining... from him to his father, to Athena, to Boxey, others reaching into the air and vanishing and yet linked to something, constraining his movements. And not his only. Each person in the temple wore fetters, almost unknowingly, almost willingly...

His father held more chains in his hands reaching out to bind Apollo to Sheba. Apollo wanted to step back, but he couldn't... Sheba was reaching for the chain that linked him to Adama, a predatory smile on her face, and then she wasn't Sheba any more, she was Serina, wearing the same smile as the pyramids of Kobol darkened the sky and the onlookers assumed the garb of warriors, brown and tan and blue, and Serina grasped the chains in her small deceptively delicate hands, and Apollo's heart was breaking for the absence of Starbuck...

And then there was no one there at all but him, his chains stretching into the darkness, and he tried to follow them home but he didn't seem able to move, and then there was a flare of gold in the distance and Serina/Sheba was there, and then he realized that it wasn't either of them. It was Starbuck, gold and warm and welcoming. And unfettered. His feet moved and he ran to Starbuck's side. He saw, for one short moment, the smile that Starbuck saved for the few he trusted, the love in those blue eyes that looked into his soul and knew him, and he felt, for an even shorter moment, the trusting weight of Starbuck leaning on him, and then, suddenly, like a sharp pain, he felt his chains tighten, pulling him away, and he went, abruptly.

And he watched Starbuck falling, eyes desolate, and he fell not to the ground but over the edge, into the deepest Abyss, a golden gleam in the blackness. Apollo wanted to call out, but again he couldn't move. And then Starbuck was caught in midfall, and he turned to cling to the man who'd caught him... dark hair, midnight-blue and silver, broken fetters... Starbuck held him and looked at Apollo. Apollo looked away; when he looked back Starbuck was gone and it was Sheba standing there, smiling.
Apollo wept.

* * * * *

Starbuck woke up. The alarm hadn't gone off yet; he was still on Blue Squadron time. As part of Colonel Tigh's staff, he'd be on different hours... it would be hard to get used to after so long. But he was nothing if not adaptable. Landed on his feet every time.

Beside him, Omega was still asleep. Starbuck propped himself on one elbow and watched him for a few centons. This was the seventh morning he'd woken up next to Omega.... no, fifth, because he had spent that one night back in the barracks. Still, five in a row. Some kind of record.

Yep, he'd definitely landed on his feet. He could certainly think of a lot of people Apollo might have caught him in bed with who wouldn't have offered to let him move in. Hell, most of them wouldn't have let him come back, considering the way Apollo had been carrying on. Let alone say "You should stay."

It was just too bad they didn't really love each other. This could have been paradise, instead of ... whatever it was. An interlude? A passing fling—no, not that. A deeper than usual friendship?

Omega made a small sound in his sleep; Starbuck reached out and stroked his shoulder, gentling him to a better dream. He trailed his fingertips along the straight, old scar the bridge officer carried from the destruction of the Hesperian Dream in what turned out to be the penultimate battle between the Colonies as a genuine political entity and the Cylons. He had broken his shoulder blade, but Starbuck knew he'd stayed on his feet, running the bridge, been on the last escape shuttle off the dying frigate. He'd heard the whole story from Athena, who'd gotten it from Rigel, who'd been on the Hesper too. Omega had never spoken of it, not even when drunk, though once when he'd been completely, totally smashed, he had told Starbuck about the death of the Sanguine Expectation, his first ship... He had met Clementia on the old Sang, thought he'd lost her in the battle, found her again in the life center on the Atlantia, which had picked up the Sang's survivors, and been sealed to her within the secton. An almost excessively romantic story, including her resigning her commission when she became pregnant, and settling down on Caprica to raise handsome dark-haired children in a small (Starbuck had always wondered just what that word had meant to Omega) house on his family's property on the island of Natacapra.

And, of course, ending in the death of every single person on the island. Which pretty much did in the romance aspect of it.

Starbuck sighed to himself. What was this? How about two desperately lonely people who'd lucked into finding each other?

He could still remember vividly the first time he'd seen Omega. Not the flag-lieutenant, ICOB, no; who knew when that had been? But the man... it had been the night that Apollo had announced he was getting sealed to Serina. And Starbuck had drunk the toasts, said the words, avoided Serina insofar as that was possible (she'd helped, she hated him as much as he hated her, which wasn't anything like as much as he hated Sheba, but there was just that extra Shebaness factored in there...), and then high-tailed it to the Rising Star's lower decks at the first opportunity. He'd planned on getting pretty drunk and picked up by somebody lean and dark and hanging on the edge of rough. Angry sex, that's what he'd been looking for.

What he'd found was somebody in worse trouble than him.

It had only taken one look from across the bar, one meeting those dark eyes, like the Abyss, and Starbuck had found himself sitting next to the flag-lieutenant, buying him a drink and coming to the realization that this man more than half intended not to survive the night. That had shaken Starbuck, shaken him very badly. No matter what life had thrown at him—and it had thrown a bargeload—he'd never wanted to die. Not seriously. There had been moments when he hadn't much cared whether he lived or not, but not even in those last yahrens before he'd escaped into the military had he wanted to die. Kill, yes; die, no.

His first reaction had, surprising him, been to want to take care of the man. The burden of grief he was carrying had obviously broken him, at least for the moment, and Starbuck had found himself feeling compassion rather than disdain. Impulsively, he'd bought another bottle and a room, and listened to him talk about his dead daughter—the full catalog of Omega's losses had come only over time. They had both gotten fairly drunk, and when they'd had sex it hadn't been angry or destructive, it had been desperate...

And out of that Starbuck and Omega had become friends. They were so dissimilar it wasn't funny, but maybe that had helped. Neither of them had anything left outside the confines of this scarred old warship. Starbuck never had had anything, and the only people he'd lost that he cared about were Zac and Adama's kind and loving wife, Ila. Omega, on the other hand, had lost more people than Starbuck had ever had, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews... wife, children; and he'd been bred to money and power. But here on the Galactica they met as equals: warriors, lieutenants, lonely men, neither of them putting much stock in the Kobolian Way, or the emphasis on bloodlines and family, except for the ties of love, whatever the source of that disillusionment.

The nature of their companionship had pretty much meant they didn't hang out with others, at least not as a pair. And certainly not as a couple; when they hit the Rising Star together they had, at least at the beginning of their friendship, ended up with a couple of women. They might go two or three sectons without seeing each other at first, though before many sectares were passed they were spending a regular night every secton together, not necessarily ending up in bed with each other—both of them liked women as well. In fact, Starbuck suspected Omega liked women more than men but less than him; it was his wife's being dead that had put that spin onto his sex life to begin with, but then both of them had learned to take pleasure where it offered itself. The need to conform grew less with every sectare, and the satisfaction of being with someone they cared for grew greater. By that fateful night—which sounds like a very bad novel, Starbuck reflected, probably the only kind my life could be made into, though—it had been at least a yahren since either of them had gone to bed with another man.

Even though that had started, for Omega anyway, as a way to get through what Starbuck called "Those Days"—days like last secton's birthday of his son, or his daughter's the night they'd met, or the twins', or his wife's, or any of the dozen or so days that his family had celebrated with such joy... Starbuck helped Omega make it past those memories, and Omega helped Starbuck make it through his own bad times.

Like Apollo's marriage—because Omega was the only one who knew Starbuck's deepest, most unrealizable dream—or the way he'd yearned to help Apollo through his grieving, or when Sheba—because Adama knew her family—had slipped without effort into the place Starbuck had hungered for for yahrens. Or when his hopes of making a good second best with Cassie had fallen through—been turned into free hydrogen in space, more like—he wasn't even good enough for a socialator... Omega had held him, made love to him—fierce and, later, gentle—and had even, as Starbuck had discovered later, called in sick for two shifts to stay with him.

There were plenty of times Starbuck wished he could just let go and fall in love. But he didn't seem to be able to shake Apollo.

He smiled unhappily to himself. He'd maybe succeeded this time. Sure as Cylons, Apollo had shaken him. So maybe this wasn't capital-L Love. It was shaping up to be as close as he was going to get. And it was definitely, most definitely, capital-G Good... Don't be so damned greedy, Starbuck, he chastised himself. Don't change your strategies now. Take what you can get and be grateful to the universe for its really not so small favors.

He leaned over and kissed Omega's shoulder, gently. The dark-haired man murmured something but didn't move. Starbuck smiled, this time with deep affection, and slipped out of the bed, grabbing the robe on the chair. If he stayed he'd either fall asleep again, and he hated when the alarm jolted him out of that lovely second sleep, or he'd wake Omega, and the man probably needed his sleep after last night.

He stretched and thought about what Omega had said. He was probably right about Apollo. With a father like Adama, admitting any feelings beyond simple friendship—as if what he and Apollo had had ever been simple—for another man was not in the cards. Starbuck didn't even think you could stack the deck for it. And if he did have such feelings, buried deep beneath all that Kobolian doctrine and familial duty, well, that would explain the violence of Apollo's reaction. After all, most of that felgarcarb he'd been going on about was demonstrably that: after a seven-sectare patrol Starbuck had twenty sectares before he could fly again, unless there was an all-out alert, in which case Omega, as first officer in command of the bridge and flag-adjutant to the commander, would be notified before the barracks...

Poor Apollo... Starbuck shook his head as he wandered out into and looked around the sparsely furnished front room. Omega had insisted he put his things out; there'd certainly been plenty of room for them since Omega had almost nothing of his own here, it had been at the shipyards waiting for the frigate he'd been assigned to to finish refitting. Not that Starbuck had much, himself. Two of those picture stones he'd gotten on a trip he, Apollo, and Boomer had taken their last year at the academy, apparent landscapes painted by the gods themselves. A photo of the three of them just before graduation. Another of him, looking younger than he could remember being, with Siress Ila. He touched that one now, wondering if she'd thank him for driving her son into Sheba's arms, or not.

Definitely poor Apollo, he thought. Sealed with Sheba was an overreaction by any standards, but leave it to 'Pol to do it that way. That wasn't a fate Starbuck would wish on his worst enemy, and whatever Apollo acted like, whatever he said, whatever he stood by and watched happen, he wasn't that. Not by light-yahrens, not by parsecs, not by galactic radii. Even if he'd beaten Starbuck himself... Sometimes, he supposed, it was easier to be alone. Harder, some ways; easier in others though. Life balances like that. At least it's supposed to.

The door chimed. Starbuck answered it before it woke Omega. He looked out, then down. "Boxey?" he said in surprise.

"Can I talk to you?" the boy said.

Starbuck hesitated a centon. His options weren't good: stand in the hallway, which really wasn't a good idea even if he had been dressed; let Boxey in, for which Apollo would probably kill him; or send the child away, which he couldn't do. He hadn't cared for Serina, but Boxey couldn't be blamed for his mother, and he was about to get saddled with Sheba, which was an abominable thing to do to a child, now that he thought about it. "Sure, Boxey," he said, stepping back. "But be quiet."

Boxey dropped his school stuff on the table and sat on the couch. "Hey," he said, "that's my dad!" He knelt on the arm of the couch to take down the picture.

Starbuck came back from shutting the door to the sleeping room and sat in a chair, smiling. "Yes, it is. I think he has a copy of that."

"He put away the pictures with you in them, Uncle Star—," Boxey stopped. "I mean... I don't know what to call you now. Lieutenant?"

"Just Starbuck," he answered, feeling a twinge of pain.

"You're not mad at my dad, then?"

"No, Boxey," Starbuck said seriously. "I'm not mad at him."

"He's mad at you. He and Aunt 'Theni had a big fight over you."

Starbuck felt pleased over that; even though it was probably for Omega's sake rather than his, nonetheless Athena was on their side. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Your dad probably needs his family with him right now."

"Grandfather is," said Boxey. "And he's going to seal with Sheba. Aunt 'Theni doesn't like her either."

Starbuck was dying to know who the 'either' referred to but he didn't ask. He couldn't let Boxey get dragged any deeper into this mess than he already was. "Well, since your aunt doesn't live with you, that doesn't matter. It's what your dad wants."

"I guess... Starbuck, are you ever going to come visit us again?"

"Boxey, that's up to your dad. I'm not mad at him and I'm certainly not mad at you, but he and I are having a... a disagreement, and until it's cleared up, then no, I'm not."

"But I want to see you!"

"You'll see me," he said, unable to resist. "You're seeing me now, though your dad wouldn't be happy you came over here. You'll see me around."

"At Aunt 'Theni's?" the boy asked.

"If she invites me."

Boxey smiled. "She will," he said confidently. Starbuck noticed he didn't ask about the gatherings at Adama's. "Did you and Dad fight about Sheba?"

Starbuck snickered; he couldn't help it. "No," he said quickly. "We did not. I didn't know they were going to be sealed, and, anyway, we never even talked about Sheba."

"I wish he wasn't going to. She's kind of mean."

Oh, gods, thought Starbuck. What do I say to that? He didn't have to decide.

"Starbuck?" Omega said from behind him, then, "Oh. I didn't know you had company. Boxey, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Boxey said. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir."

"Thank you," Omega said gravely. "Starbuck, I have an early meeting with the colonel. I thought we might go to the OC for breakfast?"

"Sure," Starbuck nodded. "Boxey has to go to school; he won't be here long."

"Fine. I'll use the turbowash first, then. Have a good day, Boxey."

"Thank you." Boxey watched Omega go back into the sleeping room—Starbuck hadn't had the nerve to turn around and see how—if—he was dressed. The boy then turned to Starbuck with a confiding expression on his face. "Aunt 'Theni thinks he's very nice. And very handsome. I guess he is, huh?"

"Yes, he is," said Starbuck, wondering several things at once. "Is that who introduced you?"

"Yes," Boxey said. "I went to the bridge with her once, and he came to her quarters once when I was there. It was on ship's business but I think she wished it wasn't. I didn't know you were friends with him."

"Well, I am," Starbuck said simply. "And now I think you should go to school, and I need to get ready to go on duty."

