Title: Too Long Nights

Author/pseudonym: Karen

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica

Paring: Starbuck/Apollo

Rating: PG13

Status: New, complete

Archive: Yes, please archive this.

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

Series/Sequel: "Bending Twigs" is a semi-prequel and companion piece

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

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

Summary:

Notes: Quotes are from the Book of Job, chapter thirty-eight, and the Eighth Psalm

Warnings: referenced past nonconsensual sex and drug use, present consensual sex

We both have known heartache and love that's gone wrong,
When the ghosts take the shadows and the night takes too long.
—"Waltz Across Texas Tonight", Rodney Crowell & Emmylou Harris
* * * * *

Boxey turned eight this secton. He's been mine for more than two calendar yahrens now, and finally the adoption's official... I suppose they didn't think it was urgent. I can't believe how relieved I was when it finally happened. It's not like there was a threat, but now nobody can take him, even if his 'other daddy', as he used to call him, were to suddenly show up, out of the blue, like Chameleon did... I couldn't bear it if someone were to try and take my boy away. I always loved him more than I did his mother. I married her because of him. We might have managed to make it work for him, had she lived, and after she died ... He's my world, almost. I watch him sleeping and my heart aches with the need to keep him safe. I'd kill to do it. He's the son I'll never have. The grandson I'll never give my father. Maybe the only grandson he'll ever have, given that my sister shows no signs of settling down with any young man—or middle-aged man, for that matter.

I don't know what 'Theni wants. There was a time I thought she wanted Starbuck. She's had eyes for him since she was fifteen and he came home with me from the Academy. I know he stayed away from her for a long time, first because she was too young, and then out of respect for our mother, but when we they both found themselves assigned to the Galactica I guess he decided that she knew what she was doing. I know they slept together. She never told me so, and he certainly never did, but that's how I know. Father guessed it, too, and sent me to remind 'Theni just how unsuitable Starbuck is for Sealing with...

I went. I always go where Father sends me. I always have. Even when it's not going to be even the tiniest bit enjoyable. Like telling my sister that my best friend is 'unsuitable'. 'Theni took pity on me, though. I do love my sister, even if we aren't close, which we aren't. Which is mostly my fault, I think, though 'Theni has her secrets, too. At any rate she didn't let me keep stumbling through my little prepared speech, didn't make me suffer. She just told me she knew Starbuck wasn't on Father's short list for sons-in-law. Or his long list. Or even vaguely under consideration. But he was a lot of fun, and she would be damned if she wouldn't take her fun where and when she could, all things considered.

I was relieved. There are so many reasons I was relieved I doubt I could sort through them all even now. I did think having Starbuck as a brother-in-law would have been... awkward. That's the best word for it I can come up with. But if 'Theni had wanted him, and he'd wanted her, I'd have fought Father for them no matter how hard it would have been. How doomed a cause. But they didn't. And somehow, I didn't mind if she was Starbuck's idea of fun, too.

I know. Not much of a brotherly attitude. But, she's capable of taking care of herself. Not to mention half the Fleet. And Starbuck is my best friend.

And he hasn't had much in his life. He deserves what he can get.

Besides, his lovers are always so damned happy when he's with them, and somehow the breakups aren't bad, he stays friends with them.

Even though 'Theni did pull that stunt on Starbuck and Cassie... So maybe I do know what 'Theni wants. Because I don't think it was Starbuck she was ever annoyed with, back when he was dating both of them at the same time. I think it was Cassie who made her mad. And if she didn't want Starbuck, why would she care who he went out with? So maybe I do know.

Poor 'Theni. She craves Father's approval more than I do, and she doesn't really get it. She can't. She made the mistake of being born a woman. She should have been the first-born son. Or any son at all. We would all have been so much happier. Poor management on Somebody's part.

Apollo reviewed his journal entry. He'd rather gotten off topic, there. Started rambling about things he probably shouldn't commit even to a private journal. He went back and erased everything after "take my boy away." The reference to Chameleon he let stand, it was vague enough. He stared at the screen, and finally finished:

I couldn't bear it if someone were to try and take my boy away. I love him so much. And now we're really, truly safe, as I'll tell him any time he asks. Every time.

He stopped himself before he got indiscreet again and saved the file. Then he stared at the walls, wondering what to do with himself tonight. Boxey was at his father's, getting spoiled with too many mushies and religious stories that Apollo would have to deal with, the former in the turboflush and the latter in long evenings of putting things into perspective... But that was for later. Tonight was his own, his one night a secton when Boxey was with Adama or Athena, and Apollo was supposed to go and have fun.

Problem was, Apollo didn't want to have fun. It had been a long time since he'd had fun. Fun wasn't, any more. Hadn't been since Apollo was transferred onto the Galactica, into the position of Strike Captain, under his father and in command of his friends from the Academy. Boomer and Jolly. And Starbuck.

Starbuck. His best friend ever. Ever. Once upon a time...

Gods, he missed the old days, back when he and Starbuck had been best friends. When the two of them and Boomer had been able to go out and enjoy themselves. Of course, he'd always been the sober, cautious one, but in Starbuck's company he'd been able to unwind. To have a few drinks, even play pyramid. When they were on Caprica, he'd even been able to get Starbuck to go to fairs, and listening to Starbuck on the topic of midways and the old worn-out games of not-quite-chance-Apollo-honestly had been fun, more fun than going to them as a wide-eyed kid with his mother and 'Theni.

Now... he sighed. He could still go out for an evening with Starbuck, drink and gamble and make sure Starbuck didn't get into trouble, but it wasn't the same. Hadn't been the same since he'd met Rohan on the Aquila and discovered that he was not the only man in the galaxy whose adolescent crushes on his male teachers or sports heroes didn't go away with his adolescence. That he wanted other men. That they wanted him, or at least some of them did.

That all the warm and willing women in the worlds didn't turn him on one twelfth as much as one oblivious man. That, in fact, not even willing men could. Not if that man was Starbuck. And when they'd ended up on the Galactica together, that had put paid to Apollo's fun. Because just one look at Starbuck in the glorious, golden flesh, one time meeting those blazing blue eyes, one time seeing that smile that Starbuck saved for those few he trusted... well, not only was Apollo reduced to thinking in clichés, but to spending all his time in reminding himself that Starbuck was, in the one way Apollo wished he wasn't, straight as the path of light outside a gravity well.

His doorsignal sounded. He sighed. He knew who was outside that door. The same man who came by every night he didn't have Boxey, and a few nights when he did, for that matter, because he loved Boxey, too. And he'd want Apollo to go out and have fun.

And some night, Apollo was going to lose control and do something to destroy the only thing in his life that was close to his relationship with his son.

Some night, maybe. But not tonight, Apollo, he told himself as he got up to answer the door.

"Hey, buddy," Starbuck said. "Isn't this your night off? Come on."

Apollo smiled and shook his head. "Don't you ever slow down, Starbuck?" He picked up his jacket and let the door shut behind them.

"I'm not that old," the blond said.

"You're the same age I am," Apollo protested.

"Not quite," Starbuck said. "I'm a yahren younger. At least. I like to think I'm even younger than that."

"Well, you haven't grown up yet, that's for sure."

Starbuck feinted a punch at him and they laughed and began walking to the O Club, Starbuck launching into a complicated story about something he'd heard from someone who knew someone who should know about somebody on the bridge crew Apollo wasn't sure he recognized the name of and one of the Viper mechs. Apollo listened to the beloved voice and managed with the ease of long practice to make the appropriate responses based mostly on the tones he was hearing.

No, not tonight, Apollo thought again. Tonight you'll keep your hands off of him, and you won't say anything stupid. And then you can come home and indulge yourself in the privacy of your own quarters and not ruin your life.

* * * * *

Starbuck was perturbed. He'd noticed that Apollo was spending more and more time off in his own corner of reality lately. Oh, he seemed to be with you, but unless he was on duty—something even Cadet Apollo had had a hard time shaking—he wasn't really. And his old friend had just said, cheerfully, "You don't say," "I sort of thought so," and "Who'd have guessed?" to Starbuck's informing him that (a) Colonel Tigh had been caught nailing Lieutenant Omega on the bridge, (b) Dr. Salik had succeeded in cloning Commander Cain from a strand of hair, and (c) Jenny had told him that afternoon that all the Vipers had irreparable metal fatigue and they'd have to load lasers onto shuttle craft to defend the fleet... Things were not good. Not good at all.

So, he thought, looking at that lean dark face that was more familiar to him than his own (because, contrary to popular opinion, he didn't spend centares at a time staring at his own reflection, just the odd centon now and then to make sure he was still presenting the proper image to the world), now the question before the panel is, 'what's the problem?' Well, questions, really: 'what's the problem and how do I fix it?' Because that's what he did. It's what he was for.

Starbuck could still remember the almost physical rush of pleasure that he had experienced his first day at the Academy. He'd been a scared, way-the-hell-out-of-his-league kid already thinking he'd made the worst mistake of his life trying to become a pilot even if they were right at the induction center, already unsure if he could cheat his way through the academics well enough to make his skills pay off, nervous and uncertain and wary and meeting his room-mates for the first time, ready to fight back if he could and submit if he had to. He'd already realized he was younger than the rest of the first-yahren cadets. Not by much, maybe a yahren, but they were at the age where a yahren made a big difference, especially if he was supposed to be their age. That in many ways he was already older than most of them would have ever been if not for the Destruction didn't alter the facts of physical growth.

He still didn't know how room-mates were picked. Maybe it was random, maybe it was from carefully evaluated psych reviews, maybe it was the hand of the gods. Whatever, it had certainly worked out. Boomer and Jolly had already been in the room when he'd arrived. A Leonid and a Caprican, but both out of their natural place in the scheme of things. Both of them at that time taller than him. Both already with their beards growing. Both trying to look unbothered, at home... Both with that middle-class bearing he could exploit if he got the chance. Both of them sizing each other, and him, up in that transparent and ineffectual way most people did it, revealing as much or more as they learned. This was okay as long as they didn't decide to gang up on him right away, he could play one off against the other and get by. Everything was riding on the fourth guy.

And then their fourth guy had arrived, and he wasn't. He was their first guy, then and forever. He wasn't even a guy, he was a godling. He was dark and lean and tall and moved well, and he was self-assured, and he had millennia of breeding in his veins and money on his back and in his manner. And he had a captain following him just in case anybody didn't realize he was a godling... anybody like him himself, Starbuck realized as soon as the dazzle was out of his eyes.

Which was several days later.

And in was then, that first semester... who was he kidding? that first secton... that Starbuck had divined the purpose for which he had been created, the reason everything that had happened in his life up to that point had happened. What his job was, then and forever: taking care of Apollo.

