Iris, your story inspired me.  That's a very dangerous thing to do when I
	have a teleconference with China in half an hour.  Here's the results:

	Iris's Starbuck
	by rita (mommacita1@juno.com)

	Summary:  Starbuck tells the story of his childhood sweetheart.

	Warnings: None!  Well, maybe a teensy bit of minor angst.

	Disclaimer:  I don't own the boys, I just like to play with them.

	***

	"I thought your childhood sweetheart's name was Aurora?" Boomer said
	skeptically.

	"No, that was my post-Academy sweetheart," Starbuck corrected patiently.
	"The one I thought was lost in the Destruction."

	"Too bad she wasn't," muttered Apollo into his grog.

	"What was that?" Starbuck swung around, annoyed.

	"Nothing," Apollo waved a hand lazily.  "So who was your childhood
	sweetheart and what happened to her?"

	The hand brought an overly enthusiastic bar boy, but before Apollo could
	apologize and send him away, Starbuck had ordered a bottle of aged
	ambrosa and informed the man that Apollo would be paying.

	"Don't encourage him," Boomer hissed at Apollo while Starbuck was
	instructing the bar boy.

	"Might as well skip the preliminaries; we're going to end up listening
	anyway," Apollo pointed out.

	Boomer rolled his eyes and groaned.  "Okay, Bucko, tell your tale."

	"It's not a tale," Starbuck pouted, offended that his friends would
	accuse him of anything other than complete honesty.  "And if you don't
	want to hear it," he paused as the bar boy returned with the ambrosa and
	three glasses, "I'll just take my drink elsewhere." He relieved the man
	of the bottle and one of the glasses and rose from his seat, thanking the
	man profusely.

	Apollo, although well into his cups, managed to snag Starbuck's jacket as
	he turned.  "*My* bottle," he corrected.

	"We'll share," Starbuck pronounced, sitting down gracefully.

	'He must be related to Chameleon,' Boomer, who had watched Chameleon waft
	the Senior Ship's Siress around the dance floor, thought watching the
	blond. 'He moves like a dancer even when he's not moving.'  Aloud, he
	said, "Generous of you, Bucko."

	"Boomer, Boomer, Boomer," Starbuck said, shaking his head like an
	indulgent parent with a wayward child.  "You should thank the Captain.
	After all it's his cubits that are paying for the bottle.  I just had the
	good taste to order it."

	"Well, rank does have its privileges, Lieutenant," Boomer responded with
	a smirk.

	"Indeed it does, Lieutenant, indeed it does. Which is why he can afford
	to treat us lowly junior officers," Starbuck agreed.

	"Rank has its responsibilities, too," Apollo protested, opening the
	bottle of ambrosa and reaching for a glass.

	"Too true.  I wouldn't want the Captain's job - all that paperwork."
	Starbuck grabbed the bottle and poured a drink for himself and one for
	Boomer.

	"And if you don't tell us about your childhood sweetheart, I'll share the
	paperwork along with the ambrosa," Apollo threatened. He grabbed the
	bottle back.

	"Ah, yes, my first love.  They say first love is the truest.  Do you
	think that's right?" Starbuck asked.

	"I'll let you know after I hear about yours," Boomer remarked dryly.

	"Okay, that's fair.  Well, it was when I was farmed out, literally, for
	the summer.  The orphanage got paid for providing summer laborers to
	remote farmers who couldn't pay enough to get adult workers out to the
	middle of nowhere in unstinting heat and humidity."

	"Right.  It was hot and sweaty and you had to do manual labor and didn't
	see a cubit," Boomer summarized.  "What happened?"

	"Well this was a dairy farm, and I was to take the herd out to pasture in
	the morning and bring them back in at night.  In return I got to sleep in
	the barn and drink all the fresh milk I wanted.  And I got the leavings
	from the family's meals as well."

	Boomer and Apollo stirred uncomfortably.  This wasn't the lighthearted
	seduction tale they had expected.

	"No, no," Starbuck protested, seeing their reaction.  "I didn't mean it
	like that.  The food was better than I got at the orphanage, and there
	was more of it, and the hayloft was pretty neat to sleep in.  I didn't
	have to share with anyone either; it was a small farm and they only
	needed one extra worker.  And I didn't have to worry about being bothered
	while I slept."

	Boomer stroked Starbuck's arm gently in sympathy.  He couldn't understand
	fully what Starbuck's childhood had been like, but even though Boomer
	came from a poor family, he'd never had to protect himself or his
	belongings.

	Starbuck sighed.  "This isn't coming out like I meant.  I didn't mean to
	beg for pity.  Anyway, I didn't have to milk or care for the cows.  The
	farmer's daughter," he paused while Boomer snickered at that and Apollo
	spewed the mouthful of ambrosa he had just taken. "The farmer's
	sixteen-yahren-old daughter was responsible for the milking.  But since I
	was in the hayloft right above her, the noise generally woke me in the
	mornings and I'd come down the ladder and keep her company."

	"And for the evening milking," Boomer concluded, "She'd come up into the
	hayloft and tuck you in."

	"Hey! You're spoiling my story!" Starbuck protested.  "She really liked
	me.  At the end of the season, just before I had to go back to the
	orphanage, she won a prize for one of the calves she was raising and she
	dedicated it to me."

	"She did?"  Apollo carefully put down his glass and waited for the punch
	line.

	"Yup," Starbuck said with satisfaction.  "She named the calf 'Iris's
	Starbuck'. Now what do you think of that?"