"Okay, Starbuck." Boxey put the picture back and looked around. "Doesn't Captain Omega have any pictures?"

"No," Starbuck said. "They were all lost in the war."

"That's too bad." Boxey climbed down off the couch. "We don't have any pictures of my other daddy, either."

"Lots of people lost their pictures," Starbuck said, standing up. Lucky if that was all they lost, he thought, but he said only, "Pictures aren't as important as memories."

"I won't tell my dad I came here," Boxey said.

"You shouldn't lie to your dad."

"I don't think it's really lying if you just don't tell," said Boxey. "You can't say everything that's true, after all. It would take forever. 'Bye, Starbuck."

Starbuck leaned against the door. Things are never simple, he thought. Why can't things just be simple for once? That's all I ask. Just for once...

* * * * *

Whoever was ringing her doorsignal was leaning on it. Sagan, but Athena hated that. She hopped on one half-booted foot to answer, holding her other boot in her hand to whack whoever it was with if she felt it was deserved. She did not need this when she was running late. And she was not happy when the door hissed open to reveal her brother.

"What do you want?" she said, turning her back on him to sit down and finish pulling on her boots. "You look like several hells, by the way."

"'Theni—"

"Congratulations," she interrupted him. "I imagine your party is why you look so bad."

"'Theni," he started again. "Can you please take Boxey tonight? I can't send him to Father two nights in a row—"

"It might do him good to have you stay home with him and talk about the upcoming changes in his life," she said, stomping her right foot down into her boot.

"I know, but Sheba has this party planned..."

She looked up at him, tossing her hair out of her eyes. He actually did look like five or six hells, not just the several he'd resembled over the last secton. His green eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard, and his hair unkempt. He might actually be sick. She found herself hoping he was, and ashamed of hoping it. She might be mad at him, but he was still her brother. And being sealed with Sheba, even if it was his own idea, was punishment enough for any man. She sighed and, still holding her left boot, said, "You can't start out letting her run you ragged, 'Pol, or you'll never get a chance to breathe."

"It's just one party," he said, leaning tiredly against the wall. "After all, you don't get sealed every day."

Some of us may never, she thought, but she didn't say so. She didn't want to get into that discussion with him again, it was bad enough when their father trotted some young man past her. She bent over to pull on her boot, letting her hair drop between her face and his pleading eyes. She liked Boxey well enough, but he wasn't her son, nor the son of her dead and presumably beloved spouse. Maybe men thought differently, though she knew some who agreed with her: if her lover had died leaving an orphaned child behind, she'd have found it very hard to keep pushing him off on others. (And Apollo couldn't possibly be as big an idiot as he'd have to be to think that Sheba wanted to be motherly to his first wife's son by another man... Sagan, he'd have to be incapable of coherent thought to think that.) Plus, while she had no intention of sealing with any of their father's candidates, she also had no intention of dwindling into poor Aunt Athena, the one with no life. And, perhaps most importantly, she had absolutely every intention of making sure Sheba understood that Athena wasn't her free child-care.

And anyway, Boxey did need his father around at least some of the time.

"Please, 'Theni," Apollo said.

And she did have a life, even if it wasn't as glamorous as some people's. "I can't, 'Pol," she said. "I'm having some friends over for dinner, and, well, Boxey would be... out of place."

"You could put him in the other room, he'll go to sleep... unless—" he broke off in confusion.

"Oh, don't get all doctrinal on me," she said, standing up. "I said dinner, and dinner is what I meant. It's who it is you'll object to... Starbuck and Omega."

"Oh," he said. "Does Father know?"

She didn't care if he was sick; in fact, she rather hoped he puked all over Sheba tonight. "I don't know. I'm not in the habit of running my guest lists past him for approval."

He held up his hands in surrender. "'Theni, please. It's just, if he doesn't, Boxey can still come here. Please? He's been asking about Starbuck for the last few days. You know Starbuck can get him to behave."

Athena felt her jaw drop. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother? No, on second thought, don't answer that. You're a hell of a lot easier to get along with than him. Okay, 'Pol, or whoever you are, I will take Boxey tonight. For his sake. But get it through your thick head right now: I am not making a habit of this."

He straightened wearily. "Thanks, 'Theni. I mean it. I really appreciate it."

She snorted at him. "You'd better. And, 'Pol? Put some drops in your eyes before you go on duty; you honestly look like you've been out drinking all night."

"I wish I had been," he answered, but so softly she didn't think he'd meant her to hear it. "Can you pick him up?"

"Apollo," she reproved him. "That would mean Boxey won't see you in two whole days."

"He's really better off not seeing me today, 'Theni," he said. "I can't deal with his questions. I really can't. I have no idea what I might say, and that's just..."

"Honesty?"

"It's not good," he said. "Please, can you pick him up?"

"Yes. But I'll be honest, if he asks me what I think."

"Okay. That's fine."

"Apollo, are you all right? You really look bad."

"I have no idea, 'Theni," he said, giving her a level look from those tired green eyes. "I really have no idea. I'll let you know when I get it figured out." He turned to open the door, paused, and added, "If I do." Then he was gone, leaving her standing in the room, feeling confused. And, frack!, late for duty.

Which meant it was halfway through the morning before she could grab a word with Omega. "Yes, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Do you have a centon?"

He glanced reflexively around the bridge, then gave her his attention. "Of course, Athena."

"I was hoping you and Starbuck would come to my quarters for dinner this evening."

He smiled; it actually got into his eyes. "We don't have any other plans. Of course, he's with the colonel, so I'm not sure, but I think I can say we'll be there."

"There is one thing you should know," she said, having decided that it was better to explain things to Boxey than jeopardize her friendship or, possibly, their careers. "Boxey will be spending the night with me. That's—"

"Your brother's son, yes, I remember him. Is this wise? Will his father object?"

"He said he wasn't going to," she said. "Now his father—I mean, my father—I don't know what he might say. He was pretty... firm on the subject the other evening. But Boxey is Apollo's son... and I have no idea how often, if ever, he'll get to see Starbuck once Apollo gets sealed, and I really am not inviting you for Boxey," she realized what it sounded like. "If you can't make it tonight, the invitation stands for any night this secton."

"Starbuck, I think, will appreciate the chance to talk to the boy," Omega said. "Losing children is hard, and when it's unnecessary, then it's cruel to everyone. The child included. We'll be there tonight."

She smiled at him. "That's great. I'll see you then."

He smiled back but he was already turning to look around the bridge. She went back to her console.

* * * * *

Starbuck looked around his cubbyhole—he'd decided that was what it was, not a little office. Made it seem cozier, less intimidating, if it wasn't an office. He was already bored. He'd wondered, when Apollo gave him this job, what was on his old captain's devious mind. And devious was the word for it: he played it straight, but that was his choice. He could match Starbuck twist for turn if he had to. It could have been that this was just the first thing Apollo could come up with, because obviously he had to get rid of Starbuck. That was the only way for him to play this particular hand: get rid of the deviant and placate the squadron. Starbuck didn't expect anything else; his whole life had taught him not to.

But Tigh, with much the same hand, played it so differently that it still took Starbuck's breath to think about it. The cynic in him said that Omega's birth and breeding, Sire Lares and Siress Vesta and others going back several generations, had something to do with it; but the realist pointed out that they were all dead and that Omega had nothing to wield influentially and the warrior who'd served under Tigh knew he meant the message he'd sent: screw all your doctrines, the only Book I care about is the Book of Regs. Just what he'd have done if someone on First Watch had taken a swing at Omega, Starbuck wasn't sure, but he'd have bet his next yahren's pay at any odds offered that it wouldn't have been transfer Omega. The fact that the only violence anybody on the bridge crew had offered anyone had been that one guy who had shouldered Starbuck into the wall in the turbolift two days ago and said, "Hurt him and you're dead," had been... well, was it incidental, irrelevant, or derived? Starbuck honestly didn't know.

Any more than he could figure out if Apollo had thought this out this far. He just didn't know. It was, however, entirely possible that Apollo, while not wanting to see Starbuck in the life center, wouldn't mind seeing him snap from the sheer boredom of it all. And after, what was it, gods, not even two whole days yet, that was shaping up to be a real possibility. He'd already done the maintenance checks on the shuttle. Twice. He couldn't play cards on duty. Well, of course he could but that wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had, not right here where Adama could look in on him at any moment. And he just wasn't a recreational reader, never had been. Reading wasn't something with a lot of good associations. He might have to learn though. Or he could read manuals. Yeah, that was the ticket.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Then he had an idea, and it actually worked. If he pushed the chair back and balanced on the back legs, with his boots on the desk, he could see Omega's duty position. If he'd been stuck up here when he was dating Athena, he'd have been watching her, and he'd usually managed to watch Apollo anyway... so now he'd watch Omega. It wasn't exactly a strain on the eyes, after all. And it was a step in the right direction.

"Lieutenant Starbuck."

It was a tribute to Starbuck's reflexes that he didn't fall over. He'd actually managed to lose himself in the patterns of Omega's job, appreciating what the uniform did for his coloring, watching the elegance of his gestures and the way he moved between the rows of consoles, always where he needed to be... He hadn't heard the door open, or Tigh come in. "Sir," he said, scrambling to his feet.

Tigh was watching him with an unreadable expression. "I'm needed on the Alcestis. Is my shuttle ready?"

"Yes, sir," Starbuck said. "We can leave, well, as soon as we get there."

"I'll be down in ten centons, Starbuck. Be ready."

"Yes, sir." It would break the up the day nicely, if nothing else. As he left the cubby, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Tigh was checking on what he'd been watching. He grinned. It's a nice view; wonder if you appreciate it? Then he trotted to the turbolift. He intended to be ready to take off as soon as Tigh stepped into the shuttle.

He was going to be the best damned pilot Colonel Tigh had ever had.

He smiled at everybody he passed on his way to the shuttle bay, was pleasantly surprised that several of them smiled back, logged out the Galactica One—the Best Girl he'd discovered the mechs called her, grabbed the checklist, double-checked where the Alcestis was, wondered briefly why Tigh was 'needed' on an agroship, and was ready to go with five centons to spare. He sat in the open doorway, legs dangling, and waited.

For about one centon, before he saw the one man he didn't want to see (and yet always wanted to see): Apollo. Frack, he thought while he tried to decide if he should move or not, what is he doing here? Apollo spotted him, changed directions and headed for the shuttle. Starbuck decided to stay where he was; not only was he supposed to be there, not only was he so not letting himself be chased anymore, but he knew that in a very real way, all this mess was his own damned fault. Not because he'd spent the night with Omega, frack that idea, but because he'd hidden from Apollo that morning. If he'd had the grace, or the guts, to face him at the time, then all of Apollo's anger would have been directed at him. Where it belonged.

So he wasn't hiding again. A secton late and a couple dozen cubits short, as usual, but there it was.

Apollo stopped about five feet away. Funny. Once Starbuck had to pull in his arms, his feet, his very self, to keep Apollo from getting close enough to touch, to hurt. Now he stopped well out of arm's reach. And that hurt worst of all. Funny. And now that he was standing there, he didn't seem to know what to say.

Starbuck didn't know how to help him. And he looked like he needed help, like he'd been dragged through six hells and left alone in the seventh. Like he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, had been drinking... not Apollo. He never had more than one and a half glasses. Got sarky and superior with those who did. This man looked like he'd never been superior in his life. Oh, 'Pol, what's going on inside that head of yours? Starbuck thought sorrowfully. You look like you just lost your best friend... oh. Yeah. That would have been me, wouldn't it? But the flash of anger lasted barely five microns. Oh, 'Pol. Don't you have anyone to help you out of that pit you're in? 'Theni? Boom-Boom? Even Sheba... Because one thing Apollo had made crystal clear to him two days ago was that he didn't want Starbuck in any part of his life any more, not even the squadron which he'd left to him when he kicked him out of the rest of it... Briefly Starbuck regretted going against his wishes by talking to Boxey that morning, but that thought brought back the anger he needed to make it through this conversation with his dignity intact. If not his heart. If not his soul.

"Captain?" he said, in his very best dumb-insolent voice.

Apollo flinched slightly, but he found his own voice. "You're going out?"

"Yeah," Starbuck drawled. "Me and the Best Girl here are ferrying the colonel." He paused the precise one and a half microns and added, "Sir."

Apollo blinked, cast around for something else to say. "You look ... well," he settled on.

Starbuck didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So he said, "Oh, yes. When I had my colors done they mentioned purple and yellow were very good for me."

Apollo's eyes skidded toward the spectacular bruise on his face and then away again.

Starbuck waited. Where the frack is Tigh? Usually he's right on top of you when you least want him.

"Did you know he was getting promoted?" Apollo looked like he wished he hadn't said that.

Fair enough. Starbuck wished he hadn't said it, too. "Of course, Captain. That's what this is about. His rank. Spasiba za kompliment," he added coldly in Libran, hitting the final T a little harder than needed. 'Thanks for the compliment' meaning 'you and I both know you just insulted me, but there's not a thing protocol will let me do about it now that dueling's illegal.' Lovely language, Libran...

Apollo looked away, then back at him. "I didn't..." he stopped and swallowed, looked around the bay, at his own boots, over Starbuck's head into the Galactica One. Starbuck gave him no help at all. Finally, he said, very softly, "Starbuck... are you... are you happy? At all?"

Oh, damn you, Starbuck felt his anger slip away despite his best efforts to hold on to it. And how do I answer that? With the truth? How can I be happy when you hate me? How can I be happy when you're so clearly miserable? You don't want the truth from me, and you never really did. My fault, since you didn't know what the truth was... But you actually seem to care whether I am or not, in some bizarre fashion it's important to you. He was glad Apollo wasn't looking at him because he was pretty sure his pyramid-face had slipped. And then he saw—thank Whatever Powers That Be—Tigh coming into the bay, breaking stride as he recognized the man standing next to his shuttle. Starbuck reached over his head for a handhold and rose to his feet, thankful the height of the shuttle entrance hid his face from Apollo. "Of course, Captain. How could I not be? And you? Happy, are you? I understand you're due congratulations."