Smoothing the road ahead of Apollo. Brushing the skeetons away from Apollo. Drawing the fire, taking the risks, easing the load, getting shot at, getting shot, chasing off the bad guys, making him laugh, making him rest, just in general taking care of him. Including annoying him out of his bad moods, borrowing money from him, getting into trouble, in general abandoning his whole carefully cultivated you-can't-see-me-I'm-nobody-not-here-not-around persona in favor of one that simultaneously amused and protected Apollo. One that drew the attention, the flak, and all the felgarcarb. One that gave Apollo someone to think he was taking care of who didn't really need it so it didn't take too much out of him. One whose entire raison d'être was, simply, Apollo.

Not that Apollo made it easy. Apollo wanted to take care of the world. It hurt him when he failed. And he thought he was supposed to be strong, too strong to need anyone to lean on. That was his father's doing, Starbuck had seen that the first centare he'd spent watching the two of them interact, Cadet Apollo and Colonel Adama, already a legend. Well, Starbuck had a god now, but legends were just tall tales to him... for Apollo's sake he'd charmed the old man as much as possible—not enough to be acceptable for the little sister that followed him around, to be sure, but then except for having an unassailable right to Apollo's presence as a legitimate member of his family, he hadn't really wanted sealing with Apollo's sister. Not his sister... nor the little brother that followed them both around.

That had been Starbuck's worst failure. Maybe his second worst... On the whole, whenever he looked at it, he knew Serina was the third worst. Oh, sure, he'd managed to throw such a temper tantrum that he'd kept her from being Apollo's wingman (the thought still made his blood run colder than most people thought it already was, Apollo with a green, gentle girl whom he loved as a wingman), managed to take Serina's mission, to get himself captured instead of her... Apollo couldn't risk his life coming after Starbuck, not with a wife and child... But he'd failed to keep her alive. He couldn't have done both, so on consideration Serina was failure number three. Zac was number two... maybe. After pulling in every marker he had to get Apollo transferred to the Galactica (much safer, much simpler, than getting himself onto what barge Apollo had been on at the time), he'd gone and believed The Twelve Old Loons had known what they were doing and let Zac take the last mission before the Peace in his place. He should have known better. He really should have. Not just that the Peace, being too good to be true, was therefore not true. He should have known that there was nothing, nothing that would make Apollo feel more eaten up with guilt than "leaving Zac out there alone" ... even though his only option was bring Zac back safe to a Colonial Fleet in flames so they could all die together.

The worst thing was that Starbuck knew in his bones—and knew Apollo knew—that had Starbuck been the second pilot out there, they'd have both come home unscratched, running far enough ahead of the Cylons to... well, don't make more of it than you know, he always cautioned himself. But certain sure, bet everything you have, no possible way to lose it, they'd have both come back. Zac could fly, but he wasn't a combat pilot. And not even Apollo could outfly Starbuck. He knew that, made sure it stayed that way. He had to be better than Apollo if he was going to get between Apollo and Death.

Death... His three biggest failures. Zac. Serina. And Apollo himself. Oh, the beings of Light had brought Apollo back, but that didn't erase Starbuck's failure to save him. How many nightmares had he had over that? How many times had he woken, knowing he had no reason to live? How many times had he called Apollo in the middle of the night just to hear his sleepy, annoyed voice answering a misdirected call? But those were Starbuck's nightmares, Starbuck's penance. Apollo himself didn't even remember it. That's why Zac was the worst. That's the one Apollo had nightmares over, and the one Starbuck could have so easily kept from happening.

Never again. Those were the words Starbuck lived by. It was simple and it was doable. He'd make it doable. And he'd never again double-dare the Universe.

But mostly it wasn't Death he had to get between Apollo and. For which he was duly grateful to Whoever. Though he'd have been more grateful if they'd just left Apollo the frack alone. No, mostly it was just little stuff. His father. Religion. His oppressive sense of duty. His reluctance to do anything that was even vaguely enjoyable just for its own sake. Like drinking. Starbuck had had to convince him that the men needed to see their commander as a human being before Apollo had started coming to the O Club. And you could count on the fingers of, okay both hands, but with some left over and for three yahrens, two of them on the run, that was a far too meager sum, the number of times Apollo had cut loose. He didn't like gambling, he was far too worried about losing money. And Triad—oh, lords, Starbuck was so tired of getting smashed up on a Triad court. But he wouldn't have quit for the universe on a silver platter, because Apollo actually enjoyed it. He could kid himself it was healthy and good for unit morale all he wanted, and Starbuck would feed those lines from now till the Endtimes: the truth was, Apollo loved playing Triad. And maybe he could have, would have, found another partner, but Starbuck didn't trust even Boomer to get in the way of the ball or draw the oncoming flagrant foul...

Besides, he looked damned good in that uniform.

Starbuck squelched that thought. This was Apollo. Straightest of the straight. Raised in the Kobolian Way. Follower of Regulations even more closely. Husband. Father. Man in need of a stable family life...

Starbuck could still hear Zac, when he was first posted to the Galactica... I don't know what I want, Starbuck. Apollo said, when you're seventeen and living in an all-male environment, it'll happen but it doesn't mean anything... And Starbuck had supported Apollo's word at first, but finally he'd admitted, oh not everything, but a little bit. Admitted that for some men it meant something. For some men it was still happening at twenty-seven with over two thousand women... okay, maybe not every single one of them available, but pretty close. And some of the not singles, too.

Even if they never did anything, because there was only one man... even if he'd never look their way.

So, maybe he'd eased Zac's mind before he let him die, but Zac wasn't Apollo. Apollo's mind didn't need easing on that score. Apollo had said "It happens. But it doesn't mean anything." And even if it did, even if Apollo thought, or felt, well, he wouldn't have looked at Starbuck. He'd have wanted, deserved, better. But he didn't, and that was that. (And just as well. Really.) Apollo had sealed with Serina. And someday he'd probably seal with somebody else. Starbuck had thought it would be Sheba. She sure loved him. She'd been willing to die for him. She hadn't cared much for Boxey, that was what had stopped that cold, but no matter how much people had pushed him at her, Apollo had dug in his heels. He was damned good at that. Starbuck hadn't pushed; if Apollo really wanted her, he'd get her, and Starbuck wouldn't get in Apollo's way, but he hadn't pushed. His job didn't call for that... And it hadn't happened. And Sheba had finally gotten the message, been unable to stay in love with someone who wasn't in love with her ("I don't know why, Starbuck, I just can't love her. It's perfect, and I... just... can't." "Then it's not, 'Pol. Or you would." "Gods, everything seems so simple when I talk with you. Or else so complicated that it hurts to think about it." "This is simple, 'Pol. Trust me." Trust me...). Sheba had gone looking elsewhere, given that lionet's courage to Bojay, who'd never lost his devotion to her no matter what...

"Hey, buddy, you're awful quiet," Apollo said teasingly.

Frack. Starbuck flashed his second best grin and said, "Just thinking about that new seven-and-eleven dealer."

Apollo grinned back, "Yeah, she is kind of cute."

Well, that was okay. She was kind of cute, and Apollo wouldn't get serious about a dealer. She was more Starbuck's speed, but if Apollo was noticing, then Starbuck was happy to point him at her and stand back. "I was actually," he said with dignity, "thinking about the way she deals. I think I could beat her. Want to find out?"

"With whose money?" The tone was long-suffering but the tourmaline-green eyes were sparkling, shading a bit to emerald.

"Well, you're the one who gets the big bucks. Stake me and I'll pay you sixty percent of my winnings."

"Starbuck—"

"Okay, okay. Seventy."

"A hundred percent of nothing is still nothing."

"Where is your faith?"

"I've seen you lose too many times to have faith."

"For shame, Captain Apollo! Faith is belief in spite of evidence to the contrary."

"No, it's not. It's belief without evidence. And I don't have any in your ability to play seven-and-eleven. I'm better at that game than you are."

"Well..." That happened to be true. Seven-and-eleven was pure math, and Apollo had always been better at math. "So you play, and I'll provide the moral support. And fetch drinks."

"You really are incorrigible, you know that?"

"So I've often been told, but," Starbuck fluttered his eyelashes, "it never gets old."

Apollo stared at him for a micron, then burst into laughter.

That's the way. Let down that guard and let me see what's wrong. I can't fix it till I know what's wrong, 'Pol. Which was the hardest thing about his job. It could have been worse, Apollo could have been good at hiding his troubles, as good as Starbuck himself at throwing up facades and donning masks. But he wasn't. He hid behind a wall; you couldn't see what was behind it but you could certainly see it was there... Starbuck set himself to be as funny and as carefree and as much fun to be with as he could. Just relax, 'Pol. Just let me in. I'll fix it. Don't I almost always?

* * * * *

Well, frack, Apollo thought as he looked out at the stars. Somehow they were going to the Rising Star. He didn't remember agreeing to that. Of course, Starbuck clearly wanted to play seven-and-eleven. Or the dealer. Apollo wasn't sure which, but he suspected the latter, because seven-and-eleven wasn't really Starbuck's game. Oh, yes, this was going to be a lot of fun, watching Starbuck hustle a casino dealer... He wasn't sure he was going to be above doing his best to keep that from happening. How do I get into these situations?

He slewed a glance at Starbuck, who was sitting next to him, their shoulders touching. Apollo was sitting on the edge of the seat to avoid touching Starbuck from shoulder to ankle. Starbuck, of course, was sitting there all oblivious chatting with the frazzled young corporal taking up the rest of the seat. Only Starbuck would holler, "Come on, room for one more!" when the co-pilot was getting ready to shut the door in a young face just one micron away from tears. And then shove Apollo over in the blithe assumption that he too wanted to help out.

And it wasn't that Apollo minded helping out young love—at least that's what he thought he was doing—it was just that he'd rather have done it by staying behind and taking the next shuttle himself. Themselves. Instead of spending the entire trip to the Star with the sharp side edge of the seat digging into his butt and thigh. He probably wouldn't be able to walk by the time they got there.

Of course, he could shove Starbuck over a bit, put the corporal on the other edge. Or even just scrunch Starbuck up some... the corporal didn't have the nerve to, plus he was a skinny thing. Looked about sixteen. Apollo shook his head; the kid had to be older than that if he was a corporal already. But however old he was, he wasn't about to shove Lieutenant Starbuck over on the seat any further. And Apollo didn't have the nerve, either, though he doubted the reasons were the same. He shook his head again and tried to follow the story the corporal was pouring out to Starbuck, who was, for some reason, actually manifesting interest. It quickly became obvious he'd tuned in way too late, though; the tale was a tangled mess of pronouns and backtracking, with a liberal helping of well's and then's and you-see's... But Apollo was pretty sure the kid was chasing a girl, or trying not to be late, or changing his mind... he shook his head one last time, shifted on his now-numb butt trying to get more comfortable, gave it up as a lost cause, and settled for making up for it all by watching Starbuck's profile.

Which is how you get into these situations, he reminded himself. Because there's nothing which is permissible that you'd rather do on these nights out than look at Starbuck. Maybe in more comfortable surroundings, but... He smiled. Starbuck was always worth looking at, no doubt, but when he was being earnest and helpful he was... well, he was adorable. So Apollo sat there and adored.

