I have known friendship pure and golden
but ties of kinship, I have not known them
I know no father, no mother, no sister, no brother:
I am an orphan...
"Orphan Girl", Gillian Welch
Starbuck leaned back in his chair, lit a fumarillo, surveyed the room from behind a smoke-covered smile, and tried to figure out exactly why he was in such a rotten mood. After a couple of centons, he decided it must be because the lovely and entirely unvirtuous Lyra had decided it was time to have a baby. And while he didn't have anything against babies in general, or Lyra's in particular--though he did rather think that having a baby right at this particular time was pretty selfish--what annoyed him was that Lyra had decided to buy into the growing fundamentalist movement in the Fleet. Instead of just having a baby, which she was certainly capable of, and then continuing with her job (Viper pilot, a fairly important job, after all), she'd picked herself out some engineering tech type who wanted her to stay home, and gotten sealed.
He stared at the glowing tip of the fumarillo. What was wrong with people, anyhow? Here we all are, stravaging across the stars... we ought to be trying to create a new future, not harking back to the same old past we were smothering in.
"Hey, Starbuck." Apollo slid in to the seat across from him. "No plans?"
"Nothing firmed up," he answered, pulling his legs under his chair, away from the casual contact. "Just mulling my options."
"You always have them, don't you?" Apollo grinned at him.
"Secret to my success," he nodded.
"Oh, now what is he doing in here?" Apollo's green eyes slid past him.
Starbuck turned to see who it was and watched the young pilot hesitate in the doorway before walking to the bar. "Who, Chairos?" Starbuck shrugged. "Having a drink."
"He hold up all right today?" It had been first action for several of the replacements.
"Ahhh, he did fine."
"What do you think of him?"
"He's a nice kid. A little solemn, a lot young, he'll probably be dead in a sectar."
"Starbuck," Apollo rebuked him.
"Okay, maybe not. He might get lucky. He might get lucky tonight, as far as that goes," Starbuck grinned. "C'mon, 'Pol, he's cruising. Look at him. Like a puppy... I'd pick him up myself if we weren't in the same squadron."
"What?" Apollo stared at him.
Oops. That had slipped out without thought. On the other hand, it was getting that time again: time to give Captain Apollo a good hard shove, get him back out to arm's length where he kept refusing to stay. "Hey, don't worry. Like I said, if."
Apollo was staring at him.
"Besides," Starbuck added, "he is way too young. Plus he worships me already." It was a delicate balancing act, push him to arm's length, grab his shirt to keep him from getting too far away...
Apollo grinned at that. "You never let up, do you?"
"I can't help it if I'm irresistable to man, woman, child, and beast," Starbuck said complacently. "Besides," he added, just to keep Apollo a little off balance, "guys who hit on me are usually a lot more refreshingly honest about wanting short-term fun."
"It's been a long day, Starbuck. I'm not up to figuring that one out."
Starbuck shrugged. "Just what it sounded like. Women may say that's what they want, but it turns out they're just trying to set you up half the time." Now what was that? he thought, spotting a flare of something in Apollo's green eyes. Never mind, tonight we don't try to make Apollo feel good. Tonight we remind him who exactly we are.
"Like Athena?" Apollo asked curiously. He'd never stopped trying to find out exactly why she'd suddenly stopped pursuing Starbuck and settled for having him every now and then.
Starbuck drew on his fumarillo. "Complicated woman, your sister. Ask her yourself." Apollo probably wouldn't, and if he did, and she told him, that was their business. He wasn't going to tell him that all it had taken was reminding her that he was an Orphan, with a capital O, a ward of the state with unknown bloodlines, an unidentified mother and an unknown father, not even a surety of which tribe he belonged to... not the person Sire Adama wanted fathering his grandkids even if Commander Adama appreciated his skills and just plain Adama was fond of him. Not in seven hells did those words pass his lips to Adama's son.
"Yeah, when I'm tired of living I'll start prying into 'Theni's private life," Apollo was saying. "Was that it with Cassie? Fear of commitment? I thought you were actually in love for once."
Cassie... oh, Cassie. That still hurt, though dully now. She said 'forever' but, like everyone, what she meant was 'till something better comes along'. And something better--Cain--had; something better always did. He was by all the lords of Kobol so damned tired of 'forever'... And he wasn't going to answer Apollo, so he needed something else to say. "You really ought to know better by now," he settled on. Then he spotted someone he hadn't expected to see here, and smiled.
"Hello, there, Starbuck. They said you were in here. I owe you a night on the Star. And I'm flush tonight... you game?" Omega, dark and spectacularly out of place in the pilots' part of the Officers' Club, flashed the sudden smile that transformed his face.
Starbuck could feel Apollo's surprise. He probably couldn't picture the flag lieutenant and Starbuck at the same gathering. Not many people could... except on the Rising Star, where they had acquired a certain reputation in the, well, less reputable parts of the pleasure ship. Omega was definitely a dark horse. "Sure. What are you thinking about?"
"The Lapis Lounge," the bridge officer said, with emphasizing hand gestures. "Dancing clowns. With ambrosa. And flambé."
"Flambé what?" he asked, ignoring the way Apollo had stiffened at the name of the club. "No, don't tell me."
"I won't. I wouldn't anyway. This you simply have to see to believe."
"You are a lunatic," Starbuck pronounced. Then he carefully stubbed out his fumarillo, pinching off the end to save it for later, and said, "I like lunatics. They're my kind of people. I'm in."
He stood up, grinning. Omega glanced at Apollo, but before he could extend the automatic invitation, Starbuck said, "Ah, I don't think the good captain is quite up for this kind of night. Are you, 'Pol?"
"Probably not," Apollo said acerbically.
"See you later, then."
The two headed down the corridor away from the O Club. "I'm guessing we change out of uniform for this evening?" Starbuck said. "I'll meet you at your quarters, Megs."
"Okay." Omega's bachelor office suite was further from the O Club than the single pilots' barracks.
Starbuck dressed with care but speed. He'd heard of the Lapis Lounge, but never quite worked up the guts to go there. It was the sort of place sane men went to in pairs, if they went at all. It was under constant threat of being closed down, and half the time it was Off Limits to Warriors as it was. He trusted Omega to know it was, temporarily, back on the approved list. He snickered as he headed down the hall. The not-disapproved list, anyway.
He rang at the door. He didn't get an answer, so he keyed in the pass-code. Omega hadn't changed it, and the door slid open. Oh, my. Oh, my oh my. Starbuck resigned himself to still never having been to the Lapis Lounge.
Omega was standing in the middle of the small front room of his quarters, dressed to go out in a very nice charcoal and icy blue outfit that would have had people killing to get to him. Them. Starbuck's own outfit was ivory and gold... Night and Day, they got called over on the Star. But at the moment Omega was just standing, his jacket in his hand and a lost expression on his face.
Frak. What just slipped up and hit you over the head, Megs? Starbuck took a quick look around the room; his gaze settled on the wall chrono, displaying the time and Caprican Standard Date the Galactica still ran on. It was right in Omega's line of sight. Frak. Starbuck moved between him and the chrono. Omega blinked, realizing for the first time that he was even in the room.
"This is one of Those Days, isn't it?" Starbuck pronounced the capitals. Lord, it's not often I rejoice in having no family, but, Megs, you can make me every time...
Omega stood there for a long moment more; Starbuck was just preparing to goad him a little when he spoke. "My youngest... his birthday. He would have been five."
Starbuck regarded him compassionately. Then he took the jacket away from the dark man and tossed it at the nearest chair. "We're not going to the Rising Star tonight, then," he said. Because you are no longer in a party mood. You are about one dancing clown away from suicide.
Omega looked at him, a fragment of concern showing on his face. "You want to go, Bucko," he said.
"You know me." He took off his own jacket and tossed it after the flag lieutenant's. "All days are alike to me, and they're all just lead-ins to the nights, which means I can go to the Rising Star any time and it'll be just like this time. But you don't want to go. You don't need to go. In fact, Megs, you need not to go." And you know I'm right. And you know I won't leave you with this. And I won't.
"You go--"
"No chance, Megs. Now," Starbuck took his arm and sat him down. "So what do you want to do?" He wouldn't want a woman. He never did when his family was the Black Daggit on his back. When he did, there was no one Starbuck would rather go hunting with; his dark elegance complemented Starbuck's blond beauty to perfection and guaranteed success. But Omega didn't need a woman tonight. "Do you want to drink yourself into a coma, talk about it and drink yourself into a stupor, or have me fuck you into tomorrow?"
Omega looked at him sideways. "I couldn't talk about... him, I couldn't bear it. And drinking doesn't help anymore."
Starbuck felt relief at that. If Omega had finally figured out that drinking was supposed to be recreational instead of therapeutic, his life would be a lot longer. Or a helluva lot shorter. He pulled himself up; he wasn't going there tonight. "Okay, then," he said.
He rose to his feet and took Omega's hand, pulling him upright. He held the hand between them and unbuttoned the cuff of the icy blue shirt, kissing the palm and nibbling on one finger when he was done. Keeping that finger in his mouth, and his eyes on Omega's dark sorrowful ones, he reached for the other hand and unbuttoned that cuff. He could feel Omega's thumb caressing the line of his jaw; he smiled and began unbuttoning the shirt's collar and front.
"Starbuck..."
He pulled away enough to say, "Shhh." He put his hand on Omega's mouth, felt the other man's teeth close gently on his fingers. "No talking. And no thinking."
"I can't help it."