"Yes, thanks," Apollo said automatically.

Tigh wasn't getting any closer. His 'need' to be on the Alcestis clearly wasn't strong enough to make him break into this tête-à-tête. Which was too bad because Starbuck most sincerely wanted to be interrupted. So he did it himself. "I wish you both very happy, all the best, you know. And now, if you'll excuse me, captain, my colonel's here and I have to take him somewhere."

"Oh, yes, right." Apollo hesitated another moment, then turned and walked away.

Starbuck collapsed in the pilot's seat. Well, that went well. He closed his eyes and waited for Tigh to come aboard.

"Starbuck?"

Oh. He was on board. "Next stop, the Alcestis, sir," Starbuck said, straightening up.

"Starbuck—"

"Sir, can we just... go?"

"Of course. Take us out, Lieutenant."

Starbuck called for clearance, heard the comforting sound of Omega's voice telling him he had it (even though it was that calm—not controlled, no hint of anything needing to be controlled—bridge voice, he said "Starbuck" not "Galactica-One" and Starbuck found it comforting), and headed the shuttle out in a tight arc. Tigh wouldn't be able to complain about the length of the flight, anyway. Starbuck was well aware of the spec differences between a command shuttle and a Viper, but he saw no reason not to push the shuttle as hard as she'd go. If they just wanted someone to fly in straight lines, they'd picked the wrong guy.

He slid into the Alcestis's landing bay and set the Best Girl down on the pad as lightly as a lover on a bed. "Here you go, sir," he said to the colonel, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He put on his best modest smile, the one that said, I know I'm good but I won't mention it.

Tigh smiled suddenly. "Thank you, Starbuck. I'm early, but that's okay. I'm going to be at least a centare. I don't care what you do, just be back here then."

"Thank you, sir," Starbuck said, resolved to behave himself so he could get the same leeway the next time Tigh went somewhere interesting, like, say, the Rising Star. The Alcestis was an agroship; how hard could it be, after all?

He went for a walk to stretch his legs. Hydroponics bored him to tears, but at least it didn't bring up any bad memories, like the livestock ship did. He'd never summered over on a hydroponics farm as free labor... A... what did you call 'em, anyway? Field? Vat? A roomful of crimson caught his eye. He looked around, but didn't see any Keep Out signs, so he pushed the door open and went inside. Smallish, deeply red and even more deeply scented flowers as far as the eye could see—read: wall to wall. Starbuck couldn't remember when he'd last seen an actual flower, not counting a hit-and-run planetside encounter. He breathed in the fragrance, closing his eyes. One thing about Umbra—there had been plenty of flowers, and anybody could enjoy them, even orphans without a dodeci-cubit to buy with. Had he seen...? Yes, a small bench next to a table. He crossed the room and sat there, leaning back and closing his eyes again.

He wanted to lose himself in the scent, but his mind insisted on working. He wondered why they were growing flowers... who they were for, as if he couldn't guess, people like Uri, Bellabi, that ilk. He wondered if they'd ever get somewhere where they, meaning everybody else, could have flowers. There... that's more like it. If you have to think, get personal. He wondered what it would be like to make love in a field of these red whatevers; would they smell stronger as you crushed their petals under your lover's body, would they cling to sweaty bodies and what would they taste like if you licked them off... deep crimson against brown hair...

"Ummm... excuse me?"

The soprano was so unlike his fantasy that Starbuck jumped a good foot on hearing it. A technician was standing in front of him, her hands raised in an I'm-sorry gesture, her blond hair coming loose from its knot and her blue eyes wide.

He got to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said, smiling and turning on the charm. "Am I not supposed to be in here?"

"Oh, no, no, that's okay, this isn't a clean room. I just didn't expect... are you a Warrior? What... I mean, why..." she blushed, flustered.

"I'm just a shuttle pilot," he said disarmingly. "Nothing's going on. My colonel's here, but don't ask me why. I'm just a worker bee; nobody tells me anything." He smiled, quirking an eyebrow at her out of habit.

She smiled back. "Oh, I doubt you're a worker bee," she said and blushed.

Starbuck made a note to look up worker bees once he got back to the Galactica. He wondered how much of that centare he still had left, and then jerked himself up short. He was not going to start anything. Damn it, he was living with someone. And he was the new poster boy for flit couples... suddenly he laughed. Sagan, he thought, Omega is the actual recruiting ad... how's that going down these days?

The tech looked at him in puzzlement.

"Sorry, love," he said, "just thought of something very funny about my partner..." See, Starbuck, you got the word out and it didn't kill you.

"Oh," she said, disappointedly.

"I didn't know we actually had room to grow flowers," he said, making conversation. "They're very pretty, though."

She giggled. That helped; helped a lot. Gigglers got on his nerves pretty quickly. "We're not growing flowers, Lieutenant," she said. "We're growing coda."

"Coda?" He raised his eyebrows. He hadn't realized the painkiller wasn't synthetic. "This is what coda comes from?"

She nodded. "From the seed pods, actually, but you don't get seed pods without flowers."

"No, I suppose you don't." He looked around the room with a new appreciation of it. "Amazing that something so innocently beautiful is so deadly at the same time."

"Ummm," she said, looking at him. "And useful."

This was an interesting new sensation. He should leave. Yes, that would be the wisest course. "I should get back to my shuttle," he said. "My colonel hates waiting."

"I suppose so," she said. Then she turned and, pulling a pair of clippers out of her jumpsuit pocket, cut two flowers off near the watery surface. "Here," she said, "a souvenir of the Alcestis for your partner."

He took the flowers, lifted them to his face and drank in the scent, so sweet from that close. "This is all right?"

"Well," she admitted, "we wouldn't want everyone to get some, but a couple here or there is okay. Take them, Lieutenant—that's a Viper pilot's uniform. My brother and I, we owe our lives to Viper pilots."

"Well, thank you," he said, tucking the flowers into his jacket pocket. "I appreciate it, and so will my partner."

"I hope so," she said. She smiled again. "My name's Ielita, by the way, if anybody should ask where you got them, Lieutenant Starbuck."

Halfway to the door, he stopped and looked around at her.

"It is Starbuck, isn't it?" she said. "I thought I recognized you, from IFB?"

"Yes, it is," he smiled at her and went on his way, whistling. Because he couldn't help it.

Back on the shuttle, he rooted around under one of the seats until he found a small plastic bag, which he took out and filled with water to hold the flowers. Then he put his feet up on the console and waited for Tigh.

The colonel showed up in twenty centons. He raised an eyebrow at the flowers; Starbuck said, without prompting, "Handed to me by a tech, sir, just for the uniform. Did not even ask for them."

"This much virtue is a little hard to swallow, Starbuck," Tigh said.

Starbuck smiled. "Perhaps domestic life agrees with me, sir."

"It must... at that, I'd rather you reformed than my flag-captain got corrupted."

Starbuck managed not to laugh out loud at that. The slight overtone the statement carried of his reformation being not entirely desirable helped; it was startling, coming from Tigh. He notified the Alcestis that they were leaving, and said, "Next stop, Galactica."

"Actually," Tigh said, and Starbuck paused to reconsider his exit vector, "let's take the long way home, Starbuck."

Starbuck raised an eyebrow. Had he perhaps cut one too many corners on the way over?

"I'd like to look at the whole fleet, I think."

"The whole fleet, sir?"

"I'm in no particular hurry to get back, lieutenant. Are you?"

"As long as I get back by shift change, sir," Starbuck said. "The scenic tour, coming up."

About three-quarters of the way to the end of the line of ships, Tigh said, abruptly, "Just tuck in somewhere, Starbuck, and coast."

"Sir?" There were people he could think of that he'd have feared for his dubious virtue from in these circumstances, but Tigh wasn't one of them.

"I'd like to talk, uninterrupted," Tigh said, leaning back in the co-pilot's chair where he'd been observing the ships they were passing.

"Yes, sir," Starbuck said; he'd have rather fought off an advance. He tucked in next to the Colonial Movers and put the shuttle on autopilot. Then he put on his very best eagerly attentive but slightly deficient face and waited.

"There are several things I'd like to discuss, Starbuck. Off the record."

"Completely, sir? Permission-to-speak-frankly and all that?"

"Starbuck, inside this shuttle you always have my permission to speak frankly. When it's the two of us."

Starbuck leaned back and put one booted foot on the console. "Go ahead, sir."

"The first thing is not really any of my business, and if you want to say so, go ahead. Omega already did."

Starbuck grinned. He'd just bet he had. Anybody who'd say, "With all due respect, sir, I can't imagine what gives you that idea" to the colonel wouldn't have any problems saying "I believe that's none of your business, sir."

"I value my adjutant. One of the things that I've always secretly thanked the Lords of Kobol for was the precise timing of the Destruction. Two days later and he'd have been on the Halcyon Dream, set to serve six sectares until her captain retired and then she'd have been his."

Starbuck blinked. He hadn't known that. That Omega was, for all practical purposes, no longer a member of the Galactica's crew when the Cylons attacked, yes, but not that he'd been in line for a frigate command.

"The Commander sent all the senior staff who'd lost immediate family to counselling."

Starbuck remembered both Apollo and Athena complaining about that; Apollo had even told him he should be glad no one would ever line him up for that particular torture.

"He went to one session, and they told us he was handling it too well to take up valuable time needed by others. I thought so," Tigh obviously caught something on Starbuck's face. "I met his wife once, at an Academy function. I never saw two people so much in love... Are you planning on breaking his heart?"

Starbuck hadn't been expecting that precisely, but he'd been expecting something, so he knew his face betrayed nothing. He shrugged. "You asked him that?"

"Not exactly."

Starbuck contemplated the toe of his boot. What the hell. "Actually, I suppose that might even be your business," he said. "Planning on it? No. Absolutely not."

"Well, I can't ask for more... Now, about Apollo."

Starbuck stiffened internally, and then realized Tigh only meant, about the way Apollo was acting, not about Apollo and the way Starbuck felt about him. He put on an interested but skeptical expression.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Sir?"

"You're not a shuttle pilot, Starbuck. You're a Viper pilot. You're the Viper pilot. That's why you're still a lieutenant after some of the stunts you've pulled. Having you here playing chauffeur is damn near blasphemy. I signed off on it because, quite frankly," and he gestured at Starbuck's bruised face, "it seemed like the wisest course, considering how badly Apollo was mishandling the situation."

"Apollo's doing the best he knows how," Starbuck said involuntarily.

"Sagan help us if that's the truth," Tigh replied uncompromisingly. "He let that situation get very bad very fast, and you're safer out of the squadron at the moment. I wouldn't trust half of them to watch your back at the moment, and I rather doubt you would."

True enough. In fact, Starbuck wouldn't have trusted that many. But he didn't want to listen to Tigh attack Apollo. "He wouldn't put up with that."

"No. But a court-martial after your death wouldn't be much comfort to you, or Omega, or a lot of us. I'm going to give him some time to get this sorted, but I'm not letting him think this is a reassignment rather than a detail. I wanted to let you know that, too. I know where you belong, Starbuck, and it's not in a command shuttle."

"Well, thank you, sir."

"Don't get too cocky with it," Tigh said with a rather grim smile. "You're one of the ones who were lucky we were at war when you grew up. Otherwise you'd probably be in jail."

"Could be," said Starbuck. "But I'd've had to be caught, first."

Tigh laughed. "My point, and I did have one, was: try not to get too bored over the next few sectares, Starbuck. I'd like you to still be around to go back to Vipers."

"Oh, me, too, sir," Starbuck said with a great deal of sincerity.

Tigh shook his head. "Take me back to the Galactica, Lieutenant."

Starbuck sat up in his chair. "Finish up the tour, sir? Or the short way?"

"Sagan help me—let's try the short way."

Back in his cubby, Starbuck stretched out in his chair and located Omega, who was at the moment wandering aimlessly around the bridge—except, knowing him, it was almost certainly not aimless. But it was nice to watch, so Starbuck did.

He thought about the day. On the plus side, he'd told a total stranger he had a partner, he had flowers, and he'd told Tigh he had no intention of breaking Omega's heart. On the minus side, he hadn't said his partner was a man, he hadn't thought about the flowers himself, and he hadn't told Tigh Omega's heart wasn't his to break... still, he thought he had a plus score for his new resolution. And a journey of a thousand metrics begins with a single step... or so he'd always heard.

He pulled out a fumarillo and smiled to himself. He'd been a good boy. He deserved a reward. Tonight he'd see if he could get one.
Tigh put his head into the cubby after a centare. "Go home, Starbuck," he said. "I'm not going to need you again today."

Starbuck would have been happier about that if he didn't know the military well enough to know that this would be balanced—opposed—by days when he kicked his heels in an empty antechamber for five or six extra centarees waiting for Tigh to finish some interminable meeting. With Adama along. Still, any time he got two centares off was good, so he didn't waste any time getting back to their quarters.

He ratted around through the drawers in the storage units looking for something to serve as a vase. In the bottom drawer in the front room he found a small ceramic jar and a picture, wrapped in a towel. Curious, he pulled it out and looked at it.

Gods. He sat down on the floor holding it carefully in his hands. This is them. She was a tall redhead, the dark red that came with grey eyes, and the kids were, all four of them, images of their father, even the littlest, who was probably three... Starbuck was no good at guessing kids' ages, but if he would have been five... maybe two. He'd known they'd existed, he'd even known their names, but suddenly they were a lot realer to him. Vespa, the oldest, had a field-ball stick in her hands and the air of a girl who lived for sports; he'd known a couple like that back at the Orphanage. The twins were a nice matched set of a boy and a girl too young for any personality to show up in the picture, and the baby was, well, cute. And Clementia, holding the little hands and smiling. Gods, if she smiled at a photographer like that, how must she have smiled at Megs in person?

Starbuck drifted his fingers across the picture with an ache in his own heart, then carefully wrapped it back up exactly as it had been and replaced it in the drawer. After a moment's thought, he stuck the little jar back, too, and used a glass to hold the flowers.