"Galactica to Apollo, come in."

Apollo started. "What?"

Starbuck shook his head; the shuttle lighting made his hair tawny, but streaks of pure gold showed when it moved. His tone was wryly amused, but his speedwell blue eyes (Athena had called them that once) were worried. Apollo didn't want Starbuck worried. He wasn't made to be worried, he was supposed to be care free... So pay attention to what he's saying, you idiot, he told himself.

"Are you okay, Apollo?"

"Yes," he said. "I was just thinking..."—come up with something—"about whether it wouldn't be a good idea to transfer Gillian out of Yellow Squadron—"

"Apollo. Stop it. You're off duty, we're going to have fun tonight, you can worry about the wing tomorrow. Okay?"

Apollo made a show of reluctance that brought the sparkle back to Starbuck's eyes. "Fun? How is it going to be fun for me to watch you pick up a dealer?"

"Pick one up yourself," Starbuck challenged him. "But give me twenty cubits first."

"Starbuck, I told you I wasn't going to stake you at seven and eleven."

"It's not a stake," the blond protested with injured innocence. Amazing how well he could do that. "It's for me to lend Ricky here."

"I can't take Captain Apollo's money!" The corporal's protest was simultaneous with Apollo's.

"I'm lending you money to lend people? Don't you have any money of your own?"

"Ricky, it'll be my money, it's okay, I trust you with it. Apollo," he turned those eyes on Apollo, who figured he might as well pull out the cash now but played his part in the game anyway, "you said you wouldn't stake me, so obviously I have to hang on to my money to play with. This is just a loan, you know I'm good for a loan whether I win tonight or not. And you won't lend Ricky here any money 'cause you never met him before, and he wouldn't take your money anyway, so just lend me the twenty so he can take his girl for a nice dinner and grovel acceptably. C'mon," he put his arm around Ricky's shoulder and pointed at him; the corporal looked embarrassed as hell yet unable to break away. Apollo sympathized. "Just look at this face, Apollo. This is the face of a fool in love. He's got to do this in a big way or it's not going to work."

"Twenty cubits," Apollo said.

"Thirty would be better."

"Here," Apollo said, "before you work up to fifty."

"Have a sense of proportion," Starbuck said, taking the coins. "Fifty would be too much. She'd suspect something."

The young corporal, blushing mightily, took the money from Starbuck and tucked it away, stammering thanks and reiterating his promise to pay Starbuck back, "next pay period, lieutenant, I swear."

"I know you're good for it. And I know where you work. So don't worry," with that rather ambiguous reassurance—though it did seem to settle the corporal down a bit—Starbuck moved on to which restaurant they should go to and what he should order. The corporal hung on his words; Apollo half expected him to take notes.

Over Starbuck's shoulder he could see the Rising Star. He shifted position experimentally; he'd been right, his whole butt was numb. He laughed. Starbuck looked away from the corporal and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Apollo just shook his head and smiled, winning an answering smile as Starbuck turned to slap the corporal encouragingly on the shoulder. My butt's numb; I'm out thirty cubits and we're not off the shuttle yet; and Starbuck's going to try and find me a girl. And I'm so damned happy because he's smiling at me I don't need any drinks. Apollo, Apollo, Apollo, the man is right: you definitely need to find a sense of proportion.

* * * * *

Starbuck was regretting borrowing money from Apollo as he preceded him off the shuttle. He was also amusedly watching Ricky tear off down the corridor—he didn't regret helping the kid out; keeping half an eye out for trouble; and wondering why, recently, Apollo had stopped remembering the "last in, first out" rule of fleet etiquette and started letting him go first. He wasn't complaining, he was just wondering. He was also vaguely wondering why Apollo was walking like his feet didn't work, but mostly he was wondering how much money Apollo actually had on him.

Because if he didn't have very much, he wasn't going to impress the lovely but mercenary Lila. Who'd want at least an expensive dinner before succumbing to Apollo's charms. He sighed to himself. Apollo deserved better. But he didn't seem all that interested. Serina's hold on him was strong; he didn't mope over her, but he sure was faithful to her memory. Like Adama to Ila, he supposed. Though Adama was an old man, older than Starbuck himself ever expected to get, and Apollo was only thirty-two. Wasting his life on the memory of a young woman who wouldn't have wanted him to... Shouldn't have, anyway, Starbuck corrected himself, aware of his tendency to burnish Serina's image because Apollo had loved her.

Maybe he should offer to stake Apollo instead of playing himself? He'd jokingly suggested that, but maybe he should do it for real. The more money Apollo could flash, the more likely he'd get lucky tonight. And then, maybe he'd stop drifting off like that.

And why was he still lagging behind? Starbuck turned around and waited for Apollo, who was walking a good five paces behind him. At least he was walking normally again, that limpy whatever wouldn't have impressed Lila at all.

"Come on, Apollo," he chided him. "We're going to have to hurry if we want to make sure you get a seat at Lila's table."

If anything, Apollo slowed down.

Starbuck cocked his head, slightly puzzled. "Something wrong, 'Pol?"

"No," Apollo shook his head. "Nothing's wrong... I just don't want to play seven-and-eleven tonight. And I don't want to watch you play, either."

"Okay," Starbuck was willing. "What do you want to do? Pyramid? Gold Room?.. Dancing?"

Apollo blew out a gusty breath and leaned against the wall. "No... I'm not really in the mood for, you know, gaiety. Song and dance. People."

Starbuck took a long look at him and then leaned on the wall next to him, letting the crowd to and from the shuttle flow by. "Mind telling me why we came over here, then? There's not exactly much else here but gaiety, song, dance, and people. Except booze, gaming, and general carrying-on."

Apollo laughed slightly. "I know. And I don't really know. How we got here, I mean. I don't think I was paying much attention."

Well, I'm guessing you weren't dreaming about Lila and bed... "You've been doing that a lot lately," he said gently. "Want to tell me what the problem is?"

Apollo stared into Starbuck's eyes for a long moment; Starbuck felt as if something very important was moving behind that green gaze. Then Apollo shook smiled a little and shook his head. "There's no problem," he said.

"You sound like Boomer."

Apollo laughed.

"So, what do you want to do?" Starbuck returned to the problem at hand. Eventually he'd wear Apollo down. He always had.

"I don't know... Actually, yes, I do."

Starbuck sighed resignedly. "You know that place is a pain in the ass to get to."

"That's why nobody but us ever goes there."

"Well, if you don't want gaiety, song, dance, people, and general carrying-on, it's the right place to go. Come on, we can just make the shuttle if we hurry."

Starbuck hated the Celestial Dome. It wasn't just that it was a pain to get to; he could put himself out when he wanted to get to wherever it was. It was the fact that once you got there, there was nothing there but ancient, unusable technology and stars. Starbuck hated stars. Well, not stars precisely, but stargazing. Unless you had a pretty girl with you, whom you could dazzle with your knowledge of constellations and so on and then make a nice evening of it... And pretty girls didn't want to come all that way to look at stars and make out on a hard floor, even if there was any way to know what the constellations were out here. In fact, pretty girls could get all the stars they wanted from a lounge on the Rising Star. Or a luxury suite...

But just sitting alone and looking at the stars was a sure ticket to introspection. And that's what Starbuck hated. He never liked what he saw when he looked inside himself, and he didn't want to go places where that was the only thing there was to do. He could understand why someone like Apollo liked the Dome, but for him, no way. He only went there with Apollo.

And he went there every time Apollo asked.

Apollo had pushed himself up to sit on the old astrogator's position, leaning back on his braced arms and looking upwards at the starfilled sky. Which was quite the sight, thought Starbuck, Apollo against the stars. He could watch that for a while and up here, Apollo might not even notice. Might not... So, have a seat, Bucky, and try to make him talk to you.

There was a choice of sitting next to Apollo on the console, or on the floor somewhere. Normally, he'd have shoved him over and sat next to his friend, but lately Apollo was shy of contact. Not fearful, like anything had happened—Starbuck had sharpened up his eyes over that possibility—just as if he was getting tired of Starbuck's always touching him. So he sat on the cold floor by Apollo's right leg—always on his weak-hand side, a habit too engrained to lose if he'd wanted to—and leaned back against the console.

"Who set the cornerstone in place, when all the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted aloud?" said Apollo after a long silence. "Who binds the cluster of the Pleiades, and loosens The Hunter's belt?"

Great, thought Starbuck. He didn't recognize the exact source, but he knew the general... Your father been at you again? He contented himself with a questioning noise.

"You heathen," Apollo said, but fondly. "We're not much, in the end, are we? 'When I look up at the heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moons and the stars set in their place by You, what is man, that You are mindful of him?' What, compared to all this?"

Starbuck shrugged, knowing Apollo couldn't see him and knowing Apollo knew what he was doing even without seeing him. Apollo nudged his shoulder with his foot and then, quite like old times, left it there, his calf against Starbuck's cheek. Starbuck leaned lightly against it, no longer trying to get Apollo to talk. There'd be time for that later.

"Who shows the morning the way to grasp the horizon when the light of the Dawn-Star is dimmed and the stars of the Navigator's Line go out one by one? Which is the way to the home of light?"

Now that one Starbuck could cap, but he didn't. At least, not out loud... and where does darkness dwell? He sighed inaudibly. I know where.

* * * * *

"Boomer, got some time after shift?" Apollo asked two days after the abortive trip to the Rising Star. He'd done some serious thinking that night, and felt like he was hanging on the edge of a decision he didn't know how to make. He needed someone else's help.

Boomer looked up and gestured at the magazine he was leafing through. "I've got time now, as a matter of fact."

"Yes, well," Apollo hedged, "this isn't a now kind of conversation, Boomer. I was thinking more over some ale in my quarters... my sister's agreed to pick Boxey up after class and keep him for a while. Which is going to cost me considerable at some point down the road, so I'd appreciate it if you could free up a centare or so?"

Boomer studied him for a moment. His eyes were calm and steady, but then again they nearly always were. Apollo could only remember a few instances where they had burned. Boomer was a man who kept his passions on a short leash. Having seen what they could do off it, Apollo understood that. "Well," the dark-skinned man said after a moment, "if I don't, she's still going to hold you for having tied up her evening, isn't she, so you'll have to do it twice, and that means you'll probably kill me... Okay. Cover me for a few centons, so I can make a call, okay?"

"If you have something planned—"

Boomer shook his head. "Not a problem," he said, "not today, not unless I don't call."

"You can call from here," Apollo offered, gesturing at his desk.

Boomer shook his head again, a faint smile on his lips. "Nope, thanks anyway, but I'm not making my private life available to the squadron. If I do, it won't be mine any longer. If you get my drift." He stood up and left the ready room.

Apollo watched him go, wondering who he was seeing. That he was was all anyone knew, even Starbuck, who was holding a book on it. Starbuck had in fact complained to Apollo just a couple of sectons ago that it was infernally hard to figure out—"just when I think I've got it figured, he shows up with that felix-in-the-dairy look while my latest contender has been sitting in the O Club all night."