"No talking," he repeated. "And trust me. I'll stop you thinking." He slipped the shirt off Omega's shoulders, let it drop, and ran his damp fingers down the throat to a nipple. Omega drew in a sharp breath and let it out with a heartbreaking sound of need. Starbuck caught his hands and led him to the bed, pushing his shoulders gently to seat him on it, and dropped to his knees to get at his shoes. As soon as they were off he climbed onto the bed, grabbing the blankets and yanking them out of the way for later, and finished stripping Omega, moving quickly but carefully.
Omega's body was perfect. The first time Starbuck had seen it, he'd thought so, and closer acquaintance had only intensified that impression. It was athletic, and responsive, and when it was his turn it could send him screaming into oblivion. But that was then, or later. Now he had to take care of Omega. Not that it wasn't going to be a pleasure. He leaned over and tongued the nipple he'd dampened earlier.
He knew every spot to hit, and he hit every one of them at least twice before he finally slid a hand onto the straining cock. By then, the dark-haired man was well past thinking, writhing under Starbuck's hands and tongue. Gauging his moment, Starbuck took Omega in his mouth, planting one hand firmly on his hip to hold him down. When he came, Starbuck could get whiplash if he wasn't ready.
As the other man subsided, trembling and moaning, Starbuck moved into phase two, licking a trail upward to a nipple. He curled up next to Omega, suckling gently, while his right hand began caresses designed to bring him to arousal again instead of gentling him into sleep. His own body's demands were getting insistent, but he'd had yahrens of learning how to control himself when need be. He moved to devour Omega's mouth, tongue delving deep, and this time it was slow and passionate.
Afterwards, his mouth drifted, depositing small, tickling kisses as he pulled off his own clothes. By the time he reached for the lube Omega kept in the drawer for bad nights, the man was a nearly boneless pile of contentment who needed almost no prepping--just as well, for Starbuck's own body was screaming its need. He satisfied himself quickly, taking the edge off for later, and collapsed on top of Omega for a catnap, cuddling even as he drowsed. It was the next time, just before midnight, when he took all the time he could, prolonging it until Omega was literally whimpering with need beneath him. No way in eight hells was he thinking about a dead child. No way he was thinking at all.
Starbuck fell asleep on Omega's chest; Omega's slumber was so profound Starbuck wanted to hear his heartbeat to be reassured he was still alive.
Omega was on early shift, apparently. When he got up he tried not to wake Starbuck, but Starbuck always woke when someone left him. He didn't show that he was awake, he knew Omega would regret disturbing him, he just lay there with his eyes barely open and watched the other man pad around the sleeping room, head for the turbowash, get dressed. It was enjoyable.
And then the outer door hissed open.
"Omega?" The voice from the front room was Tigh's.
And the sleeping room door is wide open.
And, "Is Starbuck--" Oh, frak. Was that Apollo?
"Colonel? Why are you here?"
"I think you owe me an explanation, lieutenant." Tigh sounded pissed. Starbuck instantly decided to pretend to still be asleep. Until someone yanked him out of bed, anyway.
"With all due respect, sir," oh, nice. That was Megs's bridge voice, the 'we-have-only-ten-centons-till-we-all-die-fiery-deaths-sir-shall-I-order-tea voice. The there-is-nothing-that-disturbs-me voice... "I can't imagine what gives you that idea."
There was dead silence for a centon. And then--yes, that had been Apollo's voice earlier. Oh, frak, thought Starbuck again.
"I want to talk to Lt. Starbuck."
"Captain, stop." Omega was still calm. "These are my private quarters. You have no right to be here uninvited."
"Starbuck--" That was half a call and half the beginning of a sentence.
And entirely stomped on. "He, I assure you, was invited. Now, I am not yet on duty, and neither is Lt. Starbuck, and you have no right to be here. Unless you have a writ from the Council, I'm asking you to leave."
"I want--"
"I don't care what you want. These are my quarters, not the barracks. If you take one more step, let alone go into my sleeping room, I will have you arrested."
How did Megs get a sentence like that out without losing his calm? If the man understood probability better, he'd kill at pyramid.
"Lieutenant, I'm sorry," Tigh apologized. "You're correct. But I'm sure you can understand that the captain was concerned for one of his pilots."
"With all due respect, sir, the captain can see that his pilot is safe. And with all due respect to you, captain--no. There's actually no way to finish that sentence. Leave."
"I am going to talk to Starbuck."
Frak. He was truly pissed. Thank Sagan that Megs doesn't work for him. Or even with him.
"Starbuck is asleep," Omega said. "You can wait for him in the hall." The faint stress on 'you' made that so insulting Starbuck almost got angry.
"Apollo." Tigh was using his 'I-am-not-kidding' tone. "I'll see you on the bridge, Omega."
"Yes, sir. For my shift. Sir."
The door hissed shut. They'd actually left. Point, game, and set to Omega.
The flag lieutenant spoke, and his voice was alive again, warm with just a trace of amusement--another tribute to his self-control; in his place, Starbuck had to admit, he'd have been laughing his ass off. "I have to go. You stay as long as you want to, Bucko."
"Is that offer good for the rest of my life?"
Omega laughed, and Starbuck relished the sound of it. He'd accomplished his mission. "If you want... I'll think you'll go crazy, but I'm not sure I'd notice. See you later."
The door hissed again. Starbuck rolled over in the bed and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing Tigh could do to him--well, actually, there wasn't anything anybody could really do to either of them, they were so completely not in the same chain of command even if that concept hadn't been shot down when Adama let Apollo's fiancée be in his squadron--but he did not want to face Apollo. On the other hand, he's definitely pushed. And that's what you wanted.
He rolled over and reached for the other pillow. Deal with it later, Bucko. He crumpled the other pillow up and, his nostrils filled with the scent of male sex, he reacted to yahrens of experience in knowing that you never know when you're going to get another chance and slid back into sleep.
Apollo actually waited in the hallway outside Omega's quarters for half a centar before realizing that Starbuck wasn't coming out to talk to him. He waited a half a centar more before realizing Starbuck wasn't going to come out at all. Then he stomped off to his office, where he intended to redo the duty schedules to make sure Starbuck and Omega weren't off at the same time ever again in their natural lives.
Except that would give the superior bridge officer something on him. And anyway, it wasn't like he gave a damn who Starbuck slept with.
Was it?
Of course not.
And a good thing, too, since Starbuck had slept with... half? two-thirds?.. of the women on the Galactica, maybe the in the whole damned fleet. This was completely not about who Starbuck chose to...
Although that supercilious damned bridge officer, that chair pilot ... standing there cool as could be in that no-guts blue uniform while Starbuck lay naked in his bed. Apollo knew full well that nothing, nothing, said 'possession' like being dressed while the other was naked. The only times he'd made it with Serina--because she died. That was that was about. They'd only been married two days and she died.
And. That. Was. Not. The. Point.
(so what was?)
The point was... the fraking point was that Starbuck said he was going to the Rising Star, to that bar, that Lapis Lounge. Which was about to be closed down, again. And then when he, Apollo, acting like a good commanding officer, tried to check that he was all right, then he wasn't there. And when Apollo, acting like any commanding officer would act if any of his men was unaccounted for after announcing plans that an idiot would have known better than to think of, had searched the Rising Star, unobtrusively, then Starbuck wasn't anywhere. On the whole damned ship. Though plenty of people knew who he was talking about... "those two, oh they've been here. Not tonight, though, captain." And when Apollo, still acting just like any commanding officer with a missing man, had checked the barracks, Starbuck wasn't there. In fact, checking the shuttles--like anybody--Starbuck had never come back to the Galactica. And when Apollo had gotten that flag-lieutenant's commander involved, and they'd overridden security to get into his quarters--not patrol, just two concerned officers--what had they found?
What had they found?
Apollo growled at the duty rosters in front of him. He wasn't even going to think about what they had found, or that damned lieutenant--flag-lieutenant, jumped-up son of a daggit--and the way he'd spoken, to a full colonel no less, or the tangle of Starbuck's tawny hair against the black sheets (pale skin on black sheets) and the gold and ivory clothes piled on the floor by that bed or the icy blue shirt in the front room...
He. Did. Not. Care.
He only cared that Starbuck had lied to him. Gone missing. Wouldn't have been found if they'd had to scramble. It was that simple.
And it was at that moment that Boomer put his head into the office and said, "I saw Ruby in the mess. He said you were here, so I'm assuming you found our missing boy?"
Later, much later--too late, in fact--Apollo recognized this as the crucial moment. If he'd had more time to cool off, or if he hadn't been so angry to start with, or if he'd just thought for a centon before he answered, the whole thing would have blown over in half a day. Less. If only he'd said, 'Sure. You know Starbuck, when did he ever do what he said he was going to do?', Boomer would have laughed, they'd have spent a couple of centons good-naturedly abusing the absent Starbuck, and that would have been that. Oh, maybe he and Omega would have had problems, but given how infrequently their paths crossed, who would have noticed? Tigh and his flag-lieutenant would have worked out their own issues on their own time, nobody else would have gotten involved, and he and Starbuck would have... whatever they would have done, they would have had time and privacy to do it in.
Of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are: it might have been...
Unfortunately, he was too angry, it was too soon, and he wasn't thinking at all. So what he said was, "Oh, I found him all right. Apparently he and Omega didn't actually need to go to the Rising Star and get drunk before they climbed into bed after all." Boomer's face took on that blank look that meant he'd been blindsided. And Apollo almost instantly wished he hadn't said anything at all.
Especially when he realized that his voice had been carrying, and that Boomer was standing in an open door, and that the outer room was filled with pilots from Green and Gold Squadrons...
When he walked into the ready room five minutes before the mission brief, he found out just how bad it had already gotten.