Someday Megs was going to have to do something with that picture, Starbuck figured; put it out or get rid of it. But he'd have to do it in his own time. It wasn't his place to nudge him about it.

But seeing the family that Omega had lost made Starbuck remember his own loss, the night Cassie had made it clear to him that she was picking Cain over him. At the time, he hadn't known why his first instinct was to go to Omega's quarters instead of straight to the Rising Star, but he had. He'd hesitated in front of the door, as always afraid to try to key himself in, afraid to discover the code had been changed. He'd leaned on the doorsignal until Omega had answered it, sleepy-eyed but willing to let him in. "Do you want a drink?" he'd asked with ingrained hospitality.

"No." Starbuck had looked at him, tall and handsome and expensive. "Fuck me," he'd said abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Omega had blinked himself awake.

"Nothing. What could possibly be wrong in my life—look, do you want to fuck me or do I have to go to the Star and find someone else?"

"You're in no condition to go to the Star—"

"Then you fuck me—"

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want to talk," Starbuck had said savagely. "I don't want to drink or—just now. Just fuck me now."

"Easy," Omega had replied, reaching a hand to touch his cheek.

"Frack 'easy'," Starbuck had slapped at his hand. "Hard. Now. Now," he growled, "or I'll find someone who will—"

"Starbuck—"

"Don't 'Starbuck' me. Just—" he had glared into concerned dark eyes, so not the emotion he wanted, and spun on his heel. "Frack it. I'll find someone—"

And Omega had grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "What do you mean? Someone who'll what?"

Starbuck had glared at him, pulling his arm loose. "You know what I mean. You know what I want—"

Omega had surprised him then, bridge officers weren't supposed to be good at hand-to-hand. But the dark-haired man had height and weight on him, and before the blond knew what had hit him, he was struggling in an armlock, with an elbow crooked around his neck, just hard enough for control. "I know. And you're not getting it. No way."

Starbuck had fought, but to no avail. He'd ended up face down on the bed, a knee in his back and an iron hand on the locked wrist holding him in place... he'd sworn as Omega had yanked his pants down. "Swear all you want," Omega had said, "I don't care. You're not getting away from me."

"Then fuck me, damn you!"

"Is that what you want?" Omega's voice had been right in his ear, his weight holding Starbuck down. "You want me to use you like a throwaway? It's not happening. You're not getting it." He had used his teeth to uncap the lube and the blond had bucked under him as he felt it squirting onto his ass.

"Don't," Starbuck had been almost sobbing. "Don't... just fuck me. Now. Hard."

Omega's voice had been hard. "No way. I don't care what you want. You hear me?" A finger had entered Starbuck, probing. He'd whimpered, and Omega had said, "This happens like I want. Not like you want... got that?"

"Damn you."

"Swear all you want." A second finger, prepping him so gently, so at odds with the voice. "Fight me all you want. I'm in charge. You don't make the calls."

"Just fuck me!" Even he hadn't been able to tell if that was a demand or a plea.

Omega had, eventually. The sex had been hard and aggressive but not violent, though his words had repeatedly denied Starbuck any choices. And after, he hadn't let go, had pulled Starbuck into a hard grasp against him. "You want to tell me what brought that on? I don't like you acting like me... you're supposed to be the one with his feet on the ground. I'm the one with the death wish."

Starbuck had tried to pull away, failed, and found, to his dismay, that he didn't really want to, anyway. "Sorry to disappoint you," he'd started that flip and been even more dismayed to discover he meant it.

"Frack 'disappoint'. Try 'terrify'. What in seven hells has gotten into you?" He'd nuzzled Starbuck's shoulder, and that had been it. Starbuck had begun crying. Omega had almost instantly gentled his hold enough to turn Starbuck in his arms and gather him up; the blond had resisted for no more than a centon, and then collapsed against him, sobbing. Omega had held him tightly, securely, one hand pressing Starbuck's head to his heart and the other arm wrapped around his shoulders. "Easy," he'd murmured, "that's all right, let it out, let it go, that's all right, I've got you, I've got you..."

Starbuck literally had not been able to remember the last time he had cried in front of another person, let alone on them. He'd learned the hard lesson: crying boychildren were lucky to be left alone to cry themselves to sleep. But he'd been unable to stop that night; he had no idea how long he'd cried. It was as if every hurt he'd ever ignored, buried, or laughed at had suddenly risen up to attack him all over again. And Omega had simply let him, holding, talking, caressing... When he'd finally stopped he'd been far too exhausted to talk, and Omega hadn't tried to make him. He'd washed him, tucked him up in bed, and held him again. Starbuck had been so tired that he'd barely been able to wake up when he'd realized he'd been left; by the time he got his eyes open Omega was climbing back into the bed and opening his arms to take Starbuck back... He hadn't been able to even explain about Cassie until much later.

He'd lost all track of time, but he knew he'd never forget Omega's blazing eyes as he insisted that Starbuck was not worthless, not just another throwaway not even good enough for a socialator... Starbuck still wasn't sure it was true. Omega valued him, but that might well mean only that Omega had a warped sense of values, not that he was valuable per se. After all, look at how quickly other people he thought had valued him had stopped as soon as they found out what he was really like. Like Cassie. Like Boomer. Like Adama. ... Like Apollo.

He shook himself. Frack it. He'd been in a really good mood when he got home. So think about that. Remember what Tigh had said... as if he'd ever be able to forget that. You're the Viper pilot... Having you here playing chauffeur is damn near blasphemy. He grinned to himself. First time he'd ever been called divine outside of a bed... Which reminded him of his plans for the evening.

He shook off the melancholy with the ease of long practice and went to change his clothes into some a lot more comfortable than the uniform.

"You left early," Omega said when he came in.

"Tigh told me to leave, so I left," Starbuck grinned at him. "I never disobey an order."

"That's not what I hear."

"Someone's been telling you lies."

"I hope so, Lieutenant."

"What did you have in mind to order me to do, Captain?" Starbuck said suggestively.

"I'll think of something. Over dinner. Out."

"Do we have to?" Starbuck pouted. "I had my heart set on eating... in."

"Don't tempt me," Omega said. "We've actually been asked to dinner."

Starbuck stared at him. "Sagan, you're kidding. You're not. By who?"

"Athena," Omega said. "And, um, her nephew will be there."

"Boxey? Apollo can't know we're coming. Has she lost her mind?"

"She said he didn't object... he probably counts on her to protect the child. I think he's going to a big engagement party."

Starbuck shrugged. "That's the only kind Sheba would have... Well, you put your mind to it over dinner, then, Captain, and you'll see how obedient I can be."

"Oh, I will... Starbuck. Are those flowers? Real flowers?"

Starbuck grinned at him. "They are."

"Where did they come from?" Omega lifted one of them to his face.

Oh, yes. Crimson against that dark hair. Okay, at least one flower gives what's left of its life tonight. "Oh. From the Alcestis. Perk of the job... it's gotta have at least some."

"I can't think when I last saw flowers..." Omega put it back into the water carefully. "I can't believe you brought home flowers."

"Hey. I'm a thoughtful guy."

"Yes, you are." Omega put his hands on Starbuck's ivory-clad shoulders, leaned down and kissed him. Starbuck buried his hands in the thick sealbrown hair and closed his eyes to the world. It was a long and thorough kiss, and Starbuck got lost in it... "I knew I'd like having you around," Omega whispered against his face.

Starbuck shivered. "Do you mean that?"

"I never say anything I don't mean. I'm glad you're here."

Starbuck reluctantly pulled away from another kiss. "Dinner at Athena's," he said. "I don't mind standing her up, but Boxey..."

Omega released him reluctantly. "You're right. You shouldn't let children down... but later, I promise."

"I'm holding you to that," Starbuck said. "Now you'd better get changed."

They had a brief argument, a wrangle more like, over whether they should take one of the flowers to Athena. Starbuck, who had his own plans for those flowers which definitely did not include his ex-lover, managed to win without disclosing the reason for his vehemence, and they ended up taking a bottle of wine, unchilled so she wouldn't feel obliged to serve it that night. They strolled down the hallway, talking inconsequentially, and turned a corner to see Boomer. All three of them broke stride, but it was Omega who recovered first. After all, he and Boomer had barely been acquaintances before, Starbuck realized as Omega, not terribly subtly, moved to the inside to place himself between the two pilots.

Boomer noticed that, too, Starbuck could tell. He wasn't sure what he felt about Boomer just now... before he could select one of his emotions and go with it, the dark-skinned man spoke. "Starbuck, I was coming to see you."

That defaulted him right to surprise. "You were?"

"I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

"We're on our way," Starbuck started, but the expression on Boomer's face made him stop. "Go on," he said to Omega, "I'll be along."

"We'll be waiting," Omega brushed over Boomer with those dark eyes and walked on.

"He seems peeved," Boomer observed.

"Almost terminally," Starbuck said, "but he'll get over it. Probably."

"Look, Starbuck, I'm sorry. For," he gestured vaguely at Starbuck's face, "you know, everything."

"Hey, Boomer," Starbuck said, a rush of relief nearly overwhelming him. "You didn't hit me."

"I didn't hit anybody," Boomer said, "that's what I'm apologizing for."

"Boomer—"

"Let me finish. I'm way late with it. I shouldn't have just sat there. My mind was... I don't know. I was weirded out, but that's no excuse."

"Hey, Boomer, of course you were, after fifteen yahrens. You didn't expect that. From them, or me, for that matter."

"My expectations shouldn't enter into it. I've got no right having expectations, Bucko." He stopped dead, obviously afraid he'd forfeited the right to the nickname.

"It's okay, Boom-Boom," Starbuck reassured him in kind.

"Would you stop saying that?" Boomer said exasperatedly. "It's not. I let three guys jump you. That's not okay. I'm sorry about it—"

"And that's what's okay," Starbuck said.

Boomer shook his head. "Gods, you really are the weirdest person I ever knew."

"Thanks," Starbuck said irrepressibly.

"Are we okay, Starbuck?"

"I hope so," he said. "I want us to be."

Boomer's smile flashed out at him. "Good. I've missed having you around, believe it or not."

"I don't have any problem believing that," Starbuck said, not honestly but in character.

Boomer shook his head. "Yeah, well, anyway, if you want to stop by the O Club—"

"Actually I've been on the blue side," Starbuck grinned.

"Isn't that boring?"

"Excruciatingly. On the plus side, the food is good. And everybody behaves. Or is that a minus?"

Boomer laughed. "You haven't changed." He sobered. "That's really the point, isn't it? You haven't."

"No. I haven't." They looked at each other for a long moment, then Starbuck said, "I'd better catch up with Omega, or he'll be back here looking for me, and he's a lot more dangerous than he looks."

"Take care of yourself, Bucko," Boomer said. "Don't crash the colonel into a barge... we need you back."

"Listen, Boomer," Starbuck said, seriously. "I saw Apollo today. He looks like—"

"Yeah," Boomer agreed. "He does. He's a mess."

"Yeah, well... watch out for him."

"Do my best," Boomer said. "You have my word on it."

"Good enough for me." Starbuck watched Boomer walk off down the hallway. The day was definitely a good one. Maybe he'd finally hit bottom, with nowhere left to go but up? Knock on... not that there's any wood around, he grinned as he ritualistically rapped his knuckles on his own head and took the corridor to Athena's quarters.

* * * * *

Athena watched Omega check in the command pilot's office, obviously fail to find Starbuck, and head home with no expression of concern. Nobody can hang on to Starbuck, she thought, that's an article of faith. But nobody ever had him move in with them before, either. Are we witnessing the end of an era, here? She couldn't decide how she felt about that. I guess I need more information. Which was one reason she'd invited them to dinner.

She herself headed over to Boxey's school. The boy was standing a little forlornly near the entrance, under the watchful eyes of one of the teachers. He was looking down the corridor along which Apollo would come. I suppose his hormones are playing him up, or something, but my brother better start paying attention to his son, Athena thought. She called his name.

"Hi, Aunt Athena," he said, picking up his bag. "Am I coming to your quarters tonight?"

"Yes," she said. "Your father is—" Frack, I told him I'd tell the truth "—going to be with Sheba for dinner and afterwards."

He sighed, rolling dark martyred eyes. Normally, Athena wouldn't have had much patience with that, but since, as a matter of pure fact, she wished she could get away with that precise reaction, she let it pass. "Come on," she said.

He followed her, shifting his bag from one hand to the other. He was uncommonly quiet. It worried her. Especially when he didn't want anything to drink, or even a mushie.

"Boxey," she sat down on the kava table by the couch where he was actually doing his homework without being told—he was a good enough kid, but that wasn't normal.

He looked at her.

"Is something bothering you?" Oh, that has to win the 'stupidest question of the yahren' award, she castigated herself.

However, he was only eight and it didn't seem like such a stupid question to him. Or, if it did, he answered it anyway, shrugging. "Yes."

"You want to tell me what, honey? I don't know, maybe I can help." As long as it's not Sheba. Or your dad and Starbuck.

"I don't think so," Boxey said. "But will you answer a question for me?"

"Sure, honey. If I know the answer, anyway."

"What does 'flit' mean?"

She blinked at him. "That's not a very polite word, Boxey."

"I guessed that," he said impatiently. "But what does it mean?"

Apollo, you are such an idiot... or such a conniving bastard, I'm not sure which. Except you're exactly like Father. "Well," she said, "has your father explained sex to you?"

"You mean getting sealed? Having babies?"

"Yes."

"Sort of. He said when I was older I'd understand."

By osmosis, I guess, she thought disgustedly. "Okay. Well, I don't suppose you've covered it in school, either... I thought not," she said when he shook his head. "Okay. When people, grownups, are attracted to each other, love each other or like each other a lot, they usually have sex. Which starts with kissing, and gets more involved, but is a powerful and very grownup way to show how much they like each other."

"Is it fun?" he asked dubiously.