"I guess we'll have to wait till he invites us to his Sealing Ceremony," Apollo had said, only vaguely interested; they'd been alone in an exterior corridor on the Rising Star, in the dark, waiting for a power failure to be fixed, and Apollo had been paying far more attention to the way Starbuck was turned to silver in the starlight pouring through the view ports than Boomer's hypothetical love life.

"Or till he turns up dead," Starbuck had said, mostly joking.

But it had been a nudge to Apollo's fading sense of... nosiness, Starbuck had called it once. Duty. Whatever: there'd been a time Apollo would have needed to know that Boomer wasn't playing with a fire that could get him in trouble. Nowadays he seemed to have all he could handle dealing with his own fires, and Boomer was a big boy who could take care of himself. He had asked Boomer if everything was all right, and had received a carefully considered "no problems I know of" in return, and had let it drop. Maybe he should bring it up again.

Boomer came back into the ready room and dropped into his seat, nodding to Apollo. Funny, Apollo thought, how different people could be. He'd known Boomer and Starbuck virtually the same amount of time, though he and Boomer had served together throughout their career, losing Starbuck for a yahren along the way. He'd met them together, getting Boomer's name from that staff member who'd embarrassed the hell out of him the first secton by trying to ensure that Colonel Adama's son wasn't in any way inconvenienced by the Academy... Apollo had finally had to get his father on the man's case to have that stopped... At any rate, he'd introduced Boomer first, then Jolly, and Starbuck as an afterthought. No more than a dozen microns between their names, yet while he sometimes thought he knew Starbuck as well as his own self (sometimes), Boomer remained a constant faintly unknown quantity. Rock-steady and as dependable as solar fusion, but an enigma all the same.

Still, Apollo thanked the Lords of Kobol every day that they'd given him two such friends. And busted his butt to deserve them.

Once the door closed behind them, Apollo pulled off his jacket and tossed it at the nearest chair. "Ale?"

"Thanks," Boomer said, folding his own jacket and laying it on the arm of the couch before sitting down.

"Anything going on in your life I should know about?" Apollo asked, bringing out the drinks.

Boomer considered for a moment, then shook his head. "Nope. Nothing I can think of."

"Okay," Apollo accepted it. "You'll let me know if that changes?"

"You'll be the first," the dark man agreed. He leaned back against the couch cushions and stretched his legs out under the kava table. "What's on your mind? And why me?"

Apollo knew that meant why not Starbuck? Somehow, Starbuck was the one he always unloaded on. Unfair to Starbuck, certainly, and Boomer, maybe; but the trio had always been Apollo & Starbuck, and Boomer. Even after a yahren apart. Even in the early days... "Do you remember back at the Academy?"

"Remember what from back then?" Boomer asked wryly. "I'm sure there's a lot I've blocked."

Apollo laughed shortly. "Yeah, I wish... That day, second semester, when those upperclassmen jumped Starbuck?"

Boomer's eyes flickered. Oh, yes, he remembered that day, Apollo could tell. And that answered his unasked question, too. Because Starbuck hadn't acknowledged that incident when it had happened. Had never spoken of it. That day. The next. Since then. Ever... He'd accepted the essay and the calc problems he hadn't done, and turned them in without even his customary joking promise to make it up to Apollo by doing something flagrantly illegal for him, but that was as close as he'd ever come to admitting that things weren't as they should have been. The two seventeen-yahren-olds hadn't known what to do about that silence then and they still didn't fifteen yahrens later; Apollo knew Boomer had always hoped it was because Starbuck truly just didn't remember what had happened. He wished he was as sanguine.

Boomer finally spoke. "Yes. I remember that day. What about it?"

"Do you remember what you said?"

"I said a lot of things," Boomer said heavily. "We both did. Which are you referring to?"

"Actually, um, you said something about a 'mutual grope in the dark'?"

Boomer lightened up a bit. "Oh. That... Don't tell me you've been waiting fifteen yahrens to act on that?"

"Don't tell me you've been waiting fifteen yahrens to tell me it was an offer!" Apollo riposted.

"Not exactly," Boomer grinned, his mind at ease about the topic now. "So, what about it, then?"

"You implied back then that Leonids sort of think it's..." Apollo paused.

"Apollo," Boomer grinned again. "Didn't you think about this at all? You should have written it down. Leonids, as I think I said back then, think it's no big deal. Whatever two consenting adults—hell, five or six consenting adults—want to do with each other is fine as long as it doesn't result in them needing publicly funded medical treatment—" the flash of his teeth marked his gotcha! as Apollo flinched. "Seriously," he added, "a lot of people would be a lot happier if the last surviving battlestar had been the Pacifica. Of course," he reflected, "those people wouldn't have been us..."

"What do you mean?"

"I assume you don't mean why wouldn't they be us. The Pacifica was commanded by a Reformist. We don't read the Word quite as restrictively as you fundies. What's not compulsory is not forbidden; only that which is forbidden is forbidden. Like the regs..."

"You said something about the regs back then," Apollo let the reference to 'you fundies' slide. After all, Boxey was the only one who ever heard him tear down his father's teachings: Adama's visionary leadership was too important to the fleet. And until recently Adama's approval had been too important to his son...

Boomer slid further down on his spine, making himself more comfortable. "You ever read the regs?" he asked. "Like a book, I mean, not like a guideline or an instruction manual?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Apollo confessed, leaning forward in his chair and holding his ale in a hand resting on his knee.

"They don't rewrite the regs," Boomer said. "They change 'em, but the old versions are still there. They just stick in a Point saying Article III, Paragraph A, Subparagraph 2, Point c is superceded by Point f. And then you get the pocket versions for field and office use that don't have Point c in 'em, since it's no longer valid. But you pick up a full copy and you can see what changes and what doesn't, and when; and you can get the feel of society changing, sometimes at the same time, sometimes way before or way after the Warriors did. You get the roll of history." Boomer had always loved history. He'd even tutored Apollo and Jolly in it, not to mention practically carrying Starbuck.

"And?"

"And, the fraternization regs are old. Real old. This whole elaborate framework of who can sleep with who and who can't, grade differences and postings and chain-of-command. Rules to keep commanders from becoming sexual predators and subordinates from whoring for preferential treatment... the commander tossed a couple of those out back when he tried to replace us with the shuttle pilots. Per the regs, no way you and your wingman should have been in a relationship. But it's okay now."

Apollo knew he meant Serina. But still the words nearly short-circuited his brain.

Boomer had paused for a response but when he didn't get one he went on. "After all, no one's coming around, delicately inquiring whether Sheba or Bojay wants to transfer out of Silver Spar. And unless your father wants to catch a barge-load of felgarcarb for blatantly favoring you, no one will. So apparently that's okay now, though what the regs say is they can screw each other till the Endtimes and it's okay if they're not in the same squadron, since she ranks him, but..." he shrugged.

"Your point being?" Apollo was able to talk again.

"My point being," Boomer answered as if it were self-evident, "that the regs governing all this stuff are so old, there weren't any women Warriors. So who do you think was involved?"

Apollo sat there slightly stunned. He'd never given that any thought at all. Sure, he remembered that time back in the first secton at the Academy when old Colonel Lardhead—what was his real name, Lardhan? Larden? what did it matter?—had given them a snarling lecture about women Warriors being the equal of men and all that garbage (his words), and the regs and the texts saying 'he' all over the place didn't mean jack... He'd been an inspiring introduction to the service, all right. But somehow Apollo had never connected that to the well-known fact that women Warriors were well under a millennium old while the Warriors' Way had been founded more than three millennia ago... and that a reg stating that a unit commander could not have sex with his subordinates therefore meant that he could have sex with people outside his command, even though they'd have to be men, too.

He just had never thought about it. And it wasn't something anybody'd ever fostered thinking about, that was for sure.

After a long moment, he said, "And the Word?"

"Well," Boomer shrugged, "Reformed Word is a lot more liberal. But it's hard to be a Warrior and follow any Word. Really follow it. I mean, the Word says 'turn the other cheek' and 'beat your swords into plowshares', but even a devout Old-Wayer like your father kicks butt instead."

"Do you—"

"Do I what?" Boomer said when Apollo hesitated. "Sleep with men? No. Care that you do? No."

"I don't," Apollo protested automatically.

Boomer shrugged again. "Not any more. But you used to, back when we were on the Aquila. Hard when your father's the Commander, huh?"

Apollo opened his mouth and then shut it again when he couldn't think of anything to actually say in the face of the certainty, the acceptance, and the commiseration.

"Do I," Boomer continued, "think you're a bad soldier? No. Think you're going to perdition? No. Think you should lose your son? No. Any of those it?"

"Um," Apollo said. "Yes."

"Apollo, a blind man could see that something's been eating at you for the last couple of sectares, maybe longer. Something mostly good, but not entirely... Starbuck's running a book on whether you're in love and if so who with—" Boomer raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I should get in on his action," he said cryptically. "Look, you think when I leave here tonight and get back to the barracks I'm not going to find the kid sitting on my bunk playing sol-pyr and waiting to ask me what's on your mind?"

'The kid'. That was from the Academy. Apollo hadn't thought of Starbuck as 'the kid' in yahrens, nine or ten anyway. "What are you going to tell him?"

Boomer shrugged yet again. "I was planning on telling him you were grilling me on my love life. What do you want me to tell him?"

Apollo couldn't have answered him to save his soul. Which it might have done.

Boomer sighed, set his empty glass on the kava table, and swung his legs up onto the couch. He folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling. "I pretty much mind my own business," he said. "I don't get involved in other people's private lives unless they pull me. But... mind if I say something? 'Cause I figure you didn't invite me over to ask me what the Leonid perspective on sex is... I'm on the outside of this picture, looking in on it, and seeing more than you are. About maybe a lot of things I didn't realize you weren't seeing. Seems to me you hit a wall a while ago, Apollo. You suddenly looked around and wondered what the frack you were doing with your life. Nothing left to accomplish. Nothing left to prove. Except, maybe, getting a son. But you've got an heir, and three yahrens since the Destruction, you haven't given your father a blood heir yet, you're not going to. So, nothing to prove and nobody to prove it to... everybody knows you already. You've gone as far as you can go unless people you love start dying and opening up vacancies. So where are you? You've got rank, position, respect, a son... and your bed's empty. Your heart's empty. You're thirty-two, you're thirty-three next secton, what? ten days? Thirty-three, that's significant. I know; I'm closing in on it damn fast myself. So your subconscious finally got tired of waiting for you to figure out what you want and whacked you with it and now all you can think about is him. You want to know when it started? I bet I can name the day: three sectares ago, when his boards all failed and we spent six centares thinking we'd lost him, and then he was back and everything was normal. Except you. Because you woke up."

Apollo noted that Boomer didn't think it was necessary to identify the 'he'. Briefly he wondered if he should challenge that, but then he gave it up as a lost cause. "He likes women, Boomer. He always has."