Sheba's particularly penetrating voice reached him first. "Who would have thought it? I knew Starbuck was a slut, but I didn't realize he'd lie down for anybody. Of course, you do have to wonder--"
Boomer, with the attitude of a man who's only half certain he ought to be speaking, interrupted her. "A word to the wise, Sheba. You haven't been on the Galactica long enough to know everybody yet. That 'flit flag-lieutenant' will eat you for breakfast if you cross him."
Sheba snorted and sneered at the same time, an unattractive combination she had apparently mastered in childhood. "Starbuck's boy?"
"Make up your mind," Greenbean seemed pleased to get on somebody else's case for a change. Plus, he had never liked her much. "If he's Starbuck's boy, then Starbuck's not the--"
"That's enough." Apollo put an end to it. "A little decorum if you don't mind." It had been all he could do not to slap Sheba across the room for that 'slut' comment, despite what he'd said himself earlier. And wouldn't that have encouraged morale and such... He hadn't missed that half the squadron had agreed with her about at least part of what she was saying.
The squadron quieted and looked at him, but they weren't chastised. He looked at his wrist-chrono; Don't be late on top of everything else, he thought, and wasn't sure if that was a plea, an exasperated command, or a prayer. Then the door opened and Starbuck slid in to stand in the back with twenty microns to spare.
The mission was rough. Not operationally; thank the Lords of Kobol, they encountered nothing on their way to fuel the tankers, or on the flight back. Apollo had half-way hoped for a little bit of action--he'd have liked to shoot at something, watch something explode--but he had to admit that tensions were high. The wrong thing could have been blown up if lasers had been deployed.
But he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't heard Starbuck's voice on the air during a mission. And he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't wanted to. And he had never had to tell as many other people to shut up as he did today. So when they got back, he went and hid in his office, door closed.
That evening, something did explode. Apollo had been aware that there were a lot of tensions. What he somehow hadn't expected was for an actual fight to break out in the barracks. Fists. Feet. Blood. Starbuck and three other pilots. What dismayed him was that nobody got involved in it--nobody else jumped Starbuck, but nobody, not even Boomer, wanted to help him out, either.
Colonel Tigh--the man was psychic, everybody knew that, he was always where you didn't want him to be--beat Apollo to the scene by centons. By the time Apollo go there, Tigh was handing out on-the-spot disciplinary actions, which was a slap in his face. He accepted it; he should have seen it coming. He was going to have to fix it.
If only he knew how without transferring half of his squadron. Or half of himself. Oh, frak, Starbuck, he thought with sudden resignation. Why couldn't you just be... normal?
He stared at the paperwork on his desk without seeing it.
Or why couldn't I? But what he wished he wasn't, he still wasn't ready to admit. So he grabbed his uniform jacket and went home, looking for Boxey, and family, and noise.
Starbuck stood in the hallway. He didn't feel up to keying himself in, because he felt less like finding out the combination had been changed. Several officers had gone past; none had spoken. This is shaping up to be the worst secton of my life, he thought wearily. Sagan help me if it keeps up like this.
Omega turned the corner. "Hello," he said, then broke off and took Starbuck's chin in his hand. "Why didn't you go to the life center with this?"
"It's not that bad," Starbuck shrugged. Omega's fingers tightened on his jaw and didn't release him. Starbuck sighed. "Besides, the other guy was in there."
"I'm sure. All right, come in here and let me take care of that. Unless," he paused and let go in a hurry, "you came here to say 'it's been fun, but.'"
"Not exactly," Starbuck said.
Omega keyed in the door and went in, waiting for him. "I'm changing that today, by the way," the dark-haired man said. "I was thinking of 3723."
Starbuck took a centon to process that--the fact that Omega had pronounced it three-seven-twenty-three helped--and laughed. "Sagan," he said, "is nothing sacred to you?"
Omega shrugged. "Not anymore. Sit down here."
Starbuck complied. At his most irreverent he wouldn't have chosen the 3rd Book, 7th Chapter, Twenty-third Verse--all life is sacred, all love is joy; only hatred is abhorrent in Their sight--for a keypad mnemonic. It made him laugh, which hurt.
Omega came out of the bathroom with an herbal salve, which he applied with a delicate touch. "What happened?" he asked neutrally.
Starbuck shrugged. "Let's just say I'm no longer the most popular guy in the barracks. Which is why I came by..."
"Yes?" Omega sat down next to him.
"I'm broke. Got to get into a game before I can afford a room somewhere, and I'm confined to the Galactica. For fighting." He gestured at his face.
Omega looked at him. Starbuck wasn't entirely sure what his eyes were saying; he was trying for casual hit-up-a-friend-for-a-loan, but it had been a long day and he didn't know if he was succeeding. "I'm not that flush myself," Omega said, adding, before Starbuck had time to do more than begin to react, "but you're welcome to stay here. I told you so the other day."
"I thought you were joking." Not since he'd graduated the academy had anybody invited him to their home, and never, never open-ended...
"In context, I suppose I was," Omega acknowledged. "But think back on everything I've ever said to you: how much of it haven't I meant?"
He stood up and went to put the salve away. Starbuck did just that and realized it was true. It wasn't the sort of epiphany that made you turn handsprings down the hall, because Omega hadn't said all that much, really, no great declarations--no little ones for that matter--but it was true that what he'd said had always been so. But if handsprings were out, relief wasn't. He'd been unhappy at the thought of needing to find a game to pay back a stake--Sagan knew his luck was out (though maybe turning)--and way more than unhappy at that of spending another night in the barracks. He'd contemplated sleeping in a chair on the Observation Deck. Tigh or no Tigh. He sagged back into the cushions and closed his eyes.
"Staying then?" Starbuck looked up to see Omega leaning against the door jamb, smiling.
Suddenly Starbuck knew this was a bad idea. "Look, Megs, you don't want to get stuck with me--"
Omega snorted. "Bucko, if you think you're sparing me the gossip, everybody on this ship has got our names coupled. Granted, the people I work with haven't punched me out, but two of them did tell me I was a lucky daggit, one hoped I wasn't serious, and one reminded me of the scriptures against perversion. If you don't stay, people will only think we broke up. Probably that one or the other of us is scared of public opinion."
Starbuck contemplated that for a while. "I guess so. You don't mind?"
"I don't give a damn, Bucko, you know that. You're the one whose reputation will be shot."
"I have no reputation," Starbuck said bitterly. "At least not one that can be ruined."
Omega flashed that incandescent smile. "So, surprise them all. Stay put." He straightened and added, "Besides, having you around is not the worst thing I can think of. You're decorative. You're amusing. You're the kindest person I've ever known."
"You have had bad luck in friends."
Omega grinned, then sobered. "And it's my fault you're out of a place to sleep."
"Felgarcarb," said Starbuck. "Apollo wasn't looking for you. And if you mean what I think you do, don't even start." But that in fact made him feel better. If Omega had decided to quit drinking to kill his pain, he'd need someone around to watch him for a while.
The darker man shrugged. "We both know what happened. But regardless, you should stay."
"I will. Thanks, Megs."
"Don't mention it. You can have the couch if you want, though even for you I think it's short. Or you can have your half of the bed. No strings."
"I don't want to cramp your style," Starback said. Of course, a room-mate sprawled out in the front room wouldn't add much to the ambience. Never had for him, at any rate.
Omega's smile was bittersweet. "I don't bring them here, Bucko. Only friends get through that door. Well," his tone turned ruefully amused, "as a general rule. Don't let me forget to change that code before we turn in. Do you need to go get anything?"
"I rented a locker," Starbuck said. "I'm giving them time to cool down."
So they went to the rental center and collected Starbuck's meager possessions--at least Omega actually had less, since he'd been only temporarily assigned to the Galactica when the Cylons had changed the universe. Then they went to the O Club for dinner, sitting on the blue side for a change, where everyone was cool and civilized and the wine was golden and the music soft, and went back to Omega's quarters where it was Starbuck's turn, and Omega, whisperingly gentle on the bruises, stopped him from thinking about anything whatsoever.
And Starbuck went to sleep wrapped in Omega's arms, and he didn't dream at all.
In one of the smaller conference rooms near the bridge, Athena swallowed nervously and looked over the assembled bridge officers. All of First Watch had shown up, and they were sitting, neatly ranked by position and duty, only a few talking quietly among themselves. She couldn't remember seeing them like this before. Ever. She wasn't sure this was really her place, but as Adama's daughter she carried more weight in this sort of moral grey area than perhaps she should have. In any case, somebody needed to say something, and say it soon, before the tensions infesting the Viper pilots got into the operations staff as well. Colonel Tigh had set a good tone the day before, behaving as if nothing whatsoever had occurred--he and Omega both had carried themselves so normally that no one on First Watch had known anything had happened until they went off duty. And heard the rumors running the Galactica's corridors like rodents.
Apollo had brought Boxey over for a while the night before, and she and he had spent one of the most unpleasant evenings she could remember. Boxey had been upset and whiny, and while you could excuse that in a child of seven, in his father it had been a lot less tolerable. Frankly, she was sick of his attitudes, and the way he tried to force the people he loved to behave the way he thought they should; he was getting more like their father every day. And the thought of him as head of her family made her think about grabbing the nearest single man she could find and getting sealed. And when Cassie had called, looking to see if she'd heard anything about Starbuck, and Athena had forced her brother to tell her about the barracks fight... well. Viper pilots were creatures of violence and adrenaline and reactions. But the Lords of Kobol wouldn't be able to save this fleet if the Galactica's operations staff fell apart like that.
Besides, on the topic of her father, those same Lords of Kobol knew Commander Adama could be a stiff-necked man. Like his son, unwilling to back away from a publicly taken position. It wouldn't hurt to preempt him, or at least show him what First Watch thought. Always assuming she was right. Or could make herself right. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing, even if he had always preferred the boys.