"It's like kava, or smoking, or ambrosa," she said. "When you're old enough to do it's fun. When you're not, it's not."

"So, what's 'flit'?"

"Most of the time, not always, but most of the time, people who feel like having sex with each other are not the same gender," she said. "It's a man and a woman, like your mom and dad."

"Or him and Sheba?"

Oh, Boxey, I really did not want that image in my head. "Yes. But sometimes it's two men or two women. And some people think that's not normal, because it's usual for it not to happen like that, and they say 'flit' as an insult. And there are other words that are much worse," she said, "and you shouldn't say any of them."

"What should I say?" he asked curiously.

"If you should feel the need to say anything," she said, "besides just 'couple', you can say 'same-sex couple', but really, Boxey, it's not usually necessary, any more than people go around saying 'Apollo and Sheba are an opposite-sex couple'. Okay?"

"Is that why my dad's so mad at Starbuck? Because him and Captain Omega are... a couple?"

"Yes," she said. "But you'll have to ask him to explain why that makes him angry."

"Is it bad?"

"I don't think so," she said. "Boxey, you really have to ask your dad and grandfather what they think themselves. It's not illegal, though."

"Sure, or they'd be in jail," he said.

"True," she agreed. "Anything else bothering you?"

"If Sheba has a baby, will Dad send me to the Orphan Ship?"

Over my dead body! was her instant and surprising reaction. "No," she said. "He adopted you, Boxey. You're his son. Why do you ask that?"

"Jaxon said he would. But Jaxon's a boray."

"He sounds like one," she agreed.

The doorsignal rang. "Boxey, will you answer that?" she stood up. She needed to get dinner out of the fooder and the table set.

"Aunt 'Theni, it's Captain Omega!"

"Come in," she called. "Where's Starbuck?"

"He should be here in a moment or so," Omega said, offering her the bottle of wine. "He ran into a friend."

"Oh, lords," she said, rolling her eyes. "Get used to that."

He smiled.

She looked at that smile and thought, Well, that's that.

"Is Starbuck coming?" Boxey bounced into the service room.

"Yes, he is, unless he gets dragged off to play pyramid," she teased him.

"He won't!"

She laughed. "You know him better than that, Boxey."

"Aunt 'Theni," he put his hands on his hips and glared at her.

"Can I help you?" Omega asked.

Athena made a conscious effort and put him into the same category as her brother. "Yes," she said, "actually, you can. You could set the table. The dishes are up there."

The doorsignal sounded again and Boxey ran to it. "Starbuck!" he caroled.

"Hey, kid," Starbuck's voice was lazily amused. He halted in the entranceway to the service room, holding Boxey, looking very pleased with himself. "Very domestic," he approved.

"Grow up, Starbuck," she said.

The evening went downhill from there. Or uphill, depending on your definitions. The four of them were sitting around the kava table two and a half centares later, glasses of ale and, for Boxey, fruit juice, scattered on various surfaces. The table was entirely covered with a hastily-improvised Trango board, constructed by Omega and Athena when they'd discovered that neither Boxey nor Starbuck had ever heard of it. Omega's memory had proved to be very good on the details of the board and the pieces, and between them they'd remembered all the rules. Starbuck, of course, had the dodecahedral dice on his person—though probably not for anything as innocent as Trango, Athena thought amusedly. Never leave home without them. The first game had gone to Athena, but Boxey and Starbuck had gotten a good enough grasp of the rules that the second game was being rather viciously contested.

Starbuck rolled. "Yes!" he crowed. "Twenty-four! Prepare to go down, people." He moved his emperor and was reaching for the empress when the alarm sounded. All three adults were on their feet before Athena's comm unit chimed.

"Athena," she answered.

"Incoming ships," said the tense young voice. "First Watch to the bridge. Scrambling Vipers—"

"Captain Omega's here," she said, "we're on our way. Boxey," she turned to the boy and stopped. What the hell did Apollo do with him?

"I'll take care of Boxey," said Starbuck. "You two better get."

She opened her mouth, remembered, closed it, then said, "Thanks, Starbuck."

"Not a problem," he said; she was already at the door, two steps behind Omega. She barely had time to feel sorry for Starbuck, grounded at a time like this, before her own duties took over.

Omega had overridden the turbolift and was holding the door for her. As soon as she was in, he keyed it for the bridge.

"Gods," she said, "what do you think it is?"

"Not enough information," he shook his head. The man who'd been laughing over the Trango game was gone.

She shook her head. "Gods," she said again, inadequately, and hit the wall of the turbolift. "Faster, damnit."

"Athena," he said.

She looked at him.

"No emotion," he said earnestly. "Show no emotion. Emotion breeds panic and panic breeds defeat. If you're going to be ICOB, you're going to have learn to reach inside and find the calm."

"Aren't you afraid?" she asked him, genuinely curious, remembering Rigel's story of the Hesper and all the times she'd heard him—she couldn't see him on the bridge during an attack unless things went horribly wrong—his voice passionless, precise...

He smiled briefly. "Generally I am, yes, and occasionally I'm terrified... but it does no one good to know that, and me no good at all to yield to it. Don't try not to be afraid, Athena, just hold it where no one else can see it. It's all focus. I know you can do it; you're extremely competent."

She suddenly heard what he'd said earlier. If I'm going to be In Charge Of the Bridge??? What does that mean? But she didn't have time to ask him, and she was ashamed of even having the thought while the alarms were going off.. It did serve to distract her from her fear, though, which meant that when the turbolift doors opened, she could follow him onto the bridge as calmly as he appeared to be. She tapped Briony on the shoulder and slid into place, fixing the earpiece as she scanned her boards.

It didn't take long to get the picture: over ninety attack craft, somewhere between a Viper and a Raider in size. No carrier on the short-range scanners—the long-range scanners were already looking. Athena sorted the voices on the five channels and on the bridge itself with the ease of long practice, noting that half of Second Watch was still in place. Omega had gathered up the reins in Tigh's absence. Adama's, too—Father must have been at Apollo's party—she realized. She also realized that they could have put Starbuck in a Viper; Blue and Silver Spar Squadron weren't launched yet, they were nearly all of them on the Rising Star. She found the shuttle bringing them back, got an arrival time, relayed that to Omega, who acknowledged in between sequencing commands for the laser defense turrets.

"Red and Green Squadrons launched," Rigel reported. "Two-thirds of Purple and Gold launched. Preparing to launch remainder of Purple and Gold and half of Yellow. Awaiting arrival of Blue and Silver Spar pilots."

"What an engagement party," Falco murmured from his position near Athena.

She agreed with him, but silently.

"Where the frack did they come from?" Altair said in frustration.

"Belay the chatter," Omega remarked mildly. "Launch available Blue and Silver Spar fighters with the rest of Yellow."

"Have you found the base ship yet?" Tigh had arrived at some point.

"No, sir. Still scanning."

The battle was unfolding around them. Blue and Silver Spar arrived, launched. Adama came onto the bridge. The enemy was avoiding the Galactica and concentrating on the smaller, civilian ships.

"Found her!" Dathan announced. "On the board."

Athena took a single glance—it was pretty far away. No wonder those ships were big and went up spectacularly—startling the Vipers who'd made the first kill by the size of the explosion when fuel contacted internal atmosphere, both on fire...

"Have we tried to talk to them?" Adama demanded.

"We've gotten no response to any attempt on any frequency," Omega said. "We've picked up their transmissions; that gave us their comms capabilities, but nothing."

"We have no choice, Commander," Tigh said.

"No," Adama said heavily. "Send two squadrons after their base ship."

Blue and Silver Spar, last launched, took the mission. Athena heard her brother and Sheba bantering as they sped across the distance, and then she turned her attention to the immediate vicinity and the defense of the fleet.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over. It happened like that, all the time. You could get whiplash: dead calm to frenzy to dead calm again. Or nearly, anyway. There was mopping up to do, battle damage to repair—mechs and medtechs just getting started as everyone else unwound. Viper recovery ops were underway; Athena listened long enough to verify that Apollo and Boomer were still alive and then she pulled off her headset, handing it to a subdued Briony.

Her hands were shaking so she stuffed them into the convenient pockets of the long skirt she'd forgotten she was wearing until she nearly stepped on the hem moving out of Briony's way. She saw Omega's pale blue shirt and, picking up her skirt, climbed the steps to the main dais where he and Tigh were talking. She blinked, realizing her father was gone already. That was unusual. She supposed he was fielding calls from the Council. She wondered if she should care, and decided she was too tired to.

Omega was speaking when she got to them. "—picking up ion trails. Nothing clear, but we're prepping reconnaissance probes now."

"Be careful," Tigh said. "We don't want to shake these people up any more than we already have."

"Yes, sir."

"Any ideas at all on what sparked this?"

"No, sir. It could simply be that we're here."

Tigh nodded. "Take the con, captain," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I have a feeling I'm going to be in front of the Council at metaphorical first light."

"Yes, sir," Omega nodded. "I'll call you if anything turns up."

Tigh nodded. Omega turned, saw Athena, and said, "I'm staying. If Starbuck's still at your quarters, just send him home."

She nodded. "If he's taken Boxey home, I'll make sure your jacket gets back to you."

"Thank you," he said and turned back to his work.

She looked at him for a minute and turned around, nearly running into Tigh. He was standing there quietly, watching her. "Colonel?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just 'Tigh'. We're off duty," he said. "Do you mind if I walk along with you?"

"Of course not," she said.

They left the bridge, making their way through the press of people. He seemed a bit preoccupied, and no wonder, so she didn't intrude on his thoughts. But when they reached her quarters she said, trying out his name for the first time—her father had never let his children be so ill-mannered, "Tigh, would you like to come in for a minute? Something to drink?"

He looked at her and then he smiled. She'd always thought he had a nice smile; now she realized nice was an insipid word. He had a beautiful smile, one that softened the stern lines of his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. She smiled back. "I'd like that, Athena," he said.

"Starbuck and Boxey may still be here," she said as she keyed the door open. But her quarters were empty. Omega's dark blue jacket was still lying where he'd put it when they had settled down for Trango, and the game and the glasses were still where they'd been, cluttering up her front room, but Boxey's book bag and Starbuck's gold jacket were both gone, as were they. When she turned on the lights she found a note from Starbuck:
'Theni, I took Boxey home. He wanted to see his father and I gather he might not come here tonight. I absolve you if he beats me up. S
She shook her head. The sad thing was, he might, the way he'd been acting lately. Oh, well, I refuse to make his problems my problems. She turned to Tigh. "Have a seat," she said, "I'll get some ambrosa... or would you rather have kava?"

He quirked an eyebrow upwards. "Actually," he said, "if you have any of that grog that's cold?"

"I do," she said. "Pardon the mess... but, as I said, Starbuck and Boxey were here."

He laughed. More than she thought the witticism was worth. It must be release from the tension of the last few centares, she realized when she found herself joining in the laughter. Instead of sitting, he gathered up the home-made Trango board and pieces while she picked up the glasses and went into the service room for more ale. When she came out with the glasses he was standing in front of her storage unit, carefully sorting all the Trango pieces by color and value.

"Sorry," he said, taking the glass from her. "I'm a bit compulsive, or so I've been told."

She found herself smiling again. Gods, you wouldn't think I'd known this man my whole life, she thought. Settle down. "It is easier to start playing if you don't have to sort it all out before you start," she said.

"You should get a real set," he said.

"I doubt it's a high priority," she said. "Besides, Boxey loves this one. Omega let him help make it."

He looked into his glass. "I'm pleased to hear that Apollo let his son visit with Starbuck."

She shrugged, still slightly out of charity with her brother. "I think he's more concerned with losing a babysitter than he is with his son falling under a bad influence."

"Nevertheless, it's a good first step."

She looked at him quizzically. That had been a rather abrupt stop. But before she could make a remark, he said, "I don't want to talk shop, though."

"Fine with me," she said. She wouldn't have minded talking about the battle, and she really wanted to know what Omega had been alluding to in the turbolift, but if "shop" meant her family, she didn't want to talk shop, either.

He looked at her for a while without actually saying anything, and then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. "I might as well just say it," he said.

"Say what?" She realized she was biting her lower lip.

"I'm old enough to be your father. I've known you since you were born. I watched you grow up and become a fine officer as befits your family. I've admired and respected you. But, in the past few yahrens, as we've worked together under these, um, interesting conditions, I've discovered my feelings changing." He swallowed. "I love you, Athena. I realize you don't think of me like that, but... I'm hoping you'll give me a chance. I don't mind being second choice," he added.

Athena looked into his eyes. She felt as if the universe had been shifting under her feet for the past secton or more. Starbuck, settling down. Apollo, acting like a lunatic. Omega... and now Tigh. But deep in his kava-colored eyes she saw a promise she'd given up on seeing. A shiver ran down her spine. "Tigh," she said and touched his face. He kissed her palm. "You may be old enough to be my father, but you aren't my father. I've never thought of you like that. And maybe—"

"Maybe?" he asked and then kissed her fingers.

"Maybe you can be my last choice." She leaned forward and kissed him.

His arms came around her, holding her close. She pressed her body to his, and felt his strength. "Stay," she said into his throat.

"Yes," he answered. "As long as you want me."

* * * * *
Starbuck sat on the couch in Apollo's front room. He had the light on in the service room, spilling dimly into both the front room and Boxey's room. The boy had finally fallen asleep after a centare of Starbuck's storytelling and reassurances. The problem was that Starbuck didn't believe himself.

"Your dad's gonna be just fine, kid."

"But you're not there to watch his six."

"He's flown without me before. He's a good pilot. He's the best."

"He says you are."

"He'll be fine. Sheba will watch out for him."

"She's not in Blue Squadron, Starbuck."

"Boomer will watch him, Boxey. Boomer promised me he'd watch him."

"Starbuck..."

"He's gonna be fine. Did I ever tell you about Sefirok? Now, that was action..."

Starbuck leaned his head back on the couch and stared up through the dim light at the ceiling, as if looking up was the secret. If he could see through the Galactica's bulkheads, it wouldn't matter what direction he was looking. Up was a planet-born reflex. He knew that, but he looked up anyway.