"He loves you," Boomer said with certainty. "He always has."

"But—"

"What about Serina?"

"Actually..." Apollo felt himself blushing and was glad Boomer was still not looking at him.

"Well. Who'd have guessed? Not him, that's for sure."

"I'd have tried—"

"Too much information, there, Apollo," Boomer cut him off. "Point is, he likes women, sure. He likes sex; who doesn't? But he worships you. Always has. You think he sticks to you now? You tell him how you feel, you'll never get rid of him."

"From your lips to the gods' ears," Apollo said. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Why didn't you ever..."

"A: not my place. B: thought you wanted the Old-Way lifestyle. And C: knew you'd never use him and lose him... you're a for-keeps kind of guy, and keeping Starbuck would have screwed up your career. Thought you'd thought about this. Should have known better."

"Yes." Apollo said simply. "To all of it... But, Boomer... I mean..." He didn't know how to say it.

"Has he ever slept with a man?" The slight pause before 'slept with' almost broke Apollo's heart. His failure, his worst and most complete failure. He hadn't kept Starbuck safe... that was the stuff of his nightmares. That was why he'd fought the assignment to the Aquila, and even thought about trying to bribe the assignments officer to get him onto the Galactica. Why he sometimes wandered into the barracks for an unannounced inspection just to catch a glimpse of an annoyed but alive Starbuck...

Boomer continued, "I don't think so. He's never said so, most of his stories are, you know, you've heard them. I really doubt it. But he would with you in a heartbeat."

"But—"

Boomer sat up abruptly. "Look, we've gotten past what I'm really comfortable with. And I'm not who you should be talking to, anyway. Starbuck—Apollo, he's thirty. Maybe thirty-one. He's not a child anymore, he's a grown man. And he's not the problem. He loves you more than even he knows. He'll never tell Commander Adama's son, the blueblood, the Strike Captain. You know how he felt about himself fifteen yahrens ago. He's put a veneer on it, but he hasn't changed. You have to make the first move. But I guarandamntee you, you do and he'll carry you further than you know there is. You have to decide if you want to go there." He stood up. "The Word's silent. The Regs approve. It's you and your father, that's all. And I'm not getting between you two. But you know me and the kid are always backing you no matter what. Right?"

Apollo heard the fifteen-yahren-old blood pledge and felt a lump in his throat. He nodded. Boomer slapped him on the shoulder. "I'll let myself out. You want me to send Starbuck over here? Or you expecting Boxey?"

"Boxey'll be back soon." Thank the Lords of Kobol. I have an excuse for time to think what I'm telling my father. And my son.

"Okay. I'll tell him you failed to break me." Boomer smiled, squeezed Apollo's shoulder, and left.

And Apollo looked into the emptiness and said, "'And the light shone in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.' And I know the way to the home of light..."

* * * * *

Starbuck watched Apollo and Boomer have their little conversation out of the corner of his eye while he pretended to pay attention to Freya's long and involved story. It was easy enough, he'd heard it before; she tended to forget who she'd told it to. He had to admit it had been pretty gripping, the first five times he'd heard it. Now it was a useful smokescreen for reconnaissance.

After shift, he watched them walk off together. Their body language had kept him from trying to join them. Instead he went to the O Club to grab a quick drink and wait for the barracks to pretty much empty out.

"Hey, Starbuck, want to get in?" Jolly had been talking on patrol the day before about having figured a sure-fire way to win at pyramid.

Normally, nothing would interest Starbuck more than Jolly having a sure-fire way to win at pyramid, that being the way to guarantee that he, Starbuck,would almost certainly win a lot of his, Jolly's, cubits, but, "Nah, not tonight, Jolly," he said.

"Heading to the Star?" Charis asked, hopefully.

And that, too, was tempting, but still, "No. Staying in tonight."

"You?" Sheba said.

"I can see I've been too sociable," he finished his drink. "I am capable of spending a night without a card game involved in it."

"Sure you are," Bojay said, but it was lightly teasing. Amazing how much he'd mellowed once Sheba had given up on Apollo and taken up with him. "What's her name?"

Starbuck just smiled and shook his head and left.

Once in the barracks he hung up his jacket and changed into a simple cream-colored shirt and trousers. Then he sat cross-legged on the end of Boomer's bunk and began dealing out a hand of solitaire pyramid. He was using his comfort deck, old and worn to the point even Jolly could pick out the Capstone and half the third-level cards... He'd had them since before he could remember. Once he'd told himself they'd been his father's. Now he figured they'd belonged to the only slightly less shadowy soldiers who'd found him in the woods. Either way was good; both had given him life, after all. And it was somehow fitting that the one thing he'd carried forward out of the old life into the new had been a deck of pyramid cards.

He spun the cards across Boomer's tightly stretched blanket in the patterns of the more complicated twelve-roads variant. It was harder to win, but he enjoyed it. He didn't look down at the backs of the cards as he began actually playing, just letting his fingers slide under them, three and flip, four and flip, two and flip, three... Cheating at sol-pyr was possible, but pointless; you couldn't win money from yourself, unless you were clinically insane, of course. Starbuck wondered briefly if a multiple could play cards against himself, really play... But he didn't look at his deck now because he would use the information his eyes delivered to his brain reflexively, and that just wasn't playing the game, as Apollo had used to say. It's not done. Starbuck smiled to himself. Contrary to popular opinion he didn't play with marked cards. Well, not often. Hardly ever. And when he did, he nearly always played to lose, which was as good a test of your cards, your eye, and your memory as playing to win, and a lot safer. A loser playing with a marked deck probably hadn't marked them himself... Marking cards, he'd always thought, was crude. Lacked subtlety. Finesse. Style...

And if he didn't have style, what did he have?

He gathered up the cards and began shuffling, having lost the game. After that moment in the Celestial Dome two evenings ago, he'd barely exchanged a dozen words with Apollo. When they'd patrolled yesterday, Apollo had paired veterans up with newbies—okay, but that meant he and Starbuck weren't together, and afterwards Apollo had gone home to his family, and Starbuck had hung around the O Club. Which was normal enough, but then today, when they hadn't had a patrol, Apollo had spent most of the day in his office, and when he'd come out, he'd talked to Boomer. He seemed to be avoiding Starbuck, who was beginning to worry that something was dreadfully wrong. He'd reviewed every single thing he'd done over the past three sectares and hadn't come up with anything new and unforgivable. Which worried him, because it meant the problem was someplace he hadn't been able to find.

More disturbingly, that night was beginning to feel like a good-bye, something he was passingly familiar with. Something he'd never expected to hear from Apollo, though... From almost the beginning, Apollo had been his polestar, to extend the metaphor of his name—one of the legendary Navigators, the one who had found the way from Kobol to the Colonies. Apollo had always been there, the one constant in his night sky, no matter what he did.

He frowned and began dealing another hand, cards leaving his fingers, turning over and settling into the places as inevitably as loss... At the time, he'd thought Apollo was just sort of randomly quoting, the sort of things he thought about under the stars. But now the last thing he'd said repeated itself ominously in Starbuck's mind: the stars of the Navigator's Line go out one by one.

"You're borrowing trouble, Bucky," he muttered to himself. "Apollo's never played on your name that way. That line just goes with the others..." Not that that made him feel much more at ease. Who knows the way to the home of light? A coldness ran down his spine and he closed his eyes briefly. Sagan. What if he's sick?

He shook himself briskly, like a dagget coming out of water. Apollo wasn't the kind of man who avoided physicians and the life center if something was really wrong. Besides, looking at it honestly, that was a flight of fancy beyond what Apollo would ever use to attempt to break bad news. His manner of doing that was much more inarticulate. Though, granted, he'd never had this kind of news to break before... Still, stepping away from his fear, Starbuck couldn't see that the people Apollo would have told first, his family, had been acting like they'd heard anything like it.

You can sit here for centares and make up stuff to scare yourself to death, he told himself firmly, or you can wait till Boomer's back and get it out of him. He gathered up the cards again—this game was shot, he'd been just going through the motions as if he had an audience—and sorted them into new-deck order. Once that was done, he began shuffling, the worn hexagonal shapes sliding through his fingers into preordained patterns. Stacking a deck, now; that was so much more classy than marking it. Hard with such an old deck, but Starbuck's hands were more than skilled enough. He dealt five hands, cards turning over once in the air to land face up on the blanket: a bad loser, for the guy whose money you already had enough of; two tempting hands, for guys who might have sense; one teaser with two second level pyramids, neither perfect; and his own hand, a modest perfect second-level purple... and discards and seconds completely covered so even if everyone stayed in the game, no one's hand improved enough. He smiled and gathered the cards up again.

How long could Boomer stay? Would he come back here after leaving Apollo's or head off for his mysterious inamorata? Or the O Club? No matter, he'd be back here eventually... Boomer was always where he was needed. That didn't mean he'd talk, of course, but Starbuck was adept at nagging the other man. He always had been, when the topic was Apollo. He wasn't sure just how much tolerance the Leonid would have had for him without Apollo's being involved... wasn't at all sure if Boomer really approved of him in Apollo's life, no matter what he might say. Starbuck shivered again. The flash sizzling in his blood and nerves had made it hard to understand words by the time Boomer had found him, but his heightened senses had picked up the anger. Justified anger, he'd always known that; how could he have been so stupid? How could he have let that happen?

Damn. He hated the way that memory kept, well, flashing for want of a better word into his mind at the most inopportune times. Hated worse how the only clear memories were the bad ones. That and the burning need he'd fought for a secton. But Boomer had stood by him then, even if he was angry with him, and Apollo hadn't wavered, almost hadn't seemed surprised... Starbuck swore at himself again, and then yet again when he looked at the cards and realized he'd misdealt. Like a fracking amateur, one hand with five cards and one with seven... He gathered the cards up again and just shuffled for a while, indulging himself in the elaborate cascading styles that he generally didn't use at a table.

When he was calm again, he shuffled simply three times, reordering the deck, and dealt. That was more like it...

"Remind me again why any of us ever play cards with you," Boomer said. He was one of the only two people in the worlds Starbuck's subconscious let sneak up on him.

Starbuck surveyed the hands, five perfect third level pyramids, his in purple with the Capstone. He smiled sweetly at Boomer. "Look at that. What do you suppose the odds are against that happening?"

"What I suppose is that the odds hadn't a damn thing to do with it," Boomer said.

Starbuck's smile became genuine, and he said, "To answer your question, you have faith in my innate honesty and unwillingness to use my skills to fleece my squadronmates?"

Boomer should have laughed and said something like, 'No, I have faith in your wanting us to watch your back in combat,' the sort of truth-in-jest's-clothing he specialized in. But he didn't. What he did was cock his head and say, in dead earnest, "Yes. I suppose we do at that. So," he pushed the cards across the bunk and sat down. "There's a reason you're playing cards here instead of your own bed? As if I didn't know?"

Starbuck gathered up the deck, aligned it, and laid it down in front of himself. "He tell you what's been bothering him lately?"

