Silent Rage

by rita (mommacita1@juno.com)

Rating:  NC-17

Participants (pairing seems too limited for what the characters do): 
SB, Appy, Bojay, Reese, Sheba, Adama, Tigh, others? 

Disclaimer:  I don't own the boys, I just like to play with 'em.  And I 
always put them back where I found them, mostly unharmed.

Warnings:  This story begins with a seemingly unprovoked violent sexual 
assault.  It may go downhill from there, I'm not sure yet.


The door had barely closed behind them when Starbuck shoved Apollo onto 
his knees and rasped, "Pull your pants down!" barely able to get the 
words out.

Apollo frowned, half-rising, and replied, "Excuse me?"

Starbuck took no note of the rebuke.  Instead, he strode toward the 
dark-haired man, grabbed him by his waistband,  threw him over the back 
of the couch, and ripped the pants off, shoved Apollo into position and 
held him there with one hand in the small of his back while he opened 
his own trousers to release his angry red cock.  With no further 
warning, he thrust into Apollo's dry rectum, pummeling him against the 
hard frame of the couch until he found release.  It was all Apollo 
could do to hold onto the couch and keep from screaming.

Pulling out, Starbuck thrust his limp and bloody member back into his 
pants, not bothering to readjust his clothing.  Apollo straightened 
with an effort and turned to his partner.  "Would you mind telling me 
what that was about?" he asked mildly.  

Starbuck's mouth lifted in a snarl, but he remained silent.  'As if he 
didn't know,' he thought. 'Not only am I confined to the ship for the 
next quarton, now - thanks to his refusing to intervene - I'm banned 
from the OC for 'the foreseeable future'.  Thanks for the assist, 
*lover*!'

Apollo could guess what had set Starbuck off. "Starbuck, I know you 
wouldn't cheat at cards, certainly not on the Rising Star, but I wasn't 
there and I couldn't find any proof. I guess your system really works, 
or the management wouldn't have accused you of cheating, but it's their 
right to ask that you be disciplined for cheating, and they *did* have 
witnesses, even if we both know they were lying through their teeth.  I 
think Father was quite lenient in just confining you to the Galactica 
for a quarton.  Especially after the last little incident."

Shaking his head as if to clear it of the red blaze of anger, Starbuck 
had to try twice before words came.  Finally he responded, "It was only 
a wager, Apollo.  I still don't understand what your father got so bent 
out of shape for."

Apollo looked incredulous.  "Starbuck, you wagered on how long it would 
take a rumor that my father and Colonel Tigh were a couple to get back 
to the Galactica from that gay bar on the Rising Star!  How did you 
think he would take it?"

"Well, I didn't think he'd get wind of it at all."

"No, Starbuck, you just didn't *think* at all."

"Well, he still shouldn't have taken *that* into account when he 
believed those borays from the Rising Star!  It was a frakking *joke*!" 
Starbuck yelled.  "And are you going to tell me you weren't in the OC 
when the fight broke out, too?  Is that why you couldn't help me out 
there either, *Captain*?"

"Starbuck, I saw the whole thing.  Bojay baited you, but you threw the 
first punch.  Boomer is your squad leader," Apollo winced as soon as he 
said that, anticipating Starbuck's reaction.  Even half a yahren after 
the promotion was made, the wound was still raw.  Starbuck took a
menacing half-step towards Apollo, then reined in his temper and turned 
away.  Apollo continued.  "It was Boomer's call."

"Felgercarb!  You're *his* boss, you could have ..."

"What?  Pulled rank and overruled him?"  Starbuck didn't answer.  "That 
is what you want, isn't it?  Use my relationship with the Commander to 
get you off the hook with him and pull rank on Boomer to get you of 
there.  Starbuck, what's going on with you?"

Starbuck strode over to the liquor cabinet and yanked the doors open. 
The empty interior yawned at him.  Mute with fury, he advanced on 
Apollo again, launching himself on the man as he belatedly tried to 
sidestep. Caught in his dropped and torn pants, Apollo couldn't get 
away.  Starbuck held his hips down, leaving handprints that were still 
livid the next cycle, as he pounded.  Apollo didn't feel much pain, his 
rectum was blood-slicked this time, but he felt the grinding of bone 
and tearing of muscle.  Blessedly, he soon passed out.