He was seriously worried. Normally Apollo flew pretty conservatively, well by Starbuck's standards anyway. Now and then he went mad with risk-taking, if the stakes were high enough, and that's when he really needed a wingman who could keep up with him. No. Be honest. Outfly him. So you can get between him and whatever's out there. Boomer was a good pilot, a very good pilot. But he wasn't better than Apollo. Nobody was better than Apollo. Except me. And here I sit. 'Pol, if you get yourself killed, I'll... I'll find some way to make you sorry.

He was going to go crazy now, sitting here. If Boxey hadn't been in the next room, he'd have gone to the bridge. Standing around there wouldn't have made him feel any less useless but at least he'd have had some clue what was going on. He could have conned somebody out of headsets and listened on the tactical channel... He'd have known.

Sagan, how do spouses stand it?

And how long was this battle going to last, anyway?

The door hissed open. Starbuck jumped to his feet. The only thing he felt for several centons as green eyes burned into his was relief. Thank his Lords... Apollo's alive. You're alive. Worry and love came later. Fear barely had time to think about coming.

"Starbuck?" Apollo was incredulous.

"I brought Boxey back—"

"You're here?" His voice was almost unrecognizable.

"Boxey," Starbuck repeated. "I was just staying with Boxey. Out here. He's in there."

"Starbuck." Nothing followed. And Apollo didn't move.

Which meant he was standing in the doorway, keeping Starbuck in.

"Apollo?" Starbuck's mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips. "I'll leave now—"

"Don't. Starbuck, you're here. You're here. Don't leave."

Starbuck's breath caught in his throat. He was paralyzed with conflicting emotions and green eyes. And then Apollo closed the distance between them and caught his shoulders in his hands. "Gods, you are here. It's you."

And Starbuck's fifteen-yahren-fantasy came true. Apollo's mouth was on his, Apollo's hands in his hair, and Apollo's body in his arms.

The next thing he knew, he was on the couch and Apollo was on top of him, kissing him frantically. He retained exactly enough wits to say, "Boxey—we'll wake Boxey."

Apollo froze for a moment, then scrambled off him and the couch and pulled him into the main sleeping room, slapping the door controls to shut them in. He turned then, shedding his jacket and reaching for Starbuck again. They stripped each other quickly, frantically; the room was dark but Starbuck's eyes were quick to adapt and he could see Apollo's lean body well enough. It wasn't the first time he'd ever seen it, after all, only the first time he'd been allowed to look.

Apollo didn't give him much time to look, pushing him down onto the bed and kissing him, devouring his mouth, holding him as if he were afraid Starbuck would vanish if he let go, as if he were a dream or a delusion. Starbuck did everything he could think of to convince Apollo of his reality, though he was fighting a sense of unreality himself. It wasn't Apollo's existence he doubted, only the permanence of this experience. But he didn't let himself worry about that. The feel of Apollo's sleek, hard-muscled body in his hands, against his own body, the taste of him, the coarse texture of his black hair when Starbuck tangled his hands in it, the power that thrust against him: it was the stuff of his dreams made real and he wasn't capable of saying no to it, regardless of what Apollo might say or do when he came up out of the night and down from his battle high... Apollo called his name when he came, shuddering in Starbuck's hold and then collapsing against him in an exhausted and trembling heap. Starbuck hung on the edge of ecstasy a few centons longer, rolling Apollo onto his back and thrusting against him, coming in a wordless cry.

They lay together, arms and legs wrapped around each other, for an indefinite time. Starbuck raised his head and kissed Apollo's shoulder, tasting his sweat, moving his mouth slowly along the neck, nuzzling the longish hair and nibbling gently at his ear before kissing him properly. Apollo held him close, returning the kiss, but when Starbuck shifted his weight, starting to drift into sleep, Apollo shook him gently. "Don't go to sleep, Starbuck," he said.

"Don't tell me you want to talk, 'Pol," Starbuck yawned. "Later... I'll still be here."

"No. You can't be. You have to go."

That woke him. "Go?"

"You can't be here when Boxey wakes up, Starbuck," Apollo said, sounding reasonable.

"Okay," he said, "no problem. I'll just go." He sat up and tried to remember which side of the bed his clothes were on.

"You understand, don't you, Starbuck?"

"Of course," he said. And he did. Kids complicated things. On the other hand, where did Apollo expect him to go? He found his trousers and pulled them on. "You have to talk to Boxey. Among others." Like Sheba. He sighed. Your father. Or nobody...

"We'll talk tomorrow, Starbuck." Apollo kissed his shoulder.

Starbuck shook his misgivings aside. Even if Apollo never wanted to do this again, it had been the best sex of his life. He pulled on his shirt and picked up his jacket. "You should go and see Boxey," he said softly. "He was worried about you."

"He's asleep," said Apollo. "He'll be up early, that's what he does..." He started to get up.

"I'll let myself out," Starbuck pushed him back down. "Love you, 'Pol," he added softly.

"I love you, Starbuck. I really do."

Starbuck had a bad feeling about that 'really', but he just smiled and left.

And went back to Omega's quarters. That he'd been thinking of as 'home'... After all, it's not like either of us promised anything. In fact, he said 'no strings'. He still felt like a rodent, though. First time in his life for that, too.

Hell of a day all around, Bucko, he thought as he keyed himself in. Omega wasn't there. Interesting. He got into the turbowash and stood for a few centons, by which time his head had cleared enough to realize Omega was still on the bridge. He walked into the service room to get a drink to settle his frazzled nerves, and the scent of the flowers reminded him of his earlier plans.

Oh, frack, he thought, forgetting the drink and crawling into bed. Why can't things ever be simple? Why does trouble always know where I am? And who exactly Up There is trying to drive me crazy? 'Cause you are...

* * * * *

Starbuck had woken up when Omega came to bed, but he'd pretended that he was still asleep. Omega had leaned over and kissed his shoulder, lightly, before settling; Starbuck was very glad he'd showered. He wasn't ready for a debate on what "no strings" meant. Not tonight.

But Omega only slept about four centares. The alarm hadn't gone off, or at least that wasn't woke Starbuck. He woke when Omega slid quietly out of the bed, an old reflex. This time he couldn't get back to sleep after Omega left. Instead, he lay there, remembering the previous night, calling up every detail of Apollo's body against his. His fantasy was much more vivid now, informed as it was. He closed his eyes and pretended his hands were Apollo's... I love you, Starbuck...

That day when he sat in his cubby he didn't watch Omega. Not that he was in there much over the next four days: Tigh was off the Galactica as much as on her, checking battle damage, meeting with anxious civilian captains, shamelessly using his position to get Starbuck to ferry him and Athena to the Rising Star for dinner... Starbuck found the concept of Tigh and Athena very hard to get his mind around, but 'Theni looked a lot happier than she had in yahrens.

On the other hand, she was complaining that she was finding herself with Boxey a lot more than she thought right. "Gods know," she said, "I can't bring myself to tell the boy he has to stay home with Sheba, but Apollo should remember who's the child's parent and who is the parent's sibling."

Starbuck tried to bring the subject up to Apollo, but in public it was hard to turn the conversation to Apollo's son's dissatisfaction with the upcoming nuptials, and in private they didn't talk. Their schedules kept them from having more than a snatched centon every couple of days, which was romantic until Starbuck realized how deeply Apollo was burying the trail. Romantic shaded into vaguely sordid, but completely addictive. Starbuck found himself using Boomer as cover, dropping by the O Club after his shift to have a couple of drinks with the other pilot and then rendezvousing with Apollo.

And then heading home to Omega's quarters, a topic which was mentioned even less between him and Apollo than Sheba, whose name Apollo seemed compelled to mention every two or three days. Almost as if to remind himself that she existed.

It wasn't like Starbuck needed the reminder, after all.

He and Omega were for all practical purposes on different shifts for the present. The flag officer was working fourteen or fifteen centares a day, post-battle analysis and supervision of the long-range reconnaissance vipers who were searching for the homeworld of their still-unidentified assailants. Plus, he'd said something in passing about trying to ensure that the Second Watch felt more competent... they'd very nearly panicked the night of the attack.

Starbuck felt a bit guilty, still. He kept reminding himself of the "no strings" and the "I've meant everything I've said", and anyway, it wasn't like Omega had ever expected him to pay for staying there by sleeping with him. They'd never been lovers... just friends who fell into bed every once in a while. Sometimes more, sometimes less ... and Omega never mentioned that Starbuck was well into the less phase. After all, he'd had longer stretches than this where he was so occupied by somebody—like Cassie, for instance—that he'd barely had time to go for drinks...

It was okay.

It was Apollo he would be cheating on... Apollo, who was going to be sealed to Sheba. And when he thought about that, he would roll over in the bed and see how deeply asleep Omega was. Generally, it wasn't very.

After which, Starbuck felt guilty, again. It was a new emotion, and he didn't like it. But it was a small price pay for the dream. The dream he didn't deserve to touch, let alone dictate to.

* * * * *

Apollo clenched his fingers in Starbuck's hair, his other hand clutching the chair arm as he strained, bucking against the mouth giving him pleasure. "Oh, gods, oh, Starbuck..." he moaned. The words were as sweet to Starbuck's ears as his cock was. This was the best moment, when Apollo lost control under his hand and mouth, sprawled in wanton abandon, begging for more. Although it was good when Apollo took him, filling him and possessing him, especially if they were face to face, his legs encircling Apollo and those green eyes filling his sight... But knowing—seeing and feeling—that he could make Apollo so wild brought him to the edge himself and usually Apollo could barely get his hand on him before Starbuck would come, crying Apollo's name.

Essentially, the only change in the past couple of sectons was where they met. Apollo was still betrothed. Starbuck was still his secret vice. And Starbuck still couldn't keep away. He knew he ought to play a little hard-to-get, but he also knew the time for that was past. Besides, Apollo had only to look at him, only to say, "Ten centons from now? Supply?" and Starbuck would be there in six, waiting. Just as he had spent the last fifteen yahrens waiting.

But now Apollo came.

And came... Starbuck laughed and Apollo convulsed from the sensation, and came for real. Gasping for breath, he reached down and pulled Starbuck into his arms, reaching for his cock and nuzzling his shoulder with little nips as he, as predicted, brought him to climax with only a few sure strokes of his strong left hand.

"Oh, gods, Apollo," Starbuck murmured, drinking the sight of those green eyes, still faintly hazed with desire. Apollo brushed his thumb across Starbuck's cheek and fed him his fingers, one at a time; after Starbuck had slowly, sensuously licked them clean Apollo trailed them, still damp, in lazy caresses across Starbuck's chest. He curled against the darker man's body, wishing he could purr.

Apollo sighed deeply, then looked at his chrono. "I've got to go, Starbuck. Father and Sheba are coming for dinner."

Starbuck might have been relaxed, but those words were like cold water. He stiffened involuntarily, but managed, he hoped, to turn it into the preliminary for getting to his feet. He grabbed for something to say and could only come up with, "I hope Boxey behaves."

"Oh, he's at a friend's," Apollo said.

"Lucky boy," Starbuck said without thinking.

"Starbuck, I told you—"

"I know." He cut Apollo off; he did not want to hear, again, the litany of reasons he was still going to seal with Sheba. None of them was "I can't live without her" and that was—had to be—enough to content him. "It was a joke, Apollo."

"Oh. Sorry. It's just, I never thought sealing was something to joke about."

Starbuck bit back his automatic response, then thought better of it and let it out. "But we're still ... going to meet. Afterwards."

"Starbuck—" Apollo started, then stopped and said, angrily, "Frack. It's bad enough I'm doing this, I can't talk about it."

The words hung in the air.

"No. Of course not." Starbuck grabbed his boots.

"Gods, Starbuck, I didn't mean that. Not the way it sounded. Starbuck, you have to understand—I did not mean that—"

Starbuck looked up. "I know you didn't. I know. It's okay, 'Pol." He pulled on his other boot. "But you're right. I understand. There's nothing to talk about. We know what's happening, we don't have to talk about it."

"Starbuck—"

"You'll be late for dinner," Starbuck said, and opened the door enough to check that the hallway was clear. It was, so he left.

After he'd been walking for a while, he heard someone coming. He didn't want to be seen. Looking around for someplace to hide, he realized he was just down from Athena's quarters. It wouldn't have been his first choice as a refuge, but it would do. If she was there. If she'd let him in.

She opened the door and stared at him. Her hair was up, confined with jewelled pins that echoed the rich emerald of her dress... she was going out. Just as well. "New dress?" he asked. "You look wonderful... can I come in?" He tried a smile and wished he hadn't as her expression turned worried.

"Starbuck, are you all right?"

"Can I come in, 'Theni?" he dodged the question. "You don't have to talk to me or anything, I just need a place to sort of regroup..."

"Of course," she said, stepping back. "Gods, you look terrible. What's wrong?"

"I'm okay," he said, not bothering to try to make it convincing. "I'll be out of your way in a couple of centons."

She stood in front of him. She seemed shorter; he realized she was in her stocking feet. He remembered she hated fancy shoes; he'd asked her once why she wore them; she'd said, "Because they look good and it spoils the dress if you don't."

He realized he was completely unfocussed. Unfortunately, she did, too. "Starbuck, you look like several hells. What happened?"

"I'll be fine. I just need to pull myself together. You go on. The colonel's treating you right?"

"You need more than that," she ignored his attempt to change the subject. "You need to wash your face, fix your hair, tuck in your shirt. You look like you've been mauled—" she broke off with a sharp intake of breath. "Starbuck, is that what happened? Should I call security?"

"No," he said sharply. "I'll be fine. I am fine. Just... upset. I just need a moment." He was tucking in his shirt as he spoke, and when he'd done that he raked a hand through his hair.

She was regarding him out of very serious pale blue eyes. Her eyes were like her mother's, as Zac's had been like their father's, and Apollo's were his alone... She was speaking: "...Apollo know you're still having problems—" She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. "Starbuck, is... is Apollo your problem?"