Boomer considered his answer for a few centons before he gave it. "Yes, he did."

"And?"

"And, I'm not telling you. It's his to tell, and I think he's going to, pretty soon now."

Starbuck let his frustration with that answer show. Boomer grinned at him and then did what only he ever did do: reached over and ruffled Starbuck's hair.

"Don't worry too much, Bucko. I think the colonel's son is going down."

Starbuck stilled, staring at his friend. 'The colonel's son'... they hadn't called Apollo that in yahrens. Both of them had fought to separate Apollo from the colonel's son, fought hard, knowing he was a prize worth fighting for. But the colonel had had him for seventeen yahrens before then, and still had him in fact, and it was a hard fight. Frankly, Starbuck had never expected to win; he'd been satisfied if Apollo could just forget the colonel's son for a few centares at a time. After a long moment he repeated, "Going down?"

Boomer nodded. "Think so. I really do."

"Boomer—"

He shook his head. "It's his play, Starbuck. I told him you and me were backing him—"

Starbuck just nodded. Of course we are; what else?

"—but he's got to do this. And he'll tell you what when's he ready. Couple of days, tops." He reached over and picked up the cards. "Any chance you can teach me how to do that?"

"I can teach you," Starbuck surrendered; the Leonid had his 'I-will-not-be-moved' look, and that didn't lie. Try again later. "But I don't know if you can learn."

And the next day Starbuck found himself spending the entire duty shift checking spare parts inventory.

And the next day Apollo took some personal time, and Colonel Tigh called Starbuck to the bridge.

"He wants what?"

"Your opinion on the recently graduated cadets," Tigh repeated.

"Really? My opinion?" Starbuck wasn't sure if he was flattered or wary. He was definitely confused.

"Don't ask me why, Starbuck," Tigh said. "I don't know why your opinion rather than Apollo or Boomer's. Or Jolly's."

"Or pretty much anybody's?"

"Yes," Tigh said. His eyes weren't as annoyed as his tone; Starbuck had figured out long ago that Tigh appreciated it when he didn't pretend he wasn't who he was. Tigh continued, "Just give him your opinions—maybe that'll break him of wanting them and we'll all be happier."

So he nodded and waited to be told to come in.

Adama was sitting behind his desk; disconcertingly, he rose when Starbuck entered. Sagan, he thought half seriously, maybe I'm sick... "Come in, Starbuck, come in. Have a seat. I understand you've flown half a dozen patrols with the new pilots by now?"

So they talked about the newbies, and an awkward, stilted conversation it was, too. Starbuck had the uncomfortable feeling that Adama was dancing around a topic he didn't quite dare to bring up, never getting close enough to give Starbuck a clue. When they'd about worn the subject out, Starbuck decided he should get out while he could; Adama wasn't somebody he wanted to play at the best of times, which this wasn't.

"If that's all, sir?"

"Yes," Adama said. "I believe it is... Starbuck," he added as Starbuck stood up to go.

"Sir?" Starbuck turned to look at him, a weary silver lionet who suddenly looked his age.

And as uncertain as Starbuck had ever seen him look. "Starbuck... you do know how fond I am of you."

Okay. Very weird. But he did know, at least he thought he did, so he answered honestly enough. "Yes, sir. I do."

"I hope so. Because I really am rather fond of you. And my children are. All of them," he added. "I thought I'd heard your name a lot when Apollo was young, but Zac..." He smiled. "Did I ever thank you for taking Zac under your wing when he first assigned here?"

Not exactly, was Starbuck's first reaction. He'd been under the impression, in fact, that it had more than less annoyed Adama that Zac had followed him around like a puppy. Without even going into the whole why did Zac die question... "I liked Zac very much," he said.

"My wife loved you, too." Adama looked down at his desk for a minute, then back up at Starbuck, standing by the chair feeling rather stunned. "I thought it was important that you know that. In case you weren't sure."

Well, at least Starbuck was on sure ground here. "I was very fond of Siress Ila," he said quietly. "She was a wonderful person."

"Yes. Yes, she was. Thank you for saying so, Starbuck," Adama said, as quietly.

Starbuck waited a centon, then, when Adama said nothing further, left. Wow, he thought to himself as he waited for the turbolift. That was very strange. He leaned against the wall of the car when it came and wondered if perhaps he should find a quiet corner with a terminal and hack into the life center's systems and find out just exactly how much longer he had to live. Because it was starting to feel like the answer was 'not very.'

Back at the ready room he found a note from Apollo—'Theni's taking Boxey tonight. If you're free after shift, stop by.

So, he spent the remaining centare of the shift wondering whether he wanted to go or not. It was, of course, a wasted centare, because there was no way he wasn't going...

"Uncle Starbuck!" Boxey charged around the corner and collided with him. "Uncle Starbuck! You came!"

"Sure did... I thought you were going to—Hi, 'Theni," he said as she turned the corner as well. He straightened up with Boxey in his arms.

"Hi, yourself," she said. Her pale blue eyes were alight with something, he wasn't sure what.

"I'm really glad you came tonight," Boxey said.

"Boxey," Athena said warningly.

"I didn't say anything!" he protested, wriggling.

She held out her hand. "Come on. Let's go."

Starbuck put him down. "What's up, 'Theni?"

"Never mind. You'll find out." She smiled enigmatically at him and reached out to push his hair back off his forehead. "Not that it matters, I suppose," she added maddeningly. "Have fun, Starbuck. Come on, Boxey."

Starbuck watched them walk down the corridor and then walked around the corner to Apollo's quarters. He stood there for a couple of centons, wondering if he wanted to go in at all. But then he rang and did.

* * * * *

It was one of those lessons you were supposed to learn as a child. Somehow, he hadn't. He always managed to work talking to his father up into the most horrifying prospect in the known universe, especially when he thought he had bad news. And, surprise surprise, it usually wasn't.

He'd built up to it by talking to Athena first, when she brought Boxey back. Boomer had been gone about a centare when his door opened and his son ran in. "Stick around a centon, 'Theni, would you?" Apollo asked. "I want to talk to you about something."

"Sure," she said.

After he'd settled Boxey in the service room with his supper, he'd come back out into the front room where she was sitting on his couch, leafing through something Boxey had brought home from school. "Gods, 'Pol," she said, "this must rot your brain after a while."

He smiled ruefully at her as he sat down. "It does, sort of... 'Theni, what do you think of Starbuck?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, widening her pale blue eyes. "Starbuck? In what context?"

"Just generally."

She snorted delicately. "I don't. Just generally. Not being you."

"What do you mean?" For some reason that spooked him, even though he was planning to bring it up himself.

"I'm not his best friend."

"Oh."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows again. "Apollo, what are you talking about?"

"Well... 'Theni, do you think Boxey really likes him?"

"Do I... Apollo, why in the worlds would Boxey pretend to like him?"

"Well, he pretended to like Sheba."

"I don't think they're the same... My gods, are they? Are you in love with Starbuck?"

"What if I said 'yes'?"

"I'd say 'Congratulations'. Are you? You are!" She leaned over and hugged him.

He relaxed in her embrace. He hadn't expected her to run screaming into the corridor, but he hadn't expected such instant, enthusiastic acceptance, either.

"I'm so glad for you, Apollo," she said into his neck, sniffling slightly. "Both of you."

"So you think Boxey really likes him?"

"I didn't mean Boxey, you fool," she said. "But yes, I do."

"I haven't talked to Starbuck yet," he admitted. "I don't know what he'll say."

"I think he adores you," she said. "You'll be good for each other. You'll give him some stability, and he'll keep you from getting old and stodgy. Plus, you're always anybody's biggest competition."

"Really?"

"Fishing," she accused him. "Yes, really."

Well, Boomer had as much as said so, but Athena had actually dated Starbuck. Apollo basked in the warmth for a few centons. Then he asked, "You don't think it'll be bad for Boxey?"

"What?" she asked. "Two loving parents madly in love with each other? No, I don't. His Uncle Boomer can teach him about girls... what Starbuck doesn't teach him, that is."

He had to smile at that, but only briefly. "Do you think Father will agree with you?"

She sobered. "I don't know, Apollo. He loves you, and he wants you to be happy."

"No matter what?"

"I don't know," she repeated. "Are you going to let him get the final word?"

"Don't we always?" he asked ruefully.

"Maybe we shouldn't," she said. "Look at you... you've done everything he wanted your whole life. Are you happy?"

"I'm not miserable... No," he admitted. "What about you?"

"I'm thinking about things," she said.

"You're worse off than me," he said, putting his arm around her. "I've got Boxey, and I really like my career."

"I like mine well enough," she said. "It's not glamorous, of course..."

"And he doesn't appreciate you."

"He can't help it. Neither can you. I've finally learned to live with it... So, are you planning to ask Starbuck no matter what Father says?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I just can't go on like this any more."

"Good. And don't worry about Boxey. He's crazy about Starbuck."

Which was certainly true enough. He could foresee being the heavy in the family...

He'd pawned Boxey off on Athena once again for the early evening the next day. This time she'd been more than willing to take him. Apollo had gone to his father's quarters after dropping his son at his sister's.

"Apollo," Adama said, surprised. "Come in, son."

Apollo sat down a bit constrainedly, turning down an offer of something to drink.

"Is something the matter, Apollo?" Adama sat down opposite him.

"No," Apollo said, staring at his boots. "Nothing's the matter. Actually everything's good. But I do have something to tell you."

Adama waited. He was good at that.

Apollo felt like a junior officer again, confessing some infraction of the rules. Which was marginally better than feeling like an errant child. "Father, I'm thinking about getting Sealed."

"Why, Apollo, that's wonderful news. I didn't know you were seeing anyone. Who is she?"

"Starbuck."

There was a silence. After a moment, Apollo raised his eyes. Adama was sitting quietly, obviously trying to process the information.

"I love him, Father. I have for a long time, really probably since we were at the academy together. I've never told him, but..."

"Your mother thought so," Adama said. Apollo blinked. "I came to agree with her, though I thought it was him... I thought you'd do better away from him, so I got you that assignment on the Aquila. Her captain told me..." he paused.

Apollo almost laughed. If his father had thought separating them would straighten Apollo out, it must have been a shock to hear that he'd actually had an affair with a man while Starbuck started chasing Athena... He didn't know what to say.

Adama sighed. "Then you married Serina, so I assumed that Fritz was wrong."

"He wasn't."

"I see... Starbuck has agreed to Seal with you?"

"Actually, I haven't asked him yet."

"Oh?"

"I thought you deserved some advance notice."

"Not asking for my permission, are you?"

Apollo couldn't tell if his father was angry or not. "No, sir. I'm old enough not to need it."

"That's true... Well." Adama got up and poured two glasses of ambrosa. "Congratulations, Apollo."

"Thank you, Father," Apollo said, surprised.

"Surely you didn't think I'd fight you on this? You don't sound like I could change your mind, and I'm not at all sure I should try again. Perhaps I shouldn't have the first time."