"Okay," said Athena. "Good of everyone to show up early. No need to be coy about this: we all know what's up. I think we need to be together on this."
"On what?" Altair, one of the long-range comms techs, asked.
"On where we stand," she said.
"And where is that?"
"With Omega," put in Rigel. "Isn't it?"
"That's what I say," nodded Athena. "The man's been through six kinds of hell since he hit this ship and never once has he let it bleed through into his job. He deserves to know we appreciate that."
"Him." The voice was unexpected.
"What?" Rigel turned.
Dathan blushed to the roots of his red hair. He was a devout Kobolian, and shy as well; this topic had to disturb him, and the number of times he'd volunteered anything besides what his scanner's job required in the past two yahrens could have been counted on one hand with fingers left over. But he repeated, firmly, "Him. Appreciate him. He's a good officer."
"Yes," Athena smiled at him. "He is. Are we agreed?"
Everybody nodded. Altair said, "Sagan knows putting on brown lowers your IQ by forty points. Let's prove the midnight blue adds points on."
There was a general murmur of agreement. And even Athena, whose brother was the leader of those who "put on brown", couldn't argue the point. Didn't even want to.
"Sagan," said Falco, a software support tech who'd had his share and half of several other people's dressing downs from the flag lieutenant. "We aren't living in a theocracy, after all. People's private lives ought to be just that."
Athena liked the phrase. She looked around the room and saw no disagreement. "Okay," she said. "Rigel, you distract Omega when he comes in--"
"I can screw up your board from my position," Falco volunteered.
"Good. And I, and Altair and Dathan?" she checked; he nodded; she continued, "will corner the colonel." She double checked that First Watch--the cream of the Galactica's ops crews--were in agreement and found not a single averted gaze. "Okay, then. Let's go to work, people." She watched them file onto the bridge, taking over from third watch, getting quiet updates, staying calm. She felt so proud, she could hardly stand it.
"Do you mind?"
Athena jumped, then turned with a rueful smile to Rigel. "Sorry. I was a million light yahrens away... But mind? Why should I mind?" She shrugged. "Starbuck and I haven't dated in a yahren. Maybe longer."
"I actually meant Captain Apollo."
"Oh." Athena shrugged again. "My brother's acting like a bigoted idiot. You'd think he was a as devout as Dathan--except Dathan doesn't care."
"Dathan isn't best friends with the flag lieutenant, like your brother is--was?--with Lieutenant Starbuck."
"It's Apollo's problem," Athena said. "He's not going to make it mine." And she meant that as surely as she'd meant anything in her life. "What about you? You knew Omega's wife."
"Clementia would have wanted him to have what he wanted," Rigel said. "She always did. I think it's odd he wants Starbuck, but then again, it's not my business. I just hope Starbuck isn't going to hurt him. He can't take much more hurt."
Athena was in such complete agreement with that it startled her, but what she said was, "Anybody who takes up with Starbuck expecting forever hasn't been paying attention. Omega always pays attention. We'd better go; the colonel will be here soon."
When Tigh came on duty that morning, on the stroke of the centare, he was greeted by just exactly what he needed to ease the tensions from the mess the night before: a brisk "Colonel's on the bridge!" and the welcome sight of every single one of his bridge crew at their positions, those who could springing to attention and those who couldn't still managing by their body language to say they were waiting on him even though their duties weren't on pause.
He smiled as he surveyed the bridge. "As you were," he said, and watched as they resumed their jobs. He hadn't expected many of them not to show up today, but after the way the Viper pilots were reacting... at least one of First Watch was a devout fundamentalist, and others belonged to tribes who were even more disapproving of same sex relationships than Capricans. But not a one was missing. He was proud of them. Duty before emotions: that had always been his credo. Maybe that was why he'd never sealed, but it was also why the Galactica had held together the way she had in the face of everything that had been thrown at her. Duty first...
He was aware of Omega's tall figure bent over one of the comms...no, scanner positions, the tech--Rigel--gesturing at the readouts. No tension in either of them, just annoyance: another bad board. He turned to look at the night shift's reports, giving one last once-over to the bridge, and realized that Athena, Altair, and--speak of a nightflyer--the fundamentalist, Dathan, were standing in front of him. Frak, he thought, taking in their body language. I can't have been this wrong.
"Sir?
"Yes, lieutenant?"
Athena took a deep breath. Before she spoke, Tigh realized that every person on the bridge--except Omega and Rigel, the former just becoming aware that something was happening--had risen to their feet and were watching. This was a united front.
"Sir, First Watch felt it was, if not necessary at least prudent, to let you know that we feel we do not live in a theocracy." She paused.
Tigh raised an eyebrow. That was an interesting way to put it. However, it seems I wasn't wrong, and that's good. All the ways there are. "I'm aware of that, Lieutenant. Nonetheless, I appreciate your bringing it to my attention."
"I hope so, sir," she said. "I hope you understand us."
"I do, Lieutenant." He looked over her shoulder at his flag-lieutenant, standing like an elegant piece of sculpture but alive and taking the measure of the room. Tigh appreciated loyalty more than any other virtue, and he always had. Looking around the bridge, he made a decision. He'd been thinking about it all night without reaching any firm conclusions, ever since he'd had to break up that fight in Blue Squadron--the premier squadron in the fleet, the Strike Captain's Own. The original decision had been made nearly two sectars ago, scheduled for next secton. But now he felt it couldn't wait. It wouldn't be long before he, or Adama, or both of them were called in by the Council. A day, maybe two... This wasn't a theocracy. No more was it a democracy, or a republic. It was a military. He wanted to head this thing off before it even started. He reached into his pocket and then raised his voice just the slight bit necessary to carry the bridge and get everyone's attention. Adama might be annoyed at his precipitateness--frak, Adama might be pissed off--but this was his bridge, and he was going to do it anyway. "Lieutenant Omega. Front and center."
If the bridge had been still before, now it was silence incarnate. When the man was before him, he began, as he had countless times before, "Attention to orders." Incredibly, the silence grew deeper. He paused, then looked out over the crew. "Rest," he said. "Ladies and gentlemen. As you are aware, the bridge of a battle star is the care, normally, of a flag lieutenant. But a battlestar's group is, as a general rule, no more than six or seven ships, combatants all, with trained crews of their own. The Galactica is the caretaker of a fleet, and that fleet holds our entire race. It has long been realized that the bridge and operations personnel of this battlestar have duties above and beyond the normal call. And it is also known that you have met them, with courage, with skill, with dedication, and with grace under appalling pressure. You have saved our people time and over. I wish I could promote you all, but--" he let himself smile for just a moment "--you know how that goes. Still, it's fair to say that the actions of the group are both reflected in and reflections of the leader. This watch, this operations staff, is far and away the best I have served with. Ever. In no small part, that is due to your flag lieutenant. Attention to orders!" he snapped again. "Lieutenant Omega, you are hereby promoted to the duties and privileges of the rank of captain, with all the attendant duties and responsibilities of the position of flag-adjutant to the commander of the Battlestar Galactica, effective immediately." He held out the rank insignia to Omega's subordinates, the ones who'd just put themselves on the line for him. Athena snapped up the left one, but Altair held back, allowing the youngster Dathan to pin on the right one. As soon as that was done, and they'd stepped back, Tigh saluted.
When Omega returned the salute, the bridge erupted in cheers. Adama looked out of his office, but he didn't join them. Tigh wasn't surprised, but he wasn't disappointed either. This was their moment, not the fleet's. He held out his hand and Omega took it. "Long overdue," he told the new captain.
"Thank you, sir."
"It was posted a sectar ago, for next secton, so you won't get paid for it till then."
"Isn't that always the way, sir?" Omega smiled slightly.
Tigh nodded and stepped back, allowing the others to offer their congratulations. He'd caught the glint in Athena's eye that meant she at least realized that Omega now functionally outranked Apollo: both captains, with the pilot's date of rank earlier, but flag-adjutants outranked all others of their grade. It added a new dimension to the mess, and Tigh wished he hadn't felt compelled to publicly award the promotion early, before the Council took a notion to step in and make an example of someone. He wished more strongly that he didn't think that was exactly what they were going to do. Well, he thought, watching his staff return to their places, the light murmur of conversation replacing the silence, I've protected my man. I hope someone is looking out for Starbuck. I don't know what I can do for him...
Apollo made an excuse to go to the bridge on his next shift. Athena spotted him and avoided him, which wasn't enormously surprising given their last conversation. What was surprising was that everyone else did their level best to do the same. The only two, in fact, who didn't were Omega, the last man on the Galactica Apollo actually wanted to talk to, and Tigh, who, mercifully, intercepted him before he had to. But he'd seen it with his own eyes: the man was wearing captain's insignia.
He must have documentary evidence on somebody, was Apollo's involuntary thought as he stalked back to his own office. Nice for some people.
Four more requests for transfer were on his desk. And he couldn't delude himself that the ones who hadn't asked were happy, they just thought being in Blue Squadron outweighed it. He didn't really know what to do. The situation was his fault, but that was beside the point. The situation existed, and had to be dealt with. He couldn't transfer three quarters of his pilots; for one thing, he didn't know if he could find replacements for them. He didn't know if he'd want pilots who wanted in, as far that went. But nobody was going to take Starbuck off his hands.
Frak. How did this get so out of hand?
"I think it's because you've been spending the last few days hiding in here," said Boomer.
Apollo stared, then realized he must have said that out loud. "Who asked you?"
"Sorry, I was under the impression you were," Boomer said. "Forget I said anything, if that's how you want to play this."
"Why are you here? Want a transfer, too?"
"No," said Boomer. "I don't. I worked too hard to get here. Just don't try to put me in the middle of this, because I won't go."