***

Apollo woke face down on the couch.  Pain at movement brought memory.  
Slowly and cautiously he rose and assessed his injuries.  Both hips 
were bruised, but not actually broken or dislocated.  The rectal 
bleeding had stopped and he wasn't bloated or overly sensitive, so 
there was no internal bleeding.  He wouldn't have to go to Life Center.  
He pressed his lips together to avoid whimpering as he limped into the 
turbo wash to clean himself up.  Amazingly, there was no blood in his 
urine.  He used an anesthetic  mist followed by a topical antibiotic, 
which he pushed as far up his rectum as he could reach, ignoring the 
pain.  Then he showered at full blast until the hot water ran out.

Going into the bedroom, where Starbuck was sprawled across the bed, 
half-dressed, in an exhausted sleep, he got into uniform quietly while 
he considered his options.  He could, of course, report the assault and 
have Starbuck arrested.  But the thought of what would happen to him on 
the prison barge, if not before in the Galactica brig, stopped Apollo 
cold.  He could order Starbuck to undergo psychological evaluation, but 
Apollo shuddered at the anger and the repercussions he'd have to endure 
until the psych machines found the problem and resolved it, if they 
ever did.  That left only one option.

"Wake up, Starbuck."

The blond rolled sleepily and blinked his eyes open.  Apollo stood over 
him, fully dressed, hand casually on his holstered pistol.  "You okay, 
'Pol?" he asked.  "I'm really sorry.  I didn't mean to get so rough.  
But throwing out my liquor was a low blow."

Apollo ignored question, apology, and excuse.  He knew if he responded 
to any of them, he'd be lost.  "Get up, get dressed, get packed, and 
get out," he said.  When Starbuck rose onto his elbows and started to 
protest, he repeated the phrases exactly.  

Starbuck swung his legs over the edge of the bed and watched Apollo 
back away out of reach, hand tightening fractionally on the pistol 
grip.  Starbuck raised his arms in surrender and did as he was told.  
He'd crossed the line.  He pulled his discarded clothes on hastily and 
went to the closet for his duffel.  Pulling it out, he looked at Apollo, 
leaning against the doorframe now with arms crossed, and said softly, 
"'Pol, please?"

His only response was "Get packed and get out."

Starbuck nodded and began packing his uniforms and few personal items.  
Blocking Apollo's view with his body, he pushed an image of the two of 
them arm-in-arm from the top of the dresser into the duffel.  When he 
zipped up the duffel and lifted it from the bed, Apollo backed away 
from the door and motioned him through it, hand back on pistol.  Head 
down, Starbuck walked to the outer door.  As it opened, he turned to 
see Apollo in the bedroom doorway.  "I love you, Apollo," he whispered, 
just loud enough for the words to carry across the chill room.

"Get out," Apollo replied, not moving.  Centons after the door closed 
behind Starbuck, Apollo whispered back, "I love you, too."  Then he 
threw himself face-down on the bed, drinking in the scent of his now-
ex-lover.

***

Starbuck walked head-down to the bachelor quarters and found an empty 
bunk in the far corner.  Not bothering to look for an unused locker, he 
shoved his duffel under the bunk, and curled himself into a ball in the 
far corner of the mattress, image in hand, and stared at the only thing 
he had left of his only love.

***

The two men were lost in the same reverie.  When they came together it 
had seemed so right, so natural, for Starbuck to take the lead.  He was 
the one experienced in male love.  Having been introduced to it so 
roughly, he knew exactly what to do to make it a wonderful experience
from the first.  Apollo found added pleasure in *not* being in charge 
in this one area of his life.  He willingly surrendered control to 
Starbuck, reveling in the feeling of being filled and possessed.  And 
Starbuck got added pleasure from the absence of tension and fear that 
had been a shadow across even his consensual male/male couplings.  When 
had it changed? Why had it changed?

Apollo thought he knew.  The two men never really talked about their 
relationship, about what it was each expected inside their quarters and 
outside.  He had thought it was clear - they were friends, but Captain 
and Lieutenant outside; lovers, with Starbuck dominant, inside.  It had 
seemed to him a mutually beneficial and balanced relationship.  He 
realized now that Starbuck had never really known unconditional love, 
never really trusted anyone with his inner self before Apollo.  
Starbuck had given himself to Apollo fully, expecting the same loving 
guidance and protection he showed in their quarters from Apollo outside 
their quarters.  Apollo had separated the two relationships almost 
totally.  He surrendered yet felt fully safe with Starbuck in their 
quarters, but he didn't extend that safety to Starbuck outside.  At 
first he hadn't understood Starbuck's disappointment and hurt.  By the 
time he did, the hurt had turned to anger and it was too late to talk.