"I... well..."

Adama smiled. "I like Starbuck. He's not what I ever wanted in a son-in-law—he's less what I wanted in a daughter-in-law—but I like him. And your mother loved him very much. I'll have to have a talk with him, of course; I won't have my grandson raised in an atmosphere of casual infidelity—"

"Please," Apollo said, "don't talk to him until I've had a chance to."

His father nodded. "Of course."

So, after all that... that was all there was to that. His father might not be planning on renting the Club Elite for their engagement party, but he wasn't against them, either. Your father really does love you, Apollo; his expectations are high, but he would love you whether you met them or not... How many times had his mother told him that? And he had never quite been able to believe it.

So now he was listening to Boxey chatter on about how wonderful it would be after he Sealed with Starbuck while they waited for Athena to take him for the third night in a row and wondered if there might be anybody on the ship who didn't realize how he felt, and why nobody had told him...

The door opened and Athena said, "Come on, Boxey, you and I definitely de trop tonight."

"What does de tro mean, Aunt 'Theni?"

"It's Aquarian for 'in the way', sweetheart," she said. "So let's go."

And then the doorsignal chimed and Starbuck came in.

"Your sister's in a good mood," he observed.

"Yes, she is... Starbuck, can I ask you something?"

Starbuck fixed him with an incredulous look. "Can you... of course you can, Apollo. Anything."

"Have you ever been in love?"

Starbuck glanced at him. There was an assessing look in his eyes. "You mean, madly, passionately, ready-to-get-Sealed?"

"Yes."

"No."

Apollo was quiet for a while, trying to decide what that meant. Starbuck wandered about the front room, adjusting knick-knacks: Apollo's decorations, Serina's bits and pieces, and Boxey's 'arts and crafts'. "Never?" Apollo said finally.

Starbuck shrugged. "Never worked out like that. Wasn't a good candidate for long time, and now I guess I'm out of the habit."

"Out of the habit?" Apollo couldn't help repeating.

Starbuck smiled. "Okay, never got into the habit."

"Getting sealed shouldn't be a habit."

"Not likely to be," Starbuck smiled again.

Apollo shook his head. "What about Cassie? I thought you were serious about her, after you stopped playing around with my sister, anyway."

Starbuck shrugged and began moving a set of little carved animals Apollo had actually bought to give to his mother, setting them into some sort of order only the blond man understood. Apollo leaned against the storage unit on the other side of the room and watched Starbuck's hands. "Cassie," Starbuck said after a couple of centons, "had a notion people should get sealed and perpetuate the human race. She got over it." He shrugged. "I was halfway inclined to go along but," he concentrated on precisely aligning two little equines, "it wouldn't have worked."

"No?" Apollo wondered why not. He hoped he knew why.

"I didn't love her. She didn't love me. Not a good way to start a marriage."

"I suppose not..." Apollo had a momentary flash of guilt. But he would have been a good husband to Serina, or at least he'd have done his damnedest.

"I think a lot of people are like Cassie," Starbuck offered after a moment. "Both ways... some are thinking about keeping the human race going—not that there seems to be much danger of the whole species disappearing, you ask me—and others are realizing that the old ways aren't the only ones."

Apollo had the feeling he was supposed to know what to say to that. He didn't.

"Sheba," Starbuck said casually. "Her father would have a had a fit if she'd Sealed with Bojay... not that he's as unacceptable as some, but he wasn't worthy of her. In Cain's opinion." The carefully flat tone concealed Starbuck's hatred of the legendary Cain. At least it would have at one time; Apollo wondered if Starbuck still harbored that emotion. Starbuck was watching him sideways.

"She and Bojay love each other," Apollo said. He wasn't sure why they were having this conversation, but he figured he could bring it around where he wanted it to go. And it was the first time in what seemed sectares that he'd had an actual conversation with Starbuck, something that wasn't about inventory, or patrols, or gambling. He wasn't about to cut it off.

"Ummm," Starbuck said. "Sheba hated Cassie. I guess it must be hard to see someone step into your mother's place..." Halfway through that sentence something hit him, hard enough Apollo could hear it in his voice. He watched his friend mull it over and finally say, "You know, I had a talk with your father this afternoon."

Oh, really? Apollo thought. His father had promised to wait on him, but... was this another instance of him doing what he thought best for his children? He hated to admit it, but having Boxey had made him much more understanding of his father, more than any other thing that had ever happened. "What did you talk about?"

"The newbies, mostly," Starbuck said. He'd stopped messing with stuff and was leaning against the wall unit. "Is he thinking about—?"

Apollo laughed. "My father? No. Not him."

Starbuck raised his eyebrows. "Not him?"

"No," Apollo repeated. They'd gotten around to it a lot faster than he'd expected, thanks to Starbuck's fertile imagination. He'd always been the one who could come up with three dozen ideas while Apollo was still wrestling with the permissibility of number one... and Boomer had sorted the practical from the impossible. They'd made a good team, but he was definitely at a disadvantage dealing with Starbuck's quick mind on his own.

Before Apollo could say anything Starbuck had turned around and was aligning the spines of Apollo's handful of books. "Then I can only think of two places this could be going. Well, three," he added, "but I so much don't want that one to be the truth I don't want to think about it."

Apollo couldn't believe his ears. Was Starbuck about to confess he didn't want Apollo to be thinking about Sealing with someone? If Starbuck said it first, it would make all the difference in the world... Or, he brought himself up short, was he not wanting to hear a declaration from Apollo? "What's that?" he asked. "Tell me and I can deny it without your ever having to know it was so." Because he would, no matter what it was. Forcing anything on Starbuck, even knowledge, wasn't part of the plan. He held his breath.

"That Athena's talked you into doing something you don't want to do, namely, convince me to get back together with her."

Apollo laughed. He couldn't help it. Starbuck turned around again, a relieved expression on his face. "If 'Theni could see how happy you look," Apollo gasped, "she'd kill you."

Starbuck shrugged. "I thought she had better sense than that, but you never know."

Apollo shook his head. Enough of this, he thought. Just tell him.

"So," Starbuck asked, very casually. Only someone who knew him as well as Apollo would have been able to see how he was bracing himself for bad news, turning away again to move the bookend a few millimetrons backwards. "Is it you? You've been someplace else for a while now; who is she?"

Apollo crossed the distance between them and put his hand on Starbuck's, stilling their restless movement. Starbuck stared down at them and then at Apollo, his blue eyes wide with startlement. "It's you," Apollo said softly. "It's you. It's always ever been you."

"Me?" Starbuck wasn't moving.

"You," Apollo affirmed. "Always. Been. Is. Will be. You. Whatever you say. Always only you."

"Me?"

"You," Apollo smiled. "What I tell you three times is true..."

Starbuck opened his mouth; Apollo could tell he was just going to say 'me?' again in that stunned voice, and he didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to give that doubt the power of three, didn't want Starbuck wondering anything at all. He leaned forward and kissed him.

Starbuck didn't move for another moment, and then he slid his hand out from under Apollo's and buried it in Apollo's hair, pulling him closer as he effectively removed any doubt Apollo might have had about his sentiments. Apollo leaned into him, making up for lost time and feeling all of his doubts and longings crystallize into pure happiness.

Eventually they had to breathe. They stood quietly for a centon, foreheads touching, Apollo's arms around Starbuck's waist and his hands on Apollo's shoulders. After a moment, Starbuck spoke, his voice husky. "Since when?"

"Forever." Apollo looked into those blue eyes and felt like... he didn't know like what. But he wanted it to go on for the rest of his life.

"Don't give me that," Starbuck said fondly. "It hasn't been forever."

"It has," Apollo said, not insistently, just stating a fact. "Since the first day I met you. Since before we met... I was just waiting for you."

"Apollo..." Starbuck said so softly he almost didn't hear it.

"What, love?" he asked when no more came.

"That's all there is," Starbuck said.

Apollo kissed him again, feeling Starbuck's hands close on his shoulders.

"So why didn't you ever mention it before?" Starbuck said some time later.

"I didn't understand it," Apollo said. "I thought we were friends. And then I didn't want to accept myself, that I could be like..." he paused, feeling the slight tremor running through them both, uncertain who had started it. "I tried to pretend I didn't want men, then when I failed at that I just tried to pretend I didn't want you—I didn't think you wanted me, after all."

Starbuck interrupted him with a quick kiss.

"Ummm... yes," Apollo tried to remember where he'd been. "Yes... Anyway, you always told me my imagination was sadly deficient."

"It is," Starbuck murmured.

"I like reality," Apollo murmured back.

"Me, too."

"I love you."

"I love you," Starbuck said.

Apollo didn't ask for how long or why he hadn't said anything. None of that mattered. Now was where it began and forever was how long it would last and nothing else, nothing else at all, mattered. At least not for this moment... "Seal with me, Starbuck," he said.

"What?"

"Seal with me. I've got ambrosa and candles and I meant to be all romantic for you... Seal with me. I don't want to live without you in my life."

"Apollo—"

"That doesn't sound like a 'yes' coming," Apollo said. "You just said you loved me. Seal with me, Starbuck."

"Your father—"

"Said congratulations. Seal with me, Starbuck."

"Boxey—"

"Is so over the moon he can hardly talk straight. He adores you. As do I. Seal with me, Starbuck."

"I'm—"

"Everything I'll ever want or need. Seal with me, Starbuck. For gods' sakes, Seal with me."

"Yes," he said. "I give up. I will. Do you ever give up?"

"I have," he admitted, looking into those eyes. "Not on this. Not on you. Not again."

"Apollo," Starbuck's voice sounded close to breaking. "Apollo..."

Apollo kissed him, hungrily and leaving no room for doubt about his own feelings. "Come to bed, Starbuck," he said. "Please..."

"Well..." Starbuck dragged it out, pretending reluctance, but his eyes were laughing. "Ambrosa? Candles?"

"Don't make me beg... They'll keep. I won't."

They undressed each other as if they'd never seen each other's body before instead of having shared dorm rooms and barracks and athletic facilities for fifteen yahrens. Apollo kissed Starbuck, easing him down onto the bed. "I'm not sure..." Starbuck said, almost whispering.

"What, love?" Apollo said. "Whether—"

"No," Starbuck put his hand on Apollo's mouth. "How."

"I must be the only person ever to have heard that," Apollo smiled, leaning down to kiss him deeply. "Don't worry, love. I know how." And he proceeded to show him.

When he felt the blond's body tense under his, and realized that fear had started to creep into the blue eyes only inches from his, he swore at himself. Then he rolled over, putting himself underneath his lover, and gentled his hold. The tactic worked; desire returned to Starbuck's eyes and as Apollo gripped his thighs with his own, and they thrust against each other, Starbuck cried his name before he collapsed, trembling, on his chest. Apollo held him tightly. Gods, I wish Boomer and I had had that chat about gropes in the dark and 'cadet on cadet sex, regs against, not any' before that bastard put his hands on my Starbuck. He sighed. Not that I was ready then, or he was old enough. "Starbuck, love," he whispered.