Apollo regarded him with mixed emotions, but gratitude won out. "Thanks, Boomer."
"For nothing." That didn't sound like formula. "Anyway, while you were out, Starbuck left a message."
"Left a message? Where the frak is he?"
"Where he's supposed to be," Boomer said neutrally. "Viper bay. Scheduled inventory."
"Oh. Oh, right. So, what's the message?"
"New contact number. I logged it." He waited, but when Apollo didn't say anything, he shrugged and left the office.
Apollo found half a dozen things to do before he checked the number. As he'd suspected, it was Omega's.
That was hardly a surprise, except that Starbuck would move in with anyone, but for some reason, it infuriated Apollo. I have to do something about this, he thought. I have to stop him.
He caught himself in mid-thought. Stop him? Stop him from what? He wasn't sure. Frak that. Of course he was sure. Stop him from destroying the squadron, what else. Not that he was sure what to do with him; he hadn't committed any actual breach of discipline, if you didn't count the fight in the barracks, which Tigh had already settled. And which wasn't that serious anyway...
He had to find someplace to put him. Frak. He'd worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, he'd see if his father had any suggestions.
When he got home, he changed quickly and went to collect Boxey from his after-school care. "Hi, Dad!" Boxey called, running out and then stopping. "Where's Starbuck?"
"He's not here. I told you he wouldn't be here. We're going to your grandfather's for dinner tonight."
Boxey brightened right up. He loved Adama, and Adama doted on him. He darted down the corridors and Apollo followed more slowly, thanking the Lords of Kobol that Serina and her first husband had produced a child as... he broke stride for a centon. What was he thinking? As well-bred and acceptable, was what he was thinking. As perfect a grandson.
"Come on, Dad!"
Apollo looked down the hallway and smiled. So, where was the crime in that? Sure, Boxey had been Serina's first attraction for him. And of course he thanked the Lords of Kobol that Boxey was a suitable grandson for his father, because otherwise... he shook his head sharply. Otherwise he'd have had to fight his father about marrying Serina, and he hadn't had to, and that was a good thing. And that was all that was.
Boxey rang at the door. It was opened by Athena, dressed for going out. "Hi, Aunt 'Theni! Is Grandfather home yet?"
"Not yet," she smiled, ruffling his hair. "I'm waiting for him, too... come on in. 'Pol."
"'Thena," he kissed her cheek and followed his son in.
Boxey pulled his game set out of the cabinet Adama kept it in and began setting up. "Aunt 'Theni," he said, "are you eating dinner with us? 'Cause you're dressed up better than Dad is."
"No, Boxey, I'm going to a party. I'll let you and your Dad give Father the message for me."
He cocked his head at her. "Aunt 'Theni, are you mad at Starbuck, too?"
Apollo didn't look at her.
"Mad at Starbuck?" she said. "No, honey, I'm not mad at Starbuck. Why?"
"Dad is. A lot of people are. Why? Did he do something bad?"
Athena sat down on the table and looked at the boy. "No," she said deliberately. "He didn't. Some people don't like what he did, but it wasn't bad."
"What did he do?" Boxey asked.
"Nothing much. Do you remember Flag-Captain Omega, my friend that you met last sectar?"
Apollo glared at her over Boxey's head. She ignored him.
"I thought he was a lieutenant."
"He was, but he got a promotion."
"That's good," Boxey said. "What about him?"
"He and Starbuck are friends, too," Athena said. "And Starbuck got tired of living in the barracks, and Omega didn't want to live by himself anymore, so they're roommates now, and it's annoyed some people."
"Why?" Boxey persisted. "Is it because Captain Omega is a blue-suiter and Starbuck is a fighter pilot?" He blushed suddenly. "Not that there's anything wrong with--"
"Being a fighter pilot?" Athena laughed. "No, there isn't. And yes, it's something like that. It just annoyed a lot of people."
"Well, that's okay. Starbuck annoys a lot of people all the time, doesn't he?"
Athena looked at Apollo and then said, "Yes, he does. It'll blow over and then I'm sure you'll be able to see him again. 'Pol, tell Father I'll be out all night, at Lyra's, and I'll talk to him tomorrow. I can't keep Cassie waiting."
Apollo went to the door with her. "Athena, you shouldn't tell Boxey--"
She interrupted him. "Apollo, he's your son and you'll raise him as you see fit. No arguments from me. But do not look to me to explain your decisions to him. You do that on your own, too." She went through the door without a backwards glance.
Apollo followed her, letting it shut behind them. "Athena, I'd appreciate it if you didn't have... I mean, when Boxey is with you... I mean--"
She cut him off. "Apollo, my friends are my friends. I won't invite people you don't approve of to associate with your son, but I'm not going to tell him they aren't. I work with Omega. He comes to my place sometimes on business. If you want me to send Boxey into the sleeping room, you tell me what I tell him: your father hates the Flag-Captain? Your father doesn't want you associating with 'blue-suiters'? What?"
"Flag-Captain," Apollo dodged the question. "What's that, anyway?"
"That has nothing to do with this. How long have you been in the military, anyway? You can't even confirm a battlefield brevet in less than two sectons."
"She's right," Adama said. They both jumped; intent on their argument, neither of them had even noticed their father's approach. "That promotion was decided several sectars ago. It was not Tigh's impulsive decision. Only his timing was his own. Why are we standing in the hallway having this discussion?"
"Boxey's inside," Athena said. "I wanted to tell you that Cassie and I are staying at Lyra's tonight after the shower. If you should need me."
"Have a good time," he smiled at her and went inside.
"What do I tell him? Or do you need time to think about it?"
"Oh, don't tell him anything at all," he snapped at her and went inside himself.
Starbuck got home before Omega did the next evening. He caught himself thinking that and was brought up short. Was this home? He stood in the front room and looked around. Was this home? Was this what home felt like? He'd never been home before... only been where he was living. This didn't feel like the orphanage, like the academy, like the barracks... but was it home?
Or was it just something that would do till home came along? Assuming it ever does, of course. Which is asking a helluva lot of my life.
At the moment, he hoped it was home.
He sat on the couch, dropping his jacket to the floor, and laid his head on the back of it. He had never seen Apollo so angry in his life. No, not angry. This wasn't angry. When Apollo was angry he was lit up with it. Passion blazed from his green eyes, and put a glow on his skin, as if there was a fire inside him. Even if he was too angry to talk, he was ardent with it. This was not Apollo being angry. This was Apollo being something cold and distant.
This was Apollo calling him into his office and telling him he'd been 'detailed'--nice word--to be Commander Tigh's personal pilot for the next three sectars. Which basically means sitting around for days until something happens, and then transporting him to a barge and sitting around till he wants to come back. Adama's idea. Apollo loved it. No arguments.
On the bright side, he got to sit around in his own little office. Which meant he'd avoid the cheerful company of his fellow pilots. And he could certainly live with that. Word choice deliberate.
The door hissed open. He didn't move.
"So." Omega's voice said he'd heard. Well, of course he'd heard; he was flag-adjutant to Starbuck's new boss. "How'd it work out today?"
"Oh, just fine. I could pose for the ad campaign: Become a Colonial Warrior--it's not just a job, it's a five-yahren Adventure!"
Omega regarded him for a centon, then sat down next to him, bumping him over companionably. "You know," he remarked, "I'm no stranger to the deflected question."
Starbuck snorted. "You never deflected a question in your life. You just refuse to answer, get all flag-adjutant and raised-eyebrow... You've always been like that, haven't you? Born to be a flag officer. They can't teach that."
"Nicely done," Omega said. "And that's what I meant, actually... I've heard more young warriors try to put me off than you could imagine. Granted, you're the best, though this isn't really up to your standards, but you're not getting away with it, Bucko. What else is wrong?"
Starbuck looked sideways at him, the grave, classically handsome face, the patient dark eyes looking directly at him, the elegant hands at rest in his lap, the body language that said, I'm not going anywhere, talk to me, I want to hear you... He caved. He couldn't hold out against that. He reached for his jacket and pulled the leaflet out and handed it over.
Omega gave it a cursory glance, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash. "And that felgarcarb bothers you why, exactly?"
Starbuck shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like I haven't heard it before. It's just..." He paused. What was it, as Omega had said, exactly, that bothered him? It really wasn't the words, he had stopped listening to the words--damned to perdition or worthless orphan, whichever--yahrens ago even if the source could still rip out his heart sometimes. Maybe it was where he'd found it, tucked into his Viper. He gave Omega another sideways glance; how odd was it that of the two of them, it was Omega, the man whose picture was in the macropedia next to the entry for "aloof", who was the one whose superior officer went out on a limb for him, whose coworkers ranged themselves solidly behind him, and whose subordinates put themselves on the line for him... even if they were saying the same words to him in private... "Frak," he said tiredly, "I just don't know. What are we doing out here, anyway? Saving humanity? Not necessary. How many planets have we gone past that were lousy with humanity? Saving this particular little bunch of humans? I guess I'm just not sure any more that's worth dying for. Or even doing without the dying."
Omega was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed and, tucking his left knee under himself, reached out and pulled Starbuck into an embrace. Starbuck sighed as well, settling himself into the hold, Omega's legs alongside his and his back against the taller man's chest. He put his hands up and laid his own arms on top of the ones that cradled him. They weren't the right arms but they were the arms that were here, the arms that offered him what he needed, and he accepted it, them, taking a deep breath and relaxing. If he couldn't hold out against 'talk-to-me' eyes, 'let-me-hold-you' was irresistible. He'd yield to that with people who had only a temporary, if strong, interest in his body and who were more annoyed than not with the person inside it--or even that there was a person inside. When it came from someone who cared, regardless of how much or how little, it could kill him and he'd die happy.