Starbuck could see what had gone wrong and knew he was to blame.  He 
didn't live up to Apollo's standards, didn't know how.  Apollo would 
never change the unspoken relationship in their quarters - except to 
end it, he thought ruefully, but he let his disappointment show 
outside: passing Starbuck by for promotion and not defending him when 
he was falsely accused.  Starbuck had failed Apollo, as was inevitable;  
he failed everyone.  And his punishment was abandonment.

***

Noting the slim figure hunched in the back of the bachelor quarters, 
one viper pilot smiled with satisfaction.  'Stay there.  If you know 
what's good for you, you'll stay in that corner and never come out.'

***

For sectons, Starbuck did stay there, as if obeying the unspoken 
demand.  He flew, he ate, he slept in the corner bunk.  Eventually, 
though, he began to rejoin the closed society that admitted only viper 
pilots.  There were those who didn't like seeing him revert to the 
popular Lieutenant Starbuck.  And one of them watched Starbuck come back 
from up close, as he always had, watched and brooded. 

It wasn't the three of them, he realized; it had *never* been the three 
of them. It was always Apollo-and-Starbuck ... and him.  .  And he had 
had enough of playing odd man out.  It didn't take much doing to have a 
few more of Starbuck's exploits reach the ears of the Colonel or the
Commander.  Starbuck would never ask someone to lie for him.  Of course 
not.  The golden boy didn't think he had to ask.  Well, now he didn't 
cover for him.  And then, when promotions were *finally* issued, and 
Apollo, who deserved the promotion to Major and more, finally got his,
Starbuck wasn't tapped to replace him.  Instead, Boomer was.  

Of course Boomer still remained Starbuck's buddy.  Starbuck trusted him 
implicitly.  And, if Starbuck was having a run of bad luck - starting 
with getting dumped by Apollo - he could only sympathize.  So when 
Starbuck was raking in the cubits in the Ready Room and he brought
Starbuck another mug of grog, Starbuck merely smiled his thanks.  
'Drink up, Bucko,' Boomer thought.  'Just like you did in the OC - when 
you were allowed in the OC. Bet you enjoyed the gift bottle of aged 
ambrosa the cycle before Apollo dumped you, too, didn't you?  Too bad 
he poured it down the turbo flush before you finished it.'

Starbuck gulped the mug of grog Boomer placed at his shoulder and 
smirked at the table, pulling in his winnings and dribbling them 
through his hand onto the growing pile of cubits.  

That deliberate move was one too many for  Bojay. "Cheating again, 
Starbuck?" he sneered, hoping to throw him off his game.

Starbuck was already edgy.  He didn't know why; he was among his 
friends and fellow warriors, winning at Pyramid.  But Bojay's sarcastic 
remark cut deep. In one smooth motion he rose and turned to his one-
time friend.  "Just what did you mean by that?" he snarled.

"Why nothing," Bojay replied calmly.  "Just a joke."  He turned to his 
squad.  "Wasn't it, boys?"

The Silver Spar warriors took up his cue.  "Sure, Captain," one of them 
said.  "If *you* say so.  Just a joke."

"Yeah," another deadpanned.  "Starbuck's as honest as the time between 
Cylon attacks.  Everyone knows that."

"And he has no need to cheat anyway.  He's so much better than all the 
rest of us - just ask him."

Starbuck was nearly incoherent with rage and would have gone beyond 
words, which for someone reason he found almost impossible to form, had 
Boomer not held him back.  "Here, Bucko, have another round," the dark 
Captain said, proffering the refilled mug.  "Don't pay them any mind."

"Yeah, don't pay us any mind.  Toady up to your new boss.  You bending 
over his desk now, like you did for Apollo?" Bojay asked.

That was all it took for Starbuck to lose control.  For some reason, 
Boomer didn't attempt to stop him this time.  Tossing back the contents 
of the mug, Starbuck flung the heavy metal at Bojay's head.  Bojay, 
anticipating it, ducked, but the mug glanced off his shoulder.  At his
cry, his squad jumped to his defense.   

