Brand New Dance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's part of it."

"Then start coming to Temple."

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

"Oh. Why not?"

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

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

"Yes, there is."

"Why?

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

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

"Yes," Starbuck said with feeling.

"Dad says to stand up to bullies."

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up," Apollo said amiably.

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

"I heard."

"You didn't say anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See what?"

"Your vid," Apollo answered him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh." Boxey began eating.

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

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

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

"If she was around," Starbuck said cynically.

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

"I wish I could have met her."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boxey jumped up.

"I can wash up," offered Starbuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sure of it."

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

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

"Red Squadron," said Apollo.

"Blood before breaking," Fenrir answered.

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

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

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

"Another, sir?" Fenrir offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something else, Feist?" he asked.

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

"I'm sorry," Apollo said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can Pop tell me a story?"

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

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

"That thing's a piece of—"

"Yes?" Apollo nuzzled Starbuck's neck.

"Art," Starbuck finished.

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

"But you know what you like?"

"And that's not it."

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

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

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

"But you have to leave," Apollo said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is... not."

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn you," Apollo said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Now?" Starbuck asked.

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

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

He never wanted to move again.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, love?"

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

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

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