"Apollo," Starbuck whispered back. "Sorry..."

"For what? Loving me better than anyone else?" Apollo ran his hands through Starbuck's fair hair, as he'd wanted to for five yahrens at least.

"You deserve more..."

"I don't want more. I want you. Starbuck, shhh. I don't mean to brag, but I've done it all. This was the best, because it was you. Believe me. However I get you, you're all I want. And we have plenty of time. All the time in the world. Sleep now, I've got you. And I'm not letting you go."

Starbuck let go a deep sobbing breath and closed his eyes.

"No hurry," Apollo said softly. "All the time in the world..."

* * * * *

Starbuck woke slowly. He took a few moments to think about the previous day and night... He could hear Apollo's breathing beside him, feel his chest rising and falling gently under his arm and his arm under Starbuck's head. Apollo... he still couldn't believe it. I guess I was wrong, he smiled to himself. This doesn't exactly look like 'straightest of the straight', does it. Though 'man in need of a stable family life' apparently applies.

He turned over carefully and looked at Apollo's sleeping face. Seal with me, Starbuck. Had he really said that? Over and over again? He did... And then, come to bed, Starbuck.

Starbuck frowned to himself. The fact was, he hadn't done very well by Apollo last night. Oh, Apollo said it didn't matter, but Apollo was the kind of man who'd say that. And mean it. But he shouldn't have to. Frack, that was fifteen yahrens ago. He ran his fingers gently along Apollo's chest, not trying to wake him but fairly sure he wouldn't mind being woken for sex. What man did? And Starbuck was a man who didn't like his partners to be left unsatisfied. Of course, it was harder for a man to be unsatisfied, but it wasn't really binary.

Not that Starbuck had ever actually tried to please a man. But he had a pretty good idea what was involved. And he knew what he liked when a woman did it, so it stood to reason that he'd like it when Apollo did it. And that Apollo would probably like it if he did it... when. This was Apollo. He loved Starbuck...

He kissed Apollo's throat, grazing the skin lightly with his teeth and soothing with his tongue. Apollo moaned softly, and the sound encouraged Starbuck. He moved further down along Apollo's lean body, using Apollo's reactions and his own memories to guide him.

Apollo was definitely waking up. As Starbuck reached his cock, pausing a moment before getting the nerve to lick its straining length, Apollo's hand found his hair. Starbuck carefully took Apollo in his mouth; the taste was pure Apollo, and Starbuck realized with a start that he was enjoying this. Cassie had claimed it wasn't unpleasant, and certainly he'd enjoyed it enough to let her do it for him, but it had always been, to his mind, something she did for him...

"Starbuck," Apollo moaned. "Oh, gods, Starbuck..."

With that encouragement, Starbuck took more of Apollo into his mouth. And Apollo's hand tightened in his hair and his hips thrust upwards—

And suddenly Starbuck was flashed, his blood sizzling and agony flaring along his nerves. He fought to escape the hands, the cruel cocks, the pain...

"Starbuck! Starbuck! Please, calm down. Love, Starbuck, it's all right, you're safe, please..."

Apollo's voice... That was wrong. Apollo's voice had been angry and baffled, not... not hurt, not scared. Starbuck blinked, coming back to reality. Apollo's arms were around him, Apollo's voice in his ear, and he was holding Apollo's arm hard enough to bruise him. Great... "I'm sorry, Apollo," he said, trying to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?" Apollo demanded. "You're sorry? What in seven hells are you sorry for?"

"I can't..."

"Shhh, my love," Apollo said. "I shouldn't have let you try, shouldn't have made you think you had to."

"I want to," Starbuck insisted. "I just... I just couldn't."

"Starbuck, sweetheart, you don't have to. You certainly don't have to now. I told you, we've got all the time in the world." He was stroking Starbuck's back, holding him close. "It's not your fault, anyway."

"I'm sorry... I'll just," he paused a micron, not wanting to use any of the words he knew, not for Apollo. "You can take me," he offered. "Where I don't have to do anything—"

"Rape you? No, thank you," Apollo said, his voice gentle. "I only want you if you're enjoying it. Like last night."

"It wasn't enough," Starbuck said miserably. "I couldn't—"

"Frack," Apollo said angrily. "I was pushing you and I know how hard it can be the first time anyway, let alone..."

Starbuck tried to pull away. Apollo wouldn't let him. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I shouldn't have let them—"

"It is not your fault," Apollo repeated. "It was never your fault. I can't believe you said that, Starbuck. You can't believe that. I won't let you."

"How do you intend to stop me?" Starbuck found himself asking. "It's the truth."

"It is not," Apollo said.

"That's not what you thought back then. You or Boomer."

Apollo let go of him, leaning back to stare with wide green eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Starbuck shrugged. "I remember your voices," he said. "I remember how angry you both were."

"Angry..." Apollo looked at him in shock. "Starbuck, did you think we were angry at you? That we blamed you?"

Starbuck stared back. It had always been so obvious, especially when they'd never mentioned it. They'd just cleaned up after it, done his class assignments, and never left him alone for the rest of the semester...

"Starbuck," Apollo said gently, reaching out to touch his cheek, "you were flash-fried. Your perceptions were... off. We were angry as hell, as all seven hells, but not at you. For you. At them. Starbuck, Boomer came within a fingerbreadth of actually killing Frejor. I had to haul him off the bastard by main force. We didn't know what to do, what to say... but, gods, we were never angry at you. We never blamed you. If anything, I should have seen it coming, I should have seen it on the Triad courts—"

"You couldn't have," Starbuck said. "You weren't angry at me? Either of you?"

"Gods, no, Starbuck. Boomer loves you, you idiot. I love you... we were terrified and we screwed up, but it wasn't your fault."

Starbuck reviewed events of the past fifteen yahrens in the light of this new information and found nothing that contradicted it, and much that supported it... much that was, in fact, suddenly less confusing. He stared into Apollo's eyes, looking for the truth. They didn't falter before him, their clear green depths transparent with love. He sighed deeply, letting go of the pain. When Apollo reached for him, he went into the embrace without reservations.

"I love you, Starbuck," Apollo said. "I understand about the memories, the flash... I meant what I said. We have all the time in the world. We don't have to hurry." He laughed softly. "And I understand you'll be worth any amount of waiting."

"I'll give it my best shot," Starbuck agreed, and kissed Apollo. "I'm not used to complaints."

Apollo laughed again, tightening his embrace. "Gods, I love you so... you are the home of light, Starbuck. I'm home."

Starbuck shook his head. "We're home together, Apollo."

* * * * *
My world is on the couch, asleep. Almost my whole world... I love my father, my sister, Boomer. But the truth is, I'd sacrifice them, individually and as a group, in a heartbeat, for either of the two people I'm watching sleep right now. My son. My husband. Boxey sprawled across Starbuck, his dark brown hair across his eyes, sleeping the sleep of a child who is up way too late, overexcited and overfed, and completely happy. And Starbuck, as relaxed as I've ever seen him, but even asleep turned so Boxey can't fall off the couch, the book carefully tucked away—a man who never had his own things as a child... He's so strong; even in his sleep he's on guard. I can't believe how lucky I am.
A civil Sealing is so short compared to a religious one, but it has all the important things. I do. I will. From this day forward. Only to you. Forever. I know I'll never forget a word of it, even if I live to two hundred. And I won't ever forget what Starbuck looked like standing there. It wasn't just the dress uniform, though all the Lords of Kobol know the man who designed them had a prescient vision of Starbuck when he did. All the gold, the braid, the pectoral, that damned cape... how does he wear that without strangling himself? And the color makes his hair look chestnut... I've always thought he looked good enough to eat wearing that uniform. Now I can. How lucky is that? But it was more. It was the look in his eyes. On his face. The way he watched me. How lucky? Lucky, luckier, luckiest... Ever.

He was a little surprised (still) that Boomer wanted to stand with him. I was a little surprised that Father stood with me. Maybe I shouldn't have been any more surprised than Starbuck. We were, though. And more than a little at how many of the Strike Wing came to bear witness and welcome us afterwards. Jolly, of course, but Giles and Dietra and Greenbean, Sheba and Bojay looking like they might be next. Jenny and the other mechs and crew.And bridge and ops staff, too, Athena's friends like Omega and Rigel and Altair... Dr. Salik. Cassie. Colonel Croft. Chameleon. Siress Tinia. Sires Anton and Solon. Even more... Tigh performed the ceremony for us. Boxey carried the cord, and ran around underfoot and just generally was so hyperactive I thought he'd burn out long before he did. Thank all the gods he listened to Starbuck when he said daggets were out of place at ceremonies.

And afterwards, people kept coming up to us and wishing us happy, and dragging him off to dance... he's always told me I need to learn to dance. Perhaps now I will; I've got the incentive at last. Though I enjoyed watching him, especially with 'Theni and Cassie... I know Father did give him that 'no casual infidelity' chat, but I'm not worried. I've known him far too long. He doesn't give his soul casually. And he's given it to me... Lords of Kobol but it takes my breath to know that.

This morning he had a nightmare. Not exactly a flashback, but same cause. He couldn't believe, somewhere deep inside the part that heard it for way too long, that he was worth keeping. Now that he's got my ring—another shock, 'Theni gave me Grandfather Lykos's ring that Mother gave her for her husband—I'm hoping he'll believe it, down there. If not, I'll tell him again, every day, until he does.

Even after he does.

But now I think I'll go shift my son—our son—away from his papa (Boxey settled on that with some help from Cassie and Sheba) and put him to bed. Then I'm going to wake up my husband and put him to bed, too...

"Starbuck? Love? Wake up."

"'Pol?" Sleepy blue eyes looked up at Apollo. "Hmmmm...." he smiled. "I was having such a nice dream."

"Was I in it?"

"In it? You were it." He reached up and touched Apollo's cheek gently, and then caught his left hand in his, touching the plain gold band he'd slipped onto Apollo's finger earlier that day. "This is reality, right?"

"This is as real as it gets, Bucko," Apollo said, closing his fingers around Starbuck's hand.

Starbuck smiled at him. "I like reality."

"Me, too." Apollo tugged on his hand. "Come to bed, love. We've got tomorrow off, we can sleep in. If Boxey remembers to let us."

"Oh, captain, my captain," said Starbuck, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "The night can't be long enough."

"No," Apollo kissed him. "Never long enough again."

* * * * *

We both have known heartache and love that's gone wrong,
When the ghosts take the shadows and the night takes too long.
We've folded our hands when the cards were not strong,
But that wheel will keep spinning long after we're gone.
And the moon is so full, the stars are so bright,
And my touch is steady, my hand is light;
Look in my eyes, hold on real tight
And I'll waltz you, my darling, across Texas tonight.
I'll waltz you, my darling, across Texas tonight.
—"Waltz Across Texas Tonight", Rodney Crowell & Emmylou Harris

the end
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