I pray for it, in every spare moment. I make promises to the air, try to bargain with the higher powers, offering them anything they want to take from me... But so far, they haven't heard me, and I wake up each day still here, in this dark, painful place.
And I know if I told anybody, all they'd say is: Starbuck, this won't help you get over it. You can't go back. Well, I know I can't. I know I have to live with this, somehow. But I don't want to get over it. I don't want to forget. Because I'm guilty. Guilty of neglect, of not acting when I should have, of not seeing what I should have seen - what was obvious, for god's sake!
I think I've cried in front of everybody. Can't seem to control it. In front of Boomer when I first heard. In the duty office, reading through Apollo's final reports, detailing Viper repairs and officer assignments. And, in front of Cassie, when she came to talk to me about memorial arrangements, acting on behalf of Athena and the Commander. Adama wanted me to say a few words about Apollo during the service, as his close friend. I told her I couldn't do it, not because I didn't want to talk about him, but because I knew I'd get up there in front of everybody and just fall apart. And then I had to stop talking, had to put my hands up over my face to try and stop the tears that came so easily. Instead she asked me to write something about him, and she read it at the service. Writing was almost as hard, and in the end it didn't express how I truly felt about him, and the words sounded empty to me, mere echoes of my loneliness.
Maybe I should ask to go back farther, assuming the gods are listening and inclined to indulge me.
I couldn't do anything for Boxey, but maybe there's something I could do for Apollo and his father, to prevent the rift between them that Boxey's death created. At the time, I didn't want to interfere, Apollo and Adama having a complex, and at times, volatile relationship. But the Commander should have realized this was more than Apollo could handle, that Boxey meant everything to him. Adama can be cold at times, especially with his own children, and especially when there's duties to perform or missions to fly. "The people of this Fleet must come first," the Commander always says. So he didn't notice, or ignored, the complete collapse of his son.
But then, I didn't quite see it either, did I? Otherwise I wouldn't have left him alone that night.
Boxey died from some rare, airborne virus that ended up striking down 6 other children before it was contained. He was the first to contract it, and the doctors didn't realize what they were dealing with until it was too late. They didn't think it was serious: the boy was feeling a little off, that was all, but they'd keep him in sick bay and watch him for a bit anyway. Nothing to worry about, they assured Apollo, no reason to pull yourself out of the mission, by the time you get back, he'll be just fine.
Apollo wasn't so sure. "I guess I'm just being paranoid," he said to me. "Typical parent, huh?"
"You should be paranoid," I replied. "That kid'll trade you in for one of those nurses if you're gone too long, and who can blame him? That nurse Odell..." I trailed off with a sigh. Apollo smiled and shook his head.
Apollo had to make a decision. He could decline the mission, but everybody kept telling him there was no need to. It was a recon flight, just a look at some rock that might house Cylon technology, which, as it turned out, didn't. Short, and not too dangerous. I could've gone, or Boomer, or Jolly, but the Commander had assigned Apollo, and since Boxey was in no obvious danger, Apollo went.
"Watch Boxey for me, will ya?" he asked me as he headed to the shuttle bay.
Yeah, I watched him. Watched him go into convulsions, watched his organs begin to fail. I begged the Commander to call back the shuttle, but he just muttered about the needs of the many, and if there was a Cylon presence in this sector it had to be confirmed and Apollo was the best recon pilot -
I stopped listening at that point.
Boxey was, well...gone... when Apollo returned, but hooked up to life-support so he still breathed and his heart still beat. I went down to the shuttle bay to meet him, knowing my expression would give away too much. I didn't have to say anything, he just took one look at me and rushed to the turbo lift. When I got back to sick bay, Athena and Adama were standing silently together at one end of the room, and down the other end Apollo sat in a chair, cradling Boxey, just looking down at him, watching him slip away.
"I fell into the trap," Apollo said to me, weeks later.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The command trap, where you're blinded by duty and service and pride. I never thought that would happen to me, but it did. I never should have left."
The obvious, and heartless, response to this would have been: Apollo, you couldn't have saved Boxey. There's nothing your presence would've changed.
But Apollo held the belief that if he had stayed, Boxey would have lived. He told me this, once or twice. It went along with his feeling that he was being punished for making the wrong choices, that over his 34 yahrens he still hadn't learned whatever it was he was supposed to learn.
The Commander had known before Apollo left that Boxey was getting sicker. He'd known before the shuttle was out of range that things were looking very bad for the boy. But I guess the command trap had gotten him a long, long time ago, for he was prepared to let Apollo come back to a dead child, and for Boxey to die alone. Well, Apollo found out what the Commander knew and when. I don't know what happened during their confrontation, but I can certainly guess. There'd be Apollo, looking to his father for two little words, "I'm sorry," and Adama defending his decision, repeating over and over again his reasons for not calling the shuttle back. Of course none of this would be discussed calmly, they rarely discussed anything calmly. In the end, Apollo severed all personal ties with his father, and they treated each other with cold professional courtesy from then on.
He pushed Athena away, too. She didn't speak up quickly enough, didn't try hard enough to make Adama change his mind, Apollo thought. "She took his side, as always," Apollo said to me. "I shouldn't have expected anything else."
I can understand his anger, but he shouldn't have cut off his family that way. Instead of one death, Apollo created 2 more, left himself completely alone. Emotionally alone, anyway, for Athena and the Commander were still around, he still had to deal with them in some capacity. It must have just eaten him up inside, having to talk to them, hearing them respond with the same coldness he used, all jumbled up with his memories of how it used to be.
He even tried to get rid of me, but I wouldn't go. I talked to him, fought with him, let him take out his anger on me... when all I ever wanted to do was just hold him. He let me, sometimes, and during those quiet moments I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, but it never seemed to be quite the right time. I was never sure he'd want to hear it.