Which, of course, made it so easy to get hurt, so easy to be left wounded and alone. Too easy...
He closed his eyes and rested, surrounded by warmth and affection, physical and emotional. Time got away from him; he didn't have any idea how long they'd been when Omega sighed and, resting his chin on Starbuck's hair, asked softly, "May I say something personal to you?"
It could have been funny, given the past secton or their history before that. It could have been, but it wasn't. Without opening his eyes Starbuck answered just as softly, "Yes."
"Have you considered that, maybe, he's jealous?"
"No."
"Perhaps you should."
"Megs, honestly... jealous?" He didn't think he could wrap his mind around that concept. He wasn't sure he wanted to try.
"His behaviour has been classic."
"Classically deranged, maybe."
"There's a very strong element of derangement in love, Starbuck," Omega said seriously. "Trust me on this, I know whereof I speak."
"Yeah? Well, he's never acted like this before, no matter how much I shoved my love life in his face."
"You were never with a man before. As far as he knows. Knew."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, as far as he knew, there was never a moment when he could have had you, and now he knows he could have. Allowing for the natural egotism of healthy love, that is. At the very least, now he knows he could have tried. Now he knows you were available."
Starbuck considered that. It was true, at least as far as it went. He'd occasionally, very occasionally, made a joke about it, but Apollo had never taken him seriously for more than a centon or two. His reaction to the jokes had kept Starbuck keeping them only jokes... He shook his head. "No. This isn't jealousy. This is him despising me."
"Despising somebody," Omega agreed. "But himself, I think. Again, something I know a little something about."
Starbuck caressed Omega's arms while he thought about it. "You mean," he said carefully, trying to treat it as a philosophical problem with no immediate application to his life, "if I had made a pass at him--"
"He would have killed you."
"All things considered, you're probably right."
"He's been far too well brought up... but now, I think, he's having emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. So he's dealing with them very poorly."
Starbuck thought about it some more. "You could be right... So now--"
"Can you have him?" Omega hit the gold. "I don't think so."
Starbuck sighed heavily.
"I don't mean, it's a bad idea," Omega clarified. "I only mean, I don't think it'll profit you to ask. He's from the wrong kind of family--"
"How is it different from yours?" Starbuck asked without thinking, and then flinched internally.
"They're alive." Starbuck stroked his arms again, but, unlike a yahren ago, the dark-haired man was finally able to contemplate that as a simple fact. He shrugged and continued, "They're far more important and far more rigid than mine ever were, too. It's difficult to escape your family even if you aren't living with them in conditions like this. When your father is not only a living legend and the savior of your race, but also your commanding officer, it's mostly likely nigh impossible. And if he's also a devout Kobolian patriarch of the old school, well," he sighed. "He never stood a chance."
Starbuck thought about how quickly Athena had fled the possibility of creating the desire to cross her father; how Apollo had driven himself--still drove himself--to please Adama; how Zac had quite literally died trying to find out if he was at least a satisfactory son...
"Besides," Omega added, "a man who'd seal with Sheba, a person whom my limited acquaintance with makes me glad it is limited--unless she improves with greater exposure?"
"She does not," Starbuck said automatically, trying to process the beginning of that sentence. Seal?
"I thought so. Such a man isn't a man ready to acknowledge his feelings, let alone act on them."
"Seal?" Starbuck managed to say. "With Sheba?"
"You hadn't heard yet? I know you're out of the loop..."
"I can't be that much out," Starbuck protested. "I mean, I'd've thought she'd've put it on IFB."
Omega turned his head slightly to rest his cheek against Starbuck's head. "I'm sorry. I suppose he hasn't made it public yet. Athena told me today that her father told her that he, her brother I mean, had told their father last night that he was going to. I should have realized he'd have to ask his father before he asked her. I'm sorry," he said again, and tightened his embrace.
"He keeps getting sealed."
"He keeps running to women who--"
"Take over? At least Serina was..." he tried to remember her, but she'd really only been Boxey's mother who stalked Apollo like a bounty hunter, single-minded and ruthless; she'd hated him but never got near enough to him that he'd known her at all. The best he could come up with was, "At least she wasn't a vicious bitch who goes out of her way to cripple the less fortunate." He sighed. "I suppose Sheba will take care of Apollo, though, if he's her ticket to paradise. And she's hardly the maternal type, so she'll have to keep Boxey alive." That was only half a joke.
"I am sorry."
"I know." He rubbed his cheek against the soft blue of Omega's uniform. "I know."
"I thought you might like to think of him as--"
"Eating his heart out over me?" Starbuck made it into a joke.
"Something like that," Omega answered gravely.
"Well, it's better than thinking of him as despising me, that's for sure. Thank you."
"It was nothing. Omega's Advice to the Lovelorn."
"Lorn," Starbuck said, "the story of my life." That, too, was supposed to be a joke, but it didn't come out as one.
Omega freed one of his arms and cradled Starbuck's face in his hand. "Let me help?"
Starbuck looked up at him. Warm dark eyes that knew what pain was and that mouth which could comfort in so many ways more than verbally. He closed his own eyes and leaned into the warm hand. "Please," he whispered.
"Of course," Omega whispered back and leaned down to kiss him.
Apollo woke up, bolt upright in his bed and covered in sweat. He sat there for a moment, trembling, and then--Frak! He scrambled for the turboflush, tangling one foot in the spread and falling but managing to make it before he lost the entire expensive meal he'd eaten on the Rising Star that evening. Sagan, he thought, sitting on the chilly floor and leaning his head against the wall, I didn't have that much to drink...
Although, he remembered, practically everybody in the restaurant had wanted to buy them a drink and toast their happiness...the children of two living legends united, the future in good hands. And he had looked across the table at Sheba's shining face and realized he was going to be sealed with her, he really was, and he'd accepted every drink he'd been offered.
He swallowed experimentally and thought about getting up, but decided not to risk it. Besides, for some reason this seemed an apt place for sitting just now. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the end of the meal, how he'd gotten back here... He couldn't. All that would come was a hazy memory of thinking that she wouldn't want to be his wingman at any rate, and then another one of those stabs of anger at Starbuck for leaving him needing a wingman... He shook his head to clear it. That was a mistake.
When he could, he leaned back against the wall very carefully and vowed not to move again till morning. Thank the Lords of Kobol Boxey was at his father's tonight--Adama had been even more willing than usual to take the boy, anything to facilitate Apollo's plans for the evening... Boxey. Boxey needed a mother, that was for sure; a boy needed a mother, a woman's influence around him... Cain was Adama's old friend, and Adama had practically invited Sheba into the heart of his family when her father had gone off with the Pegasus... actually, there was no 'practically' about it. He remembered Athena, who hadn't particularly cared for Sheba then and seemed to like her less now--maybe after they were sisters that would change--he remembered her saying that Adama had certainly opened up with uncharacteristic alacrity... 'Theni's eyes on been on Starbuck when she'd said that, a Starbuck who'd been by himself in a shadowed corner of the O Club, watching the party, a Starbuck who had almost seemed to know he was being talked about as he apparently got his second wind and plunged back into the celebration, not to reappear until two days later, with that smug smile... Apollo wondered now who he'd been with, but that was displaced by the memory of his father's response to his sister. "I knew her father," he'd said as if it were self-explanatory and then, following her gaze, he'd added, "Starbuck never had a family; Sheba's lost hers. Who do you think is more in need?"
He still didn't know. He knew who had clung to him and who pushed him away, and he knew who had always been there and who was pursuing her own ambitions... which was good. He didn't mind she loved Silver Spar more, no not more, just as much as, she loved him. He didn't mind her having a career, he'd been proud of Serina's career, it would be best if his wife had something to do besides wait for him to come home, there was a war on after all...
Boxey liked Sheba. He'd said she was 'okay', which was a tribute from him, he still didn't warm to strangers that easily. Apollo tried not to remember the rest of the conversation he'd had with his son that morning, yesterday morning now he supposed, but he was too exhausted to fight the memories. The whole day came back to him, and longer: every bad move he'd made, beginning with his inexplicable irritation over Starbuck's night out with Omega. Somehow, he knew, that was the key to why he was now sitting on this cold floor, shivering and worn out and sick and scared. He couldn't understand himself. He'd never cared before (oh, really? asked the little voice he always tried to ignore) if Starbuck went to the Rising Star looking for women. Why it had bothered him so much that he was going with Omega he didn't know (oh, really?). It wasn't as if he wanted to go himself, and it wasn't as if he could have guessed...
And once he knew, really, what else could he have done? Not been so precipitous, or so public, with his reactions, of course, tried to keep the whole thing under wraps so the squadron didn't suffer. Squadron? It was worse than that. He wasn't the only person from the Wing getting cold-shouldered by the operations staff, the rift between brown and blue, usually not quite semi-serious, was deep and getting deeper. He flinched, remembering some of his own comments over the past few days. If he didn't want all Viper pilots tarred with Starbuck's brush, then he shouldn't have been attacking Omega's uniform... and he knew, if he faced it--and he was too tired to run from it--that the flag-captain was anything but a coward. The one time Apollo had been stuck on the bridge for an entire Cylon attack, he hadn't felt like he was "safe at ringside while someone else ran all the risks."
Your Aunt Athena is safe on the bridge, Boxey, the Cylons can't get her...
And that brought up that morning's conversation with Boxey. "What do you think of Sheba?"
"She's okay, Dad. She's a good pilot, isn't she?"
"She's a very good pilot. Do you like her?"
Boxey shrugged. "She's okay... why?"
"What would you think if she and I got sealed?"
Boxey had looked at him with those big eyes that had seen more than a child's should. "Are you?"