	Apollo and Boomer both slapped him on the back and Boomer grabbed the
	bottle to pour another round.  Starbuck picked up his glass before Boomer
	got to it though, toasted both of them, and said goodnight.  They were
	both chuckling as he left, never noticing that he hadn't drunk any of the
	ambrosa. Hiding behind a smile, he watched them for a micron with sad
	eyes before he left. He had achieved his purpose, making his friends
	forget their misery for a while.  If it didn't abate his own, it didn't
	really matter.


        ***


	This is dedicated to everyone who requested a sequel and especially to
	Iris, who requested a happy ending.

	Iris's Starbuck, part 2
	by rita

	Rating: R (for implied m/m?)
	Warnings: None, except maybe a slightly-out-of-character Appy, but you
	can chalk that up to inebriation.
	Feedback: Please, please, please!!! (mommacita1@juno.com)
	Archive: Yes, and the previous one, too, in case I forgot to say so.

	Summary: Apollo and Boomer *did* notice something amiss in Starbuck's
	attitude.

	It was still early when Boomer and Apollo walked into the bachelor
	officers' quarters. They were warriors, so the amount of grog and ambrosa
	they had imbibed did not make their steps unsteady, although it kept them
	from being silent.  It was quiet and their footfalls echoed. The lights
	were dim and only one lower bunk was occupied. The two men approached it
	from opposite sides.

	"Starbuck?" Apollo called softly.  The bundled figure in the bed didn't
	respond.

	"C'mon, Bucko, we know you're not asleep. Come out and play," Boomer
	coaxed.

	"Not in the mood, guys," came the muffled response.

	"You, not in the mood?  Who are you and what did you do with Lieutenant
	Starbuck?" Apollo asked, laughing.  He reached over to tickle his friend.

	A hand reached out and swatted his away.  "Go 'way!"

	Boomer grabbed the hand. "Now, now," he cautioned, giggling. "Better be
	careful or he'll have you up on charges of assaulting a senior officer."

	Apollo took advantage of the distraction to pull the blankets off
	exposing Starbuck, who was wearing only regulation boxers.  He whistled
	in appreciation.

	Starbuck pulled his hand free and rolled over to grab back the blankets,
	revealing a tearstained face. As his two friends, instantly sober, gaped,
	he swiped at the wetness on his cheeks. "Now will you leave me alone?" he
	demanded.

	"Is there anything we can do, Bucko?" Boomer asked.

	"Just get the frak out of here!"

	Apollo signaled with a head toss for Boomer to obey.

	Boomer nodded his understanding. "Okay, buddy," Boomer said.  "I'm
	going."  'Good luck,' he mouthed at Apollo as he left.

	Starbuck grunted in response and huddled under the blankets again.  Then
	he felt a weight settle on the bed.  He peered out to find Apollo sitting
	quietly next to him.  "Why are you still here?" he asked.

	"I want to know what's wrong, Bucko."

	"Nothing.  Just feeling sorry for myself.  It'll pass.  Now will you go
	away?"

	"Not unless you come with me."

	"Why should I?"

	Apollo stretched like a cat and Starbuck admired his physique despite his
	determination to keep his bad mood going.  "Because I'm the Captain and
	you're the Lieutenant.  I don't take orders from you, you take them from
	me, remember?  Now get out of bed and come with me, Lieutenant."

	"Like this?" Starbuck almost squeaked in his dismay.

	Apollo considered.  He wasn't usually given to public displays, but he'd
	had more than his usual amount to drink.  "Yeah," he said after a centon.
	"Like that.  Let's go, Lieutenant."

	They got more than a few interested looks as Apollo marched the
	almost-naked Starbuck down the halls to his private quarters.  Part way
	there, Apollo realized he was making a statement.  Immediately he knew it
	was a statement he wanted to make.

	***

	Starbuck stumbled a short way into Apollo's quarters in response to
	Apollo's push and then stopped. "Why did you do that?" he asked
	plaintively. "Cass is gonna hear about it and she'll kill me."

	"I'll explain later, when you're done feeling sorry for yourself," Apollo
	replied.  "Right now, get into bed." He nodded in the direction of the
	bedroom.  "And take those off," he added, indicating the boxers.

	"Yes, sir," Starbuck replied, recovering some of his aplomb.  "You know,"
	he called over his shoulder, "You're not being very discreet for someone
	who wanted a secret relationship."

	"I said I'll explain later." Apollo said, turning from locking the door
	and following Starbuck. "Were you raised in a barn?" he asked, picking
	Starbuck's boxers off the floor.

	"No, I only lived there that one summer," Starbuck replied, all
	innocence.  "I was raised in an orphanage - not much difference though."
	He paused as though comparing them.  "The bedding in the barn was softer
	and the company was much more congenial," he concluded.

	Apollo just shook his head and headed for the turbo wash.  Starbuck
	relaxed in Apollo's comfortable bed, much roomier and softer than his
	bunk, and no sharp ends of straw to poke him in odd places like the
	barn's hayloft, he thought with a chuckle.  Comparing beds, he drifted
	into sleep, a smile on his face.

	"You really liked being Iris's Starbuck, didn't you, Bucko?" Apollo
	asked, snuggling up next to him.

	"I guess," the blond murmured.

	"But you know, you're not hers any more."

	"I know."  He didn't sound particularly happy about it.

	"No," Apollo repeated, "You're not hers any more.  Can't be, even if she
	showed up this micron.  Know why?"

	"Not good enough?" the blond guessed.  He had been dozing and his
	defenses were down.

	"Nope."  Apollo sounded smug.  "Your not hers any more because you're
	mine."  Rolling on top of his compliant junior officer, he proceeded to
	prove it.
	
	"Yours," Starbuck agreed when he could think and breathe again. It was
	all the explanation he needed.