Starbuck, realizing he was outnumbered, reached down and tipped the 
table over to give himself cover, then used the confused scramble of 
pilots getting out of the way of the flying glasses, pottery, and 
metal, to continue forward over the table, pushing it flat on its 
surface as he headed in a straight line for Bojay.  He didn't notice 
the mild-mannered Turlo, who had stumbled beneath the table and was 
crushed by its weight as Starbuck stormed over it and launched himself 
bodily at Bojay.

A free-for-all ensued, during which time Boomer slipped out and called 
Security.  By the time they arrived, the Ready Room was destroyed, and 
Bojay and Starbuck were in a death match, clawing hands at each other's 
throats. Bojay screaming hoarsely for Starbuck to think about what he 
was doing, even as he tried to cut off his air to render him 
unconscious.  Starbuck, in contrast, was completely silent, intent on 
strangling Bojay.  It took the combined forces of a Security team and 
the pilots of Blue and Silver Spar squadrons to pull them apart.  And 
then it took four pilots to hold Starbuck after he disabled all five of 
the Security Officers - without uttering a sound.

***

'Frak! I never meant *that* to happen,' Bojay thought as he tossed in 
his bunk, unable to sleep.  'All I wanted to do was rile Starbuck up so 
he'd lose the game.  Didn't think he'd go off the deep end like that - 
and end up killing Turlo.  Something's wrong though;  I've known 
Starbuck for yahrens and he's never really gotten drunk - faked it, 
sure, but not actually gotten drunk.  And no matter how much he drank, 
he never turned nasty.'

In another bunk, Boomer smiled, his face carefully turned to the wall.  
'You should have stayed in your corner, Bucko,' he said silently to his 
imprisoned friend.

***

"You requested that the Tribunal and Opposer meet with you?" Commander 
Adama asked as Starbuck, in chains, was brought into his office.  He 
noticed that Starbuck's face was bruised and he winced as he was shoved 
into the room.  

Starbuck forced his aching body to attention. He had been treated like 
a rabid animal, but he hadn't complained, even when Commander Croft 
encouraged him.  He knew he deserved anything and everything that had 
been dished out.  "Yes, sir," he said quietly.  

"Very well, we've convened informally.  What is it you want?" Adama was 
brusque.  He had no sympathy for the soon-to-be-former Lieutenant who 
had literally thrown away a brilliant career, to say nothing of the 
love of his son.  He expected Starbuck to whine and plead, so he was 
startled at the man's words.

"I don't know the proper way to do this, that's why I asked to meet 
with you all," Starbuck explained.  "I want to waive Tribunal.  I am 
guilty of killing Turlo."

"I ... see," Adama said, flustered.  He looked to Chief Opposer Solon 
for assistance.

"This is quite unusual, Lieutenant," Solon said quietly.  "You realize 
that confessing will not lighten your sentence?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Was the death premeditated?"

"No, sir.  But I started the fight, and I was the one who overturned 
the table that crushed him."

Adama took up the questioning.  "This isn't the first violent incident 
on your record, Lieutenant."

"No, sir." 'You don't know the worst of it or you'd pull out your laser 
pistol and have done with me right here,' Starbuck thought.

"Very well.  Guards, take the Lieutenant to the anteroom so that we can 
hold a closed session to consider our alternatives.  And call Colonel 
Tigh, Dr. Salik, and Dr. Wilker to advise the Tribunal."

Four centars later, Starbuck was led back into the office.  He appeared 
unsurprised to be stripped of all rank and privileges, but the 
Commander's next words surprised him so much that he asked Adama to 
repeat them.

"It's unusual, but because of your previous heroism and service to the 
fleet, you will be allowed to choose from two forms of punishment."  
Adama paused, watching the younger man until he nodded his 
understanding.  The first, as you might have expected, is life 
imprisonment without chance of parole on the prison barge.  The second, 
well, perhaps I'd better have Dr. Wilker describe it.  Doctor?"

