Brand New Dance

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

"Come," Adama called.

Apollo opened the door and went in.

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

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

"Ah. Well, sit down, son."

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

"What is it, Apollo?"

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

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

"That's a safe bet, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not what I meant."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you calling me a pervert?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't want to—"

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

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

"Much is legal that is immoral."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have things to do, Father."

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

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

"I'm still yours."

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

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

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

"I mean it, Apollo."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

"How long ago did you eat?"

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

"You are, surprisingly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's my pleasure, Apollo."

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

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

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

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

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

"How bad?"

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

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

"He did. So—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He demoted you?"

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

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

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

"It's because you have Starbuck."

"What?"

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

"Never?"

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

"Do we want to explore it?"

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

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

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

"Poetic."

"I have hidden depths."

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

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

"Sure. See you later?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You thought about setting him straight?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If this is any indication. Sorry."

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

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

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

"Of course not."

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

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

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

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

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

"I promise. Thanks, Boomer."

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

"It must be love."

Apollo smiled. "It is."

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

"Thanks. For all of it."

"You talked to Sheba yet?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there a box around here somewhere?"

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

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

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

Apollo laid the picture down in the box and opened the drawer. Considering the amount of his life he had invested in this place, there was, he realized, precious little here that was his as opposed to the Strike Captain's. He probably didn't need even this box. He rummaged around and pulled out two little notebooks that were personal. He flipped through one of them, filled nearly to the end with his handwriting, and found himself looking at an early entry:

Golden and shining and fair as the dawn,
Bright as a flame, and, so, hard to hold,
Like sunlight, like fire, illusionist's gold:
Why am I breathing yet now you are gone?

Dancing, entrancing, not looking my way,
Falca-like winging high over my head,
Not knowing or caring if I'm quick or dead,
Why do you trouble my night and my day?

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

"It's a Tear of the Sea."

"The sea cries pearls?"

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

"It's beautiful..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But what's it about?"

"And what's this Brevet Captain Boomer?"

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

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

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

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

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

Silence again. Amazing how eloquent silence could be.

"That's Lieutenant Starbuck?" asked Barton.

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

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

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

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

"Starbuck?" Bojay repeated.

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

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

"Thank you, Blair."

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

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

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

"Sheba," he said.

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

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

"When did that happen?"

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

"Have you been sleeping with him?"

"Yes."

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

"Sheba—" he began.

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

"Sheba, I'm sorry."

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

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

And he wanted Starbuck.

Who wasn't anywhere he was supposed to be.

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

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

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

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

Not to mention his heart.

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

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

My Starbuck.

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

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

Gods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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