He didn't answer her, which was apparently answer enough. She touched his arm lightly, then turned away and let him recover while she slipped on shoes and picked up her midnight black wrap. She paused, holding it in her hand, then made up her mind and turned back to him. "I'm going to say two things, and you're perfectly free to ignore them if you want. Apollo... he's been acting like a crazy man for the past three sectons, more mood swings than a pregnant Gemonese... But he's not going to change much. Much more. He's not going to give you anything you don't already have. He can't." She paused a centon and added reflectively, "My brother's a decent, honorable man, with a strong, maybe too strong, sense of duty and responsibility. What he's supposed to do has always come first with him. It always will. He can't be otherwise. The other thing," she went on, not allowing him time to answer, "is, you're not on your own any more, playing these games you've always played. That man you're living with—remember him? You'd better talk to him before he finds out on his own. He's not an unobservant man." She tossed the wrap around her shoulders and headed for the door.

Starbuck exerted a considerable effort and managed to produce his best smile and charm. "Don't worry about me, 'Theni. I'm fine, and I know what I'm doing. And so do you, from the looks of it. You know I'm happy for you."

An infinitely sad expression shadowed her face for just a micron. Then she smiled at him, touched his arm again, and said, "You're always happy for everyone. You're just never happy." Then she left, the door hissing shut behind her.

He stayed there for a few centons more, leaning against her wall. When he caught himself vaguely wondering if she was going to be out all night, could he maybe crash on her couch and avoid, well, everything, he pushed himself upright and left. After all, avoidance had started this whole sorry mess...

He didn't remember walking the rest of the way, but here he was in front of the door, so he must have. He hoped he hadn't walked past anyone, but it wasn't a strong emotion. He didn't seem to have any room for any emotion at the moment. Everything was dull and grey. That was the safest way.

He dropped his jacket on the floor and sat on the couch, two nice neat verbs for what was much closer to a simple collapse. Funny... two sectons and I'm still not used to it. He closed his eyes and tried to shut his mind off.

"Starbuck?"

Frack. What is he doing here? He's supposed to be on duty... I can't have been sitting here that long. He didn't answer. Maybe he'll go away again.

No such luck. Not that he'd expected it. "You look like you've been dragged though six hells and left alone in the seventh. Can I help?"

"No." Starbuck just wasn't ready for this. Not yet. If not now, when? When will it be a better time?

The cushions shifted as he sat down anyway. Damn him, anyway. Sometimes he just won't... what? Leave you in pain? "Talk to me about it?" he invited.

Starbuck shook his head, not looking at him.

"If it will help you get started, I know you're sleeping with Apollo." The baritone was completely without judgment.

Starbuck sat quietly for a centon. "No," he said finally. "I'm not." He let that hang in the air between them a centon, feeling Omega's silent disbelief turn it into the evasion it was and yet unable to detect anything other than willingness to wait for him for tell the truth as long as it took. He couldn't stand that; acceptance was wrong. He sat up and attacked. "I'm not sleeping with him; he won't let me stay long enough to sleep. It's just sex."

"I'm sorry." And he was. He really was.

"You're sorry?" Starbuck said incredulously. He was supposed to be pissed off, not hurt... no, not hurt. Please, not hurt. Angry. Angry is good. Angry is normal. I can deal with angry.

"You deserve more than that," he answered simply. "I hate seeing you like this. It makes me unhappy."

"I'll leave today," Starbuck agreed. "I'll get my stuff into a locker—"

"Starbuck, listen to me. That was not me asking you to leave."

Starbuck blinked and then looked at him. "It wasn't? You aren't?"

Omega sighed softly. His hands, which were clasped in his lap, made an abortive movement, but he restrained himself from whatever it was he was trying to do. His dark eyes never left Starbuck's face. "No. I'm not. I told you, you were welcome to stay here for as long as you want, and I told you there were no strings. I meant them then—"

"Things have changed," Starbuck said, giving him the out.

"Not that much," Omega, incredibly, refused it. "You always loved him. Now he just—" he broke off. "I mean, no strings doesn't mean as long as it's the way..." He paused again, took a breath, and said, carefully, "Stay as long as you want. I don't want you to leave. But it's up to you."

"And?" Starbuck prompted, completely confused by Omega's sudden uncertain manner. Something wasn't getting said, and Omega was afraid to say it. But if he wasn't kicking him out... what was going on?

"And... it's not like you have anyplace to go. He's not going to put you up. Sorry. But, honestly, Bucko, what, are you going back to the barracks? Sleep with one eye open? Spend your entire paycheck on a one room somewhere? Stay here. I won't touch you if you don't want me to."

Which would have been convincing if he'd said it instead of the previous false start. Starbuck knew evasion when he heard it. "And?" he prompted again.

"And nothing. Starbuck, can't you believe that somebody might just want you as much as—" he broke off again.

Starbuck stared at him. "As what?" he asked, finally. "I can think of a lot of ways that could end..."

"And you don't believe any of them, do you?" Omega sighed. "No. You do. But only the ones that end in nouns. Objects. I hate that. It... angers me."

Starbuck just stared at him.

"As much as you want him. As much as I want you. As much as possible."

"You never said."

"I didn't need to," Omega said. "And you didn't want me to. You wouldn't have believed it then, and it would have made you leave. Not have been here in the first place."

Starbuck contemplated that. It was true... after Cassie he had not wanted anybody to lie to him about wanting forever. It just hurt too much. And forever was always a lie. Always. Forever just meant 'until something better comes along', because Starbuck wasn't worth forever...

"Don't do this," Omega cut into his thoughts. "Don't think you don't deserve whatever you want. You do."

Starbuck shook his head.

"Frack," Omega said, startling Starbuck. He reached out and gathered Starbuck into his arms, turning his head to rest his cheek on the top of Starbuck's head. Starbuck came unresisting and uncomprehending, resting against him. "I love you, Starbuck. I want you to be happy. I'm angry that you aren't, that you don't think you can be. I want to make you happy; I want you to have what you want. I wish you believed you deserved more than sneaking around, that you deserved to be acknowledged in public. I wish you loved me. And I want to give you whatever you'll take from me, even if it's just a place to wait for him."

Starbuck finally found his voice. In a way, he didn't want to say anything, just wanted to rest there, surrounded by warmth and acceptance and ... love, Starbuck. There. That wasn't so hard? Except the thought of it terrified him and he didn't know why. He managed to say, "I don't deserve more. If I did, I'd get it. He'd give it to me. He'd want to," making it, he hoped, sound like what it was, a flat statement of fact not a plea for some false reassurance.

Omega made a little unhappy sound. "Oh, Starbuck... if you don't believe all that felgarcarb you say you don't believe, then you should know you're as good, as worthy, as deserving as anyone else in the fleet. And if you do believe it..." he sighed, his chest rising and falling under Starbuck's head. "Then, damnit, I'm as good as he is. My blood's as pure, my lineage as long... I could bore you with my pedigree back over two thousand yahrens. And I love you. Doesn't that make you special?"

"No," Starbuck whispered. "It makes you indiscriminate. It means you're slumming..."

"Oh, Bucko..."

"I don't even know what tribe I'm from. For all I know, I'm illegitimate."

"For all you know, you're the Lost Prince of Aquaria."

"Megs—"

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm serious. If you don't know, you don't know, but where you came from doesn't matter."

Starbuck laughed, once, a sound with no humor in it. "It sure as seven hells matters to most people." Voices out of the past whispered it again: it's too bad; he's bright and attractive, but who knows what's in his blood? Do you have someone else?

"Not to me. It. Just. Doesn't. Matter. What matters is where you are. Where you're going. That most of all. The other not at all."

"Why?" He demanded.

"Why?" Omega repeated.

So he told him. "I'm good-looking. I'm good in bed—"

"You make me laugh," Omega interrupted firmly. "You make me want to laugh. You're kind. You're valiant. You listen. You saved my sanity. You let me remember and you make me forget. You're a light in the dark storm for me to navigate by. You're warmth in the cold. I can go on," he offered.

"I don't know!" And to his horror, he heard his voice break.

"Shhh," Omega said. "It's all right. I've got you. I've got you. Do what you want, it's all right."

He couldn't bear it. He felt as if he were shattering into too many pieces to ever be mended again. He clenched his fists in Omega's uniform shirt and twisted sideways, falling back onto the couch with Omega's weight landing on top of him. "Prove it," he said harshly, knowing Omega would taste Apollo on his skin, in his mouth, if he kissed him. "Fuck me." Omega's dark eyes were only inches from his, looking into him. He closed his own, afraid of what they were showing. "Prove it," he repeated.

"Ohhhh." Omega's voice sounded so sad Starbuck had to open his eyes. "Starbuck, leave before you go back to then. Please, don't do that to yourself." He took Starbuck's hands in his, tried to loosen their grip.

Starbuck tightened his hold, panicked. "No—" frantically he hunted the right words. "Love me."

They were the right ones. Omega stopped trying to leave, took hold of him again, and kissed him. Starbuck kissed him back, every sense hyper-acute, looking for one hint of anything but acceptance and not finding it. And as Omega began undressing him, gently, as though he were something—someone—infinitely precious as well as infinitely desirable, Starbuck began to cry.

Omega picked him up and carried him into the sleeping room, laying him on the bed like a bride in a romance film. He kissed his tears away, over and over, between kissing and caressing his whole body, from toes to hairline. Starbuck hadn't expected to have any passion left in him, but Omega knew his body too well. After, spent from tears and sex and fear and love, Starbuck fell asleep almost immediately, Omega pulling the blankets over them as he cuddled Starbuck to himself.

Not fighting fair, are you, Megs? Starbuck thought as he drifted into oblivion. But all's fair...

* * * * *

Starbuck opened the door to find Athena standing there. Her color was a bit high and her eyes were flashing and she looked like an avenging avatar. "Omega's not back yet," he said. "And I was just on my way out—"

"Sit down here," Athena ordered him.

"'Theni, I have to be—"

"Nowhere. You have to be nowhere right now except right here, talking to me."

He sat down but he didn't intend to talk to her.

She sat on the arm of the couch and stared at him. "You didn't talk to him, did you?" She sounded like she'd expected nothing different.

"I did," he said involuntarily.

"You don't look any happier," she said.

When had she learned to do this? He shrugged. "What did you expect, 'Theni? Before I was cheating. Now, I'm... I don't know what."

"What do you mean? Starbuck, I'm positive he loves you."

"He does," Starbuck sighed. "But he doesn't mind—"

"Oh, don't give me that."

"No, you're right. He minds. It's just that he's willing..." it was no good. There simply wasn't any way to say it without wanting to blow his brains out.

Athena the ever-helpful put it into words for him. "He's willing to let you use him?"

He shrugged.

"Starbuck..." she shook her head.

"I know," he admitted. "I have to leave him."

"Because you can't do to him what my brother is doing to you?"

"It's different."

"Of course. Why?"

"Because he doesn't deserve to be used. He deserves to find someone who'll settle down and treat him... like he treats me."

"Oh, Starbuck," she said. "Do you even listen to yourself? I mean, I know you don't much listen to anyone else, and half the time you don't know what you're going to say until you do, but... I love Apollo, but he's never going to give you what you need. Starbuck, he's sealing with Sheba next secton. What are you going to do, sneak around with him hoping she never catches you?" She broke off. "Hoping she does? She'd kill you. She might kill you on general principles if she ever catches you looking at him. Is that what you want?"

"Athena, I don't know what I want any more."

"You refuse to treat Omega the way Apollo treats you. But it's okay for Apollo to do it?"

He sighed. "Okay doesn't enter into it. I can't help it. I can't say no to him. When he looks at me, I don't have any willpower. I can't walk out of the room."

She reached out and ruffled his hair comfortingly, as if he were Boxey. "Maybe that's the choice you have to make, Starbuck."

"What?"

"Whether to walk into the room in the first place."

* * * * *

Starbuck rapped on the wall next to the open doorway into Tigh's office. "Sir?"

"Starbuck? Do you need something?"

"I wanted to talk to you, sir."

Tigh leaned back in his chair. Being with Athena had mellowed him, Starbuck thought, almost enough to be noticeable. "I told you, as long as there's an available Viper, you can scramble with the others. But I'm not satisfied enough with the situation to send you back to Blue Squadron on full-time duty. I may never be, in fact. You'll probably end up in Red or Purple."

"Purple is a better color on me," Starbuck said with a grin, and then sobered. "But I wasn't going to ask about that. I wanted to talk to you about something else." He hefted the data pads in his hand. "Something related to the Fleet defenses."

Tigh raised an eyebrow and invited him in with a gesture. "What's on your mind, Starbuck?"

"We need Vipers at the rear of the Fleet," he stated baldly.

Tigh laughed shortly. "You'll get no argument from me. But unless you've located a lost carrier or the Pegasus, I don't see any way to accomplish that."

"We have the Akkadia Furious."

"That's a frigate, Starbuck." Tigh's manner was that of a man pointing out that one tiny little overlooked detail.

"She's a frigate with Hades' own hole blown into her starboard bow where she used to store ordnance."

"This means?" Tigh asked, taking him seriously enough to listen.

"You know there's no real problem in launching Vipers off a frigate," Starbuck said. "You can't get to full acceleration, but it's not like you're going to fall off and hit something. You just have to wait to gun it until you're out. You lose a half a centon."

"You lose a half a centon," Tigh said. "Most of us lose more."

"But not enough to worry about. And considerably less, by orders of magnitude, than waiting for anyone to get the whole length of the fleet."

"Granted. But, as you just admitted—at least it sounded like you were—it's getting back onto a frigate that's the problem."

"And this is where the hole in the Furious comes in."

"Oh, no, you can't be serious."

Starbuck grinned. "Can't I? You come in dead slow, hit full retro and then kill it." He was demonstrating with his hands, and on the last phrase he dropped his hand to the top of Tigh's desk. "Like a first kiss."

"You're crazy."

"It's doable."