"I want to."
"So does she," Boxey said. "Grandfather likes her. I guess it'll be okay... She'll be my step-mom, huh?"
"You know I loved your mother. But--"
"I know," Boxey said, sounding a little bored. "Like she did my other dad before she sealed with you. Life goes on... Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Is that why Starbuck didn't come live with us?"
"What?" Boxey flinched; Apollo hadn't mean to yell like that. He tried again, "It's okay, son, I'm not mad, but what do you mean?"
"Well, Aunt 'Theni said he got tired of the barracks and that's why he and Omega--"
"Captain Omega," Apollo didn't want his son on a friendly basis with that man.
"Captain Omega," Boxey sighed, "are sharing quarters. He could have moved in with us, but not if Sheba's moving in. Am I going to have to call her 'Mom'?"
"I don't know. We'll talk about it, all three of us. Now go to school."
"It's early!" Boxey protested.
"Go anyway. I have a lot to do this morning." And he had. Like calling Starbuck into his office (and ignoring the stiff way he walked and the rather colorful bruise on his cheek, the voice pointed out, not to mention the wariness in his eyes--and that's new, isn't it, hmmmm?) and implementing his father's suggestion. "You like living with the blue-suiters so much, go work with them for a while. Out of my sight... our sight. Maybe I can stitch this squadron back together again." He wasn't sure if he'd actually said that, or just thought it, but he might have. He'd been saying a lot of things lately he wished he hadn't... "he and Omega didn't actually need to go to the Rising Star and get drunk before they climbed into bed after all... who asked you... shut up; I don't want to hear it...I thought I knew him; I was wrong..."
(Hey, don't forget the big one, nagged the voice. Don't forget, 'Father, I want to seal with Sheba.')
Automatically Apollo rejected that. He did want to seal with Sheba. It was perfect. His father approved; frak, his father had been pushing them together since the Pegasus had returned. Her father approved...
(So you make your life decisions based on what your father wants? Actually, I guess you do. You didn't want to be a Warrior, and here you are, a Strike Captain. And you did want to be a singer, and you scribble the occasional song in the middle of the night and never tell anyone. And you didn't want to marry Serina, but you did... at least you got a grandson for him out of it.)
"Shut up." He was surprised at how bitter his voice sounded. That he was talking to himself wasn't that surprising; he'd argued with this voice for yahrens before it had gone away, back his first term at the academy.
(So now you seal with Sheba. Because you know she'll say yes, and nobody else even suspects you're interested. And because you thought you saw something scary in your father's eyes last night? Who's no-guts now, Strike Captain?)
"Boxey needs a mother."
(Why? You had a mother.)
"What the frak are you insinuating?"
(Oooo, big words. I'm not insinuating, I'm saying.)
"I thought you stinking little voices were supposed to push us away from our animal natures," Apollo said desperately. "Push towards the good."
(How do you know I'm not? Why do you assume that?)
"Because this is wrong."
(Why? Because everyone says so? You want a mother's wisdom? Try this: 'Oh, 'Pol, if all your friends were jumping off the Pons Tibra bridge, would you?')
"The Books say so."
(No they don't. Any more than the regs do. They don't mention it, one way or the other. You just assume that since they don't say, Blessed are the different, that they mean, Damned are they.... Where is it written, Blessed are the normal, Apollo?)
"Shut up."
(Cogent argument. You're at your best in the dead of night, aren't you?)
"I am not listening. I am not like that."
(Oh, no. Of course not... Apollo, wake up. Ask yourself why you were so damned angry about it. Why you lashed out at Starbuck like that. Why Omega was so different from fill-in-the-blank-as-long-as-she's-female. Go ahead. I dare you.)
The chill was creeping into his bones. He sat there, trying very hard not to think.
(Okay, then. Don't. But what about your dream?)
"No..." But it was too late. The dream that had woken him from a dead sleep, that he'd been trying so hard to forget, was back. He didn't remember his dreams, usually, but this one...
Apollo wept.He was inside a temple, filled with light and flowers and music. Everyone was dressed in white. He was facing his father, who was robed as a Kobolian priest-king, and Sheba was by his side. He was fettered, too, light chains, silvery, golden, something shining... from him to his father, to Athena, to Boxey, others reaching into the air and vanishing and yet linked to something, constraining his movements. And not his only. Each person in the temple wore fetters, almost unknowingly, almost willingly...His father held more chains in his hands reaching out to bind Apollo to Sheba. Apollo wanted to step back, but he couldn't... Sheba was reaching for the chain that linked him to Adama, a predatory smile on her face, and then she wasn't Sheba any more, she was Serina, wearing the same smile as the pyramids of Kobol darkened the sky and the onlookers assumed the garb of warriors, brown and tan and blue, and Serina grasped the chains in her small deceptively delicate hands, and Apollo's heart was breaking for the absence of Starbuck...
And then there was no one there at all but him, his chains stretching into the darkness, and he tried to follow them home but he didn't seem able to move, and then there was a flare of gold in the distance and Serina/Sheba was there, and then he realized that it wasn't either of them. It was Starbuck, gold and warm and welcoming. And unfettered. His feet moved and he ran to Starbuck's side. He saw, for one short moment, the smile that Starbuck saved for the few he trusted, the love in those blue eyes that looked into his soul and knew him, and he felt, for an even shorter moment, the trusting weight of Starbuck leaning on him, and then, suddenly, like a sharp pain, he felt his chains tighten, pulling him away, and he went, abruptly.
And he watched Starbuck falling, eyes desolate, and he fell not to the ground but over the edge, into the deepest Abyss, a golden gleam in the blackness. Apollo wanted to call out, but again he couldn't move. And then Starbuck was caught in midfall, and he turned to cling to the man who'd caught him... dark hair, midnight-blue and silver, broken fetters... Starbuck held him and looked at Apollo. Apollo looked away; when he looked back Starbuck was gone and it was Sheba standing there, smiling.
Starbuck woke up. The alarm hadn't gone off yet; he was still on Blue Squadron time. As part of Colonel Tigh's staff, he'd be on different centares... it would be hard to get used to after so long. But he was nothing if not adaptable. Landed on his feet every time.
Beside him, Omega was still asleep. Starbuck propped himself on one elbow and watched him for a few centons. This was the seventh morning he'd woken up next to Omega.... no, fifth, because he had spent that one night back in the barracks. Still, five in a row. Some kind of record.
Yep, he'd definitely landed on his feet. He could certainly think of a lot of people Apollo might have caught him in bed with who wouldn't have offered to let him move in. Hell, most of them wouldn't have let him come back, considering the way Apollo had been carrying on. Let alone say "You should stay."
It was just too bad they didn't really love each other. This could have been paradise, instead of ... whatever it was. An interlude? A passing fling--no, not that. A deeper than usual friendship?
Omega made a small sound in his sleep; Starbuck reached out and stroked his shoulder, gentling him to a better dream. He trailed his fingertips along the straight, old scar the bridge officer carried from the destruction of the Hesperian Dream in what turned out to be the penultimate battle between the Colonies as a genuine political entity and the Cylons. He had broken his shoulder blade, but Starbuck knew he'd stayed on his feet, running the bridge, been on the last escape shuttle off the dying frigate. He'd heard the whole story from Athena, who'd gotten it from Rigel, who'd been on the Hesper too. Omega had never spoken of it, not even when drunk, though once when he'd been completely, totally smashed, he had told Starbuck about the death of the Sanguine Expectation, his first ship... He had met Clementia on the old Sang, thought he'd lost her in the battle, found her again in the life center on the Atlantia, which had picked up the Sang's survivors, and been sealed to her within the secton. An almost excessively romantic story, including her resigning her commission when she became pregnant, and settling down on Caprica to raise handsome dark-haired children in a small (Starbuck had always wondered just what that word had meant to Omega) house on his family's property on the island of Natacapra.
And, of course, ending in the death of every single person on the island. Which pretty much did in the romance aspect of it.
Starbuck sighed to himself. What was this? How about two desperately lonely people who'd lucked into finding each other?
He could still remember vividly the first time he'd seen Omega. Not the flag-lieutenant, ICOB, no; who knew when that had been? But the man... it had been the night that Apollo had announced he was getting sealed to Serina. And Starbuck had drunk the toasts, said the words, avoided Serina insofar as that was possible (she'd helped, she hated him as much as he hated her, which wasn't anything like as much as he hated Sheba, but there was just that extra Shebaness factored in there...), and then high-tailed it to the Rising Star's lower decks at the first opportunity. He'd planned on getting pretty drunk and picked up by somebody lean and dark and hanging on the edge of rough. Angry sex, that's what he'd been looking for.
What he'd found was somebody in worse trouble than him.
It had only taken one look from across the bar, one meeting those dark eyes, like the Abyss, and Starbuck had found himself sitting next to the flag-lieutenant, buying him a drink and coming to the realization that this man more than half intended not to survive the night. That had shaken Starbuck, shaken him very badly. No matter what life had thrown at him--and it had thrown a bargeload--he'd never wanted to die. Not seriously. There had been moments when he hadn't much cared whether he lived or not, but not even in those last yahrens before he'd escaped into the military had he wanted to die. Kill, yes; die, no.
His first reaction had, surprising him, been to want to take care of the man. The burden of grief he was carrying had obviously broken him, at least for the moment, and Starbuck had found himself feeling compassion rather than disdain. Impulsively, he'd bought another bottle and a room, and listened to him talk about his dead daughter--the full catalog of Omega's losses had come only over time. They had both gotten fairly drunk, and when they'd had sex it hadn't been angry or destructive, it had been desperate...