The scientist rose from his seat in the corner and eagerly described 
his latest invention.  "It's a new device, to be mounted onto the brain 
stem at back of neck, that controls voluntary motor functions," Wilker 
began.  "It has a range of power settings. At full power, the ... 
wearer ... understands everything, but can do nothing; he's fully 
incapacitated.  Only involuntary motor functions prevail - breathing, 
digestion, and pulmonary function. At mid-power, the wearer is able to 
follow orders, even complex orders, but make no independent decisions. 
If food were put in front of him, he wouldn't be able to eat until told 
to do so, then wouldn't be able to stop until it was gone or he was 
told to stop. At low-power, the wearer can make decisions that 
logically follow orders, but not initiate independent action. So he can 
stop walking to avoid a wall, but he couldn't begin walking by himself. 
The device makes the wearer passive, but he is totally aware of 
everything that goes on - everything said and done to him, even at full 
power."  He paused for breath and Adama took over.

"Dr. Wilker invented the device and is justifiably proud of its 
potential usefulness.  However, it hasn't been tested on a human 
subject.  So to ensure your health and safety, Dr. Salik will ... ah, 
install it and be responsible for monitoring you should you choose this 
option.  The device, assuming it works as well on a human as on the test 
animals, would be permanently installed."  

"May I ask a question, sirs?" Starbuck spoke in a polite, low voice.

"Of course."

"This ... device.  Um, will I still be on the prison barge if I choose 
to have it ... installed?"

Adama opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by the excited 
Wilker.  "No, no!  That's the beauty of it!  You'll be able to continue 
- as a pilot!  All your skill, training, knnowledge, and experience - it 
will all still be there and available to you.  All that's needed - at 
the mid- or low-level setting - is to give you the order to do your 
job!"

Adama cleared his throat.  "We'll leave you alone to think about the 
choices open to you.  Take as much time as you need - within reason, of 
course."  Adama raised his voice and called into the anteroom.  
"Guards, unshackle the prisoner."  The others prepared to leave the room as 
the guards took the chains off Starbuck.  Adama lingered after the guards 
left, opening a drawer in his desk slightly.  The nose of a highly 
illegal miniature laser pistol was barely visible.  "We'll be in the 
anteroom.  Just ... let us know when you've made your decision."

Starbuck shook his head no.  "I'm ready to make the choice now, sir," 
he said, looking Adama in the eye.

Closing the drawer with a shrug, Adama said, "You're a braver man than 
I, Starbuck."  He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.  "May the 
Lords of Kobol guide your decision." He walked to the office door, 
showing his trust by turning his back on Starbuck, who was in easy 
reach of the weapon.  Starbuck stood at parade rest, his hands behind 
his back. "Gentlemen, Starbuck is ready to announce his decision."

They filed back into the room exchanging uncomfortable glances.   The 
Tribunal and the Opposer had assumed Starbuck would choose death over 
the prison barge or the untested device. 

Starbuck understood the tribute they had paid him by offering him a 
guaranteed end to his ordeal, so he felt he owed them an explanation.  
"I know I'm guilty - of violence - violence I can't seem to control. I 
want to make amends.  This device is the only way I can.  It will 
punish me, deprive him of my freedom, but I can still be remain useful 
to the Fleet."  He allowed himself a sad smile.  "And I'll be doing 
what I do best - flying."

***

Following the implant of the control device, Starbuck was housed in a 
specially built alcove in Life Center, shackled naked on a bio-bed. The 
device was turned to its highest setting and he was totally immobile, 
but Security insisted on shackling him anyway, his biological functions
controlled by feeding tubes and output tubes, which were disconnected 
before the device was turned down. He was on display, helpless and 
available to anyone at any time.

Cass entered the alcove for her turn at checking on him. All the med 
techs took a turn, but Cass gave him as much extra care as she could. 
She tried to keep him covered with a blanket, but frequently, as now, 
found it removed. Picking it up, she noticed it was stained with blood 
and other substances she didn't want to analyze.  "Those borays," she 
said to the non-responsive man, "What are they doing to you?"

Starbuck heard her and wished he could respond.  'Maybe not,' he 
thought. 'What good would it do?  Even if I could complain, who'd 
listen? At least it's better than the Prison Barge - here they have to 
keep me in good enough condition to fly.'

Cass cleaned him and covered him with a clean blanket, then left, 
wiping a tear away as she exited.  She didn't see the matching tear 
that fell from Starbuck's eye, nor did she see him slowly and painfully 
turn his head on the thin pillow to rub the wetness from his cheek.

***

Starbuck could hear Reese and the rest of the Security team long before 