"In theory."

Starbuck grinned again.

"You didn't."

"Sir, I checked the regs, and I get two centares a secton in a Viper to keep my skills up. I put it down ten out of ten. And, obviously, got out ten out of ten, too."

"And the Akkadia Furious's captain didn't object?"

"Aah," Starbuck waved that off. "What is he, a hundred? A hundred and twenty? The man wants to retire. He was a little worried I might—"

"Break through an inner bulkhead and cripple his ship?"

"Bend it a little bit," Starbuck corrected. "But when I explained what I was talking about, he was more than willing to help me—"

"What, exactly?"

"Come up with a plan that would require a slightly more recently combat-experienced officer to command the Furious. Because if we put a squadron of Vipers on her and stash her at the back of the fleet, with thirty percent of her starboard weaponry out and that tiny little blind spot—"

"And that minor thrust and balance problem," Tigh put in.

"Right, right," Starbuck nodded. "You can see that he'll get to retire over to the Senior Ship if this plan goes into effect."

"Yes." Tigh looked at him. "You actually think you can train a dozen pilots to fly off a frigate?"

"It's a cinch. And only eleven. And if you give me six of the cadets who were shuttle pilots beforehand, it'll be like falling off a log."

"Complete with bruises?"

Starbuck shrugged. "Shuttle pilots put passengers down like this every day of their lives. And you know as well as I do, sir, tell a Viper pilot some shuttle jockey is better at something than he is—"

"Then why do you need six cadets?"

"Well, there is the little matter of parking space. I mean, once we get six Vipers in you are a little cramped for the others..."

"So the last two in are basically hanging over the edge?" Tigh said.

"That's an exaggeration," Starbuck protested, though it was very close to the truth. "Anyway, sir, I had the mechs paint the bay floor and I could do it without crossing the lines."

"Ten times?" Tigh said, reaching for the data pads.

Starbuck grinned. "Out of ten. It's completely doable. And that mess last sectare—"

Tigh cut him off. "I already told you I agreed with your premise. What's this?"

"Oh, well, one of the Furious's mechanics suggested that he could rig some sort of, you know, webbing or something that they could bring up between the rows of Vipers. I don't know if he can or not, ah, you know, I mean if he can, great, but we don't need it to make this work."

"No," Tigh said. "What you need is a tylium force screen generator to make your bay usable and probably a laser point cannon... and twelve Vipers. And twelve pilots. And a squadron operations crew, not to mention mechs. Oh, and a new captain. That about it?"

"That's it," Starbuck agreed cheerfully. "Except, eleven pilots."

"You want this squadron?"

"I do."

Tigh laid the pad back on his desk and regarded him expressionlessly.

"I'm pretty sure I can find eleven pilots who'd love this. Sure, the Furious is a frigate, not a battlestar, but we're not talking about the other end of the system. No reason at all people can't come back here. And we'd actually be closer to the Rising Star."

"So, you'd need shuttles—"

"The Furious already has four shuttles, sir," Starbuck pointed out. "Nice crew quarters..." It suddenly occurred to him why Tigh was looking at him like that. "And as for the rest of it, well, I happen to know that Captain Omega recommended that Lieutenant Athena be promoted to flag, to share the ICOB duties? I think you should ignore that recommendation and give her the Galactica's bridge and him the Furious." Tigh picked up the pad again, cocking his head as he listened. "After all," Starbuck continued, "you told me yourself he was in line for a frigate command yahrens ago. And he knows how to fight a ship, sir."

"Yes, he does." Tigh looked down at the pad. "So you want to take one of our squadrons?"

"Well, sir, I see it like this. The Galactica's normal complement is six squadrons with three LRRVs. At the moment, we've got seven, thanks to Silver Spar. It's... lopsided. Plus crowded."

Tigh laughed. "Looking at this," he held up the pad, "I can see you've put a lot of work into this. It has merit. It has a lot of merit."

"So," Starbuck felt relieved, "you'll argue it with the commander?"

"I'll present it to him." Tigh stacked the pads on top of each other. "Let me hang on to these. I'll bring it up at our meeting tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir." Starbuck went back to his cubby and collapsed in his chair. He honestly hadn't been sure he'd have the guts to carry through with it. But he had. The cards were dealt, the antes in, and he'd never quit the table once the game had started.

No matter how much he stood to lose.

Or if he wasn't even sure which result was loss. And which win.

* * * * *

Apollo was waiting when the new squadron returned to the Galactica after the last practice session with the Furious. Starbuck was feeling good; not only had every pilot mastered that little drop-and-kick maneuver for maximum launch speed, but they had landed the entire squadron perfectly in the Furious's bay without nets. Twice. They were ready. And two days early. But his good mood evaporated when he saw Apollo's angry face. Well, you knew he'd find out sooner or later. I'm surprised it took him this long... Adama must have his own suspicions. He is his father, after all...

"Lieutenant Starbuck. My office. Now." No curter than he usually was in public. The rest of the pilots gave him sympathetic looks as they headed on out of the decon chamber, but nobody was surprised at anything. Even Captain Hard-Ass being here so long after his own shift. Starbuck took a moment to wonder if Sheba was going to try to break him of that.

He preceded Apollo into the office and half-sat on the edge of the desk. He was not going to let Apollo have the upper hand from the get-go, even if he ended up on his knees again before it was over. Besides his knees were already weak. He needed all the shoring up he could get.

"I just found out you've been tapped for this damn fool frigate idea," said Apollo, his eyes worried.

"Yes." Keep it simple and don't look at him.

"This is my father's idea," Apollo said angrily. "I'll talk to him. I'll get you reassigned back here. One of the squadrons that's staying."

"Apollo, wait a centon. This isn't the Commander's idea." Starbuck took a deep breath. "Oh, he approves of it. It solves his problems—the ones he knows he has. He likes it a lot. But it's not his idea." He swallowed. "It's mine."

Apollo stared at him, shocked. "Yours?"

"Apollo," Starbuck said quietly. "You know I love you. I always have. I think I always will. But..."

"But?"

"I can't live like this," Starbuck said in a rush. "Apollo, please, can't you see what it would do to me, living like you want? Even if I break up with him, you want.. I can't..." He stopped, looking at the hands he was holding out so pleadingly. He dropped his eyes, laced his fingers together at the back of his bowed head, and took a couple of deep breaths.

"I want you," Apollo said. "That's all I want. I love you."

Starbuck let go of himself and dropped his hands to rest in his lap. He looked at Apollo and tried to keep his voice steady. "You want me, when you want me. When you can work me in. A centare here, two centares there, maybe a night when you're alone and you can get someone to take your son. But you don't want your son to know. Or your father." He stopped, gulped, and finished. "Or your wife."

Apollo winced, but didn't say anything.

Starbuck continued. "Or anybody else, for that matter. I... If you had asked me a yahren ago, even just a few sectares ago, I wouldn't have even hesitated. But I... I can't be your bit on the side. Your dirty little secret, Apollo. Gods help me, I want to do it. I would do it. But it would kill me, over and over, a little bit more each time... I finally almost believe I deserve more that that. Please don't ask me to go back to being nothing. Please."

"Starbuck," Apollo's voice was almost as close to breaking as his own. "I love you. Don't you believe that?"

"I do. But you don't love me enough to let anyone but me know. You don't love me enough to let me be a real person... I don't blame you, gods no, believe me. I know what you have to lose and how much not worth it I am... And I love you enough to do it your way, if you ask me again. So please..." his voice did break and he had to stop to get himself back under control. "Please, 'Pol. Don't ask me to. Let me go back to him."

"Starbuck—" Apollo's voice nearly broke his heart.

Somehow he dug down and found the courage to admit, "I don't think I can if you don't let me. I've loved you too long, too hopelessly, too much, too... too. But he wants me every day. Every centare. In the teeth of public opinion and Kobolian anger and right up in everyone's face... He makes me into a person. I want you, but I need him. Please, Apollo." He got to his feet, bracing himself on the table, blindly reaching for his jacket. His fingers closed on it and he started for the door, a little unsteadily but going, hoping he wasn't sure which: to hear the voice call him back or not to. The door opened and he was in the hallway. He leaned against the wall, trying to regain his composure.

Déjà vu, he thought. Or is it that when it really did happen before? What's the Aquarian for 'always'? But this time it didn't take him as long to get back on his feet, start walking down the corridor, hearing the flames licking at the bridge behind him. Of course, Apollo could put those flames out with a word, with a look... but by the time Starbuck reached the corridor intersection, Apollo still hadn't come after him.

Is this what freedom feels like? Starbuck thought. Maybe it's an acquired taste. Like everything else that's good for you...

It would get better, though.

It pretty much had to.

* * * * *

"I wish you weren't going, Starbuck." Boxey wasn't pleading, just stating a fact, though sadly.

"I know. But the Furious isn't that far away, I'll be over here a lot, and you can call me anytime."

"Can I come visit?"

Frack. He would ask that outright. Starbuck hadn't seen Apollo in three days. He had no idea where they stood with respect to things like Boxey... "As far as I'm concerned, you can," he said. "I don't know how easy it'd be to work out, though."

"Dad probably won't stay mad at you forever." Damn, but the boy had a way of cutting through the felgarcarb.

"I hope not." He really did. And part of him even hoped that Apollo would come after him, make a declaration, do something. He knew it would never happen, but hope never needed certainty—that's what makes it hope. And that's why he had to leave. Because that hope could be tolerated with the fleet in the way. But on the same ship as Apollo, it would kill him. And he'd let it.

"Don't worry, Boxey," Athena said. "I'll take you to visit them. And if I get too tied up or whatever, I'll just get Tigh to order Starbuck to come over here for something."

Boxey laughed.

Starbuck shook his head, meeting Athena's pale blue eyes over Boxey's head. "Flagrant abuse of personal relationships," he teased her. Then, "Thanks, 'Theni."

"Starbuck," she said, "it's worth it to see you grow up, even a little bit. It makes me feel like the age of miracles isn't past. Like someday we'll all get to Earth."

"You're an incorrigible optimist," he said.

"That's why I dated you," she teased him back. "Don't be a stranger, now. Either of you."

"The same to you," he said and hugged her. Then he got down on one knee and opened his arms to Boxey, who hugged him tight. "See you around, kid," he said. "Don't forget what I taught you."

"Watch their eyes, not their hands, and always know where the doors and windows are," Boxey said.

"That's my boy," Starbuck said. "Can't go wrong if you remember that."

"It's time for school, now, Boxey," Athena said. "We have to go. Say 'good bye' to Starbuck."

"Do I have to?" Boxey pulled away and looked at Starbuck with eyes almost ready to overflow.

"Naah," Starbuck said. "Say 'see you around' instead."

Boxey managed a grin. "See you around, Starbuck."

"You bet you will, kid. It's a sure thing." He walked out with them and watched them head away down the corridor. She'd make a good mother; Boxey was lucky she was there and willing for Apollo to make use of her. He shied from that idea and settled firmly on thinking about what a lucky man Tigh was. In more ways than one.

* * * * *

Starbuck was in the middle of a story designed to impress the listener (in this case Omega) with his ability to fly rings around any Cylon ever born and/or manufactured when Omega's eyes caught on something over his shoulder and he realized he'd lost his audience. He turned to look and saw Apollo walking towards the shuttle. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat in front of him. Now what? he thought in despair.

He felt Omega's hand on his arm, and opened his eyes to look into his face. Omega's expression was... expressionless, but his eyes were infinitely kind. "Go," he said, pushing Starbuck just the tiniest bit towards the door. "You have to face him."

"Omega..." He didn't know what to say after that.

Omega smiled at him. "I know," he said. "I know. Go."

Starbuck touched his face quickly, then rose and stepped out of the shuttle. On the pad he took a couple of steps, then stood and waited. Apollo walked up to him and smiled in relief. "Starbuck—" he began.

"Is it different?" he asked, hopelessly, seeing in Apollo's flinch the confirmation of what he'd known before he asked. Apollo had come as far as he could come. And it wasn't his fault Starbuck almost knew it wasn't far enough.

They stood for a moment in silence, then Apollo said his name again.

"If you ask me," Starbuck interrupted, "I'll stay. Even now. You know it. I know it. He knows it."

"Starbuck—"

"So, don't." Starbuck gazed into those green eyes, knowing they would always have power over him. In a hundred yahrens, if they called him, he would probably go. "Apollo, please don't."

They stood there, staring at each other. Starbuck felt physically restrained, unable to move, almost unable to breathe. Apollo, on the other hand, was breathing quickly, and Starbuck could almost hear the darker man's heart racing. He had no idea how long they would have stayed like that, eyes locked, souls locked, if the shuttle pilot had not broken the silence.

"Lieutenant? Ah... I have a schedule. I can't wait any longer, if you're going with us?"

Starbuck couldn't look at him. He couldn't look away from Apollo at all. He couldn't even speak.

Then Apollo dropped his eyes. Starbuck felt the release so strongly his head actually snapped back while his lungs filled with a sudden breath. He swallowed and licked lips gone dry.

Apollo raised his head, carefully looking over Starbuck's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Starbuck," he said. "Be happy." Without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and walked quickly away, not looking back.

Starbuck stood there just a moment longer, watching him go. Then he turned, too, and followed the pilot onto the shuttle. Omega was standing by the viewport on the other side, looking out towards the stars, still, silent, waiting on Starbuck's decision. As the shuttle door was closed and sealed, Starbuck saw his shoulders rise with a deep breath, and he turned around.

Starbuck walked straight into his arms and clung to him like a found child. He could hear the steady heartbeat through the uniform, feel the embrace that surrounded and supported him. He took a ragged breath and leaned into the solid warmth and his trembling slowly ceased. "Shhh," Omega soothed him. "It's all right. It's all right."

Starbuck raised his head and looked into the warm dark eyes: no reproach, no regrets, no demands. Only welcome. He laid his head back against Omega's chest. "I love you," he said softly.

"I know," Omega assured him. "I know. We're going home."

* * * * *

the end...

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