And out of that Starbuck and Omega had become friends. They were so dissimilar it wasn't funny, but maybe that had helped. Neither of them had anything left outside the confines of this scarred old warship. Starbuck never had had anything, and the only people he'd lost that he cared about were Zac and Adama's kind and loving wife, Ila. Omega, on the other hand, had lost more people than Starbuck had ever had, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews... wife, children; and he'd been bred to money and power. But here on the Galactica they met as equals: warriors, lieutenants, lonely men.
Their philosophies were similar to start with, and quickly grew more so. Starbuck had a vague memory from something he'd read once, crammed to pass a test at the academy and forgotten to make room for more short-term remediation of the rather hit-or-miss education (in the loosest possible sense of that word) he'd gotten at the orphanage, to the effect that often revolutionaries came from the privileged class. He'd figured at the time it was because they were the ones with time on their hands. Now he guessed it was because the decent ones among them had access to means and opportunity... Whatever, neither of them put much stock in the Kobolian Way, or the emphasis on bloodlines and family, except for the ties of love.
The nature of their companionship had pretty much meant they didn't hang out with others, at least not as a pair. And certainly not as a couple; when they hit the Rising Star together they had, at least at the beginning of their friendship, ended up with a couple of women. They might go two or three sectons without seeing each other at first, though before many sectars were passed they were spending a regular night every secton together, not necessarily ending up in bed with each other--both of them liked women as well. In fact, Starbuck suspected Omega liked women more than men but less than him; it was his wife's being dead that had put that spin onto his sex life to begin with, but then both of them had learned to take pleasure where it offered itself. The need to conform grew less with every sectar, and the satisfaction of being with someone they cared for grew greater. By that fateful night--which sounds like a very bad novel, Starbuck reflected, probably the only kind my life could be made into, though--it had been at least a yahren since either of them had gone to bed with another man.
Even though that had started, for Omega anyway, as a way to get through what Starbuck called "Those Days"--days like last secton's birthday of his son, or his daughter's the night they'd met, or the twins', or his wife's, or any of the dozen or so days that his family had celebrated with such joy... Starbuck helped Omega make it past those memories, and Omega helped Starbuck make it through his own bad times.
Like Apollo's marriage--because Omega was the only one who knew Starbuck's deepest, most unrealizable dream--or the way he'd yearned to help Apollo through his grieving, or when Sheba--because Adama knew her family--had slipped without effort into the place Starbuck had hungered for for yahrens. Or when his hopes of making a good second best with Cassie had fallen through--been turned into free hydrogen in space, more like--he wasn't even good enough for a socialator... Omega had held him, made love to him--fierce and, later, gentle--and had even, as Starbuck had discovered later, called in sick for two shifts to stay with him.
There were plenty of times Starbuck wished he could just let go and fall in love. But he didn't seem to be able to shake Apollo.
He smiled unhappily to himself. He'd maybe succeeded this time. Sure as Cylons, Apollo had shaken him. So maybe this wasn't capital-L Love. It was shaping up to be as close as he was going to get. And it was definitely, most definitely, capital-G Good... Don't be so damned greedy, Starbuck, he chastised himself. Don't change your strategies now. Take what you can get and be grateful to the universe for its really not so small favors.
He leaned over and kissed Omega's shoulder, gently. The dark-haired man murmured something but didn't move. Starbuck smiled, this time with deep affection, and slipped out of the bed, grabbing the robe on the chair. If he stayed he'd either fall asleep again, and he hated when the alarm jolted him out of that lovely second sleep, or he'd wake Omega, and the man probably needed his sleep after last night.
He stretched and thought about what Omega had said. He was probably right about Apollo. With a father like Adama, admitting any feelings beyond simple friendship--as if what he and Apollo had had ever been simple--for another man was not in the cards. Starbuck didn't even think you could stack the deck for it. And if he did have such feelings, buried deep beneath all that Kobolian doctrine and familial duty, well, that would explain the violence of Apollo's reaction. After all, most of that felgarcarb he'd been going on about was demonstrably that: after a seven-sectar patrol Starbuck had twenty sectars before he could fly again, unless there was an all-out alert, in which case Omega, as first officer in command of the bridge and flag-adjutant to the commander, would be notified before the barracks...
Poor Apollo... Starbuck shook his head as he wandered out into and looked around the sparsely furnished front room. Omega had insisted he put his things out; there'd certainly been plenty of room for them since Omega had almost nothing of his own here, it had been at the shipyards waiting for the frigate he'd been assigned to to finish refitting. Not that Starbuck had much, himself. Two of those picture stones he'd gotten on a trip he, Apollo, and Boomer had taken their last yahren at the academy, apparent landscapes painted by the gods themselves. A photo of the three of them just before graduation. Another of him, looking younger than he could remember being, with Siress Ila. He touched that one now, wondering if she'd thank him for driving her son into Sheba's arms, or not.
Definitely poor Apollo, he thought. Sealed with Sheba was an overreaction by any standards, but leave it to 'Pol to do it that way. That wasn't a fate Starbuck would wish on his worst enemy, and whatever Apollo acted like, whatever he said, whatever he stood by and watched happen, he wasn't that. Not by light-yahrens, not by parsecs, not by galactic radii. Even if he'd beaten Starbuck himself... Sometimes, he supposed, it was easier to be alone. Harder, some ways; easier in others though. Life balances like that. At least it's supposed to.
The door chimed. Starbuck answered it before it woke Omega. He looked out, then down. "Boxey?" he said in surprise.
"Can I talk to you?" the boy said.
Starbuck hesitated a centon. His options weren't good: stand in the hallway, which really wasn't a good idea even if he had been dressed; let Boxey in, for which Apollo would probably kill him; or send the child away, which he couldn't do. He hadn't cared for Serina, but Boxey couldn't be blamed for his mother, and he was about to get saddled with Sheba, which was an abominable thing to do to a child, now that he thought about it. "Sure, Boxey," he said, stepping back. "But be quiet."
Boxey dropped his school stuff on the table and sat on the couch. "Hey," he said, "that's my dad!" He knelt on the arm of the couch to take down the picture.
Starbuck came back from shutting the door to the sleeping room and sat in a chair, smiling. "Yes, it is. I think he has a copy of that."
"He put away the pictures with you in them, Uncle Star--," Boxey stopped. "I mean... I don't know what to call you now. Lieutenant?"
"Just Starbuck," he answered, feeling a twinge of pain.
"You're not mad at my dad, then?"
"No, Boxey," Starbuck said seriously. "I'm not mad at him."
"He's mad at you. He and Aunt 'Theni had a big fight over you."
Starbuck felt pleased over that; even though it was probably for Omega's sake rather than his, nonetheless Athena was on their side. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Your dad probably needs his family with him right now."
"Grandfather is," said Boxey. "And he's going to seal with Sheba. Aunt 'Theni doesn't like her either."
Starbuck was dying to know who the 'either' referred to but he didn't ask. He couldn't let Boxey get dragged any deeper into this mess than he already was. "Well, since your aunt doesn't live with you, that doesn't matter. It's what your dad wants."
"I guess... Starbuck, are you ever going to come visit us again?"
"Boxey, that's up to your dad. I'm not mad at him and I'm certainly not mad at you, but he and I are having a... a disagreement, and until it's cleared up, then no, I'm not."
"But I want to see you!"
"You'll see me," he said, unable to resist. "You're seeing me now, though your dad wouldn't be happy you came over here. You'll see me around."
"At Aunt 'Theni's?" the boy asked.
"If she invites me."
Boxey smiled. "She will," he said confidently. Starbuck noticed he didn't ask about the gatherings at Adama's. "Did you and Dad fight about Sheba?"
Starbuck snickered; he couldn't help it. "No," he said quickly. "We did not. I didn't know they were going to be sealed, and, anyway, we never even talked about Sheba."
"I wish he wasn't going to. She's kind of mean."
Oh, gods, thought Starbuck. What do I say to that? He didn't have to decide.
"Starbuck?" Omega said from behind him, then, "Oh. I didn't know you had company. Boxey, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," Boxey said. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir."
"Thank you," Omega said gravely. "Starbuck, I have an early meeting with the colonel. I thought we might go to the OC for breakfast?"
"Sure," Starbuck nodded. "Boxey has to go to school; he won't be here long."
"Fine. I'll use the turbowash first, then. Have a good day, Boxey."
"Thank you." Boxey watched Omega go back into the sleeping room--Starbuck hadn't had the nerve to turn around and see how--if--he was dressed. The boy then turned to Starbuck with a confiding expression on his face. "Aunt 'Theni thinks he's very nice. And very handsome. I guess he is, huh?"
"Yes, he is," said Starbuck, wondering several things at once. "Is that who introduced you?"
"Yes," Boxey said. "I went to the bridge with her once, and he came to her quarters once when I was there. It was on ship's business but I think she wished it wasn't. I didn't know you were friends with him."
"Well, I am," Starbuck said simply. "And now I think you should go to school, and I need to get ready to go on duty."
"Okay, Starbuck." Boxey put the picture back and looked around. "Doesn't Captain Omega have any pictures?"
"No," Starbuck said. "They were all lost in the war."
"That's too bad." Boxey climbed down off the couch. "We don't have any pictures of my other daddy, either."
"Lots of people lost their pictures," Starbuck said, standing up. Lucky if that was all they lost, he thought, but he said only, "Pictures aren't as important as memories."
"I won't tell my dad I came here," Boxey said.
"You shouldn't lie to your dad."
"I don't think it's really lying if you just don't tell," said Boxey. "You can't say everything that's true, after all. It would take forever. 'Bye, Starbuck."
Starbuck leaned against the door. Things are never simple, he thought. Why can't things just be simple for once? That's all I ask. Just for once...