Back on duty, Apollo was more aloof than usual, and the rest of the staff gave him lots of space. He was focused, however, his job performance never suffered. He'd stay longer on duty than his shift required, and politely refuse any invitations for drinks or card games. Eventually the invites stopped, which was what he wanted.
It makes me sick to think about it. I should have seen what was happening, but since he still talked to me, I guess I didn't believe that he'd even consider committing - I don't want to use the word.
I guess I didn't believe that he would "take his own life", as Tigh phrased it when he told me.
And it shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have let it happen. I should have been there, not off at the bar laughing it up and drinking. I should have heard what he said to me, should have listened more carefully, but my mind was already on the party and my strategy for Pyramid and I just didn't hear him.
The last time I saw him was in the duty office. I stuck my head in and told him about the gathering in the bar, celebrating Hera's promotion.
"So, let's go, Captain," I said. "You're expected."
He shook his head.
"Not right now," he said. "It's been so quiet lately, I'm almost caught up on all the grunt work. Just have a couple things I want to finish."
He said this almost happily, which must have fooled me.
I looked at my chronometre.
"Well," I said, "I'll come back, at 2100. Then you're definitely coming with me." He put up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Okay," he agreed.
That was our last conversation. I go over it and over it in my mind, scrutinize his expression, but if anything he seemed better, more at peace than he had been in a long time. Cassie tells me now that often suicidal people do seem happier right before they go. That making the decision gives them tremendous comfort.
I didn't go back, didn't leave the party like I'd said. I got into a game, I had too much to drink, any number of excuses I could give. I even thought: well, gods, he has two legs, he knows where we are...
I was feeling a little foggy when Tigh came to my quarters. He had a look on his face that I can't begin to describe, some combination of horror and fear and pain.
"Sit down, Lieutenant," he said, his voice barely audible. "I have something to tell you..." He trailed off, took a deep breath.
I'd never seen Tigh so shaken. Usually any bad news he just barks out at you, expecting you to take it and adjust your duties/behaviour/training accordingly.
"Starbuck," he said, "at about 2200, Captain Apollo took his own life."
The words hung between us in the silence. To me it seemed like Tigh was speaking a different language, and there was a short pause while my brain translated what he said. I'm not really sure what happened after that. I asked some questions and he answered me, but I - the real "I" - had retreated. Tigh squeezed my shoulder and then he was gone, leaving me with details of Apollo's death. He did it quietly, overdosing, drifting off to sleep and away from this life forever.
I roamed the corridors, looking for him, I suppose. Cadet barracks, launch tubes, duty office, sim room - I went everywhere. Boomer caught up to me in the conference room, asked me what I was doing. I must have looked half out of my mind because he approached me warily. My vision went blurry, and I had a pain in the centre of my chest. My lower lip trembled.
"Oh, don't you cry," Boomer said. "You'll make me cry too."
Too late. Boomer steered me into a chair and sat beside me, and we leaned against each other and wept.
There was no last message for me. He left one for his father and sister, but I don't know what he said to them. It hurts me that he didn't think of me, but then he didn't know about the intense love I felt for him. I should have told him, but he was so vulnerable, I didn't want to take advantage of that, wanted to wait until he was stronger. Now I have to think that perhaps my love would have given him the strength he needed.
But I'll never know.
At the memorial service, Cassie read what I had written with extraordinary poise. "My old friend," I wrote, "I'll think about you every waking moment. I wish I could have known the depth of your sorrow. I thought I did, but obviously I was wrong. This life was a tremendous disappointment for you, full of more pain than joy. I'd like to hope that your friends were part of the joyous half. We certainly all benefited from knowing you and serving under you, and these words can't begin to express how much we'll miss you."
It went on a little more, but I couldn't say what I really wanted to: Apollo, I'm sorry I wasn't there that night. I wish you'd left me a message, just anything to give me a clue about what you were thinking. Was it because I didn't meet you? Did you think I'd abandoned you? I should have told you how I felt. I should have said the words, but I'm a coward about those things.
For everything I didn't do when I should have, I'm sorry. For everything I did do when I shouldn't have, I'm sorry.
For what I didn't see, for what I didn't say, I'm so sorry...
The Commander is an old man, now, enfeebled by this loss and the knowledge that he is at least partly responsible for it. Tigh is running the Fleet, waiting for the real Adama to return. Athena told me the Commander just paces around his quarters murmuring to the air, talking to Ilya, apologizing to her for this mess he made, asking her to please tell Apollo how sorry he is. The rest of the troops are confused and shocked. It's difficult at the best of times to lose a leader, but this way - they feel abandoned and afraid.
But Apollo, right to the end, was aware of his responsibilities. He'd been working closely with Boomer, having decided to spread his workload a little. I should have paid more attention to this. Apollo was famous for doing everything himself and delegating duties very reluctantly and then being critical of how someone else did the job.
Boomer has been promoted to Captain, having been trained over the last while by Apollo. The promotion itself was enough of a shock, but then Boomer began thinking about Apollo and how closely they'd been working together. "He knew," Boomer said to me. "He didn't want to leave us leaderless, so he prepared me. Oh, gods, I don't want this!"
Well Boom-boom, you have no choice. Someone has to step into this vacuum and bring back order, and I can't think of a better man for the job.
I'll continue to pray. Maybe one of the gods will hear me, will take pity upon me and send me back so I can undo all this. I'd put my arms around Apollo and never let him go. I'd tell him every day how much I loved him and maybe it'd be enough to keep him here. They must be listening, somewhere. They have to hear me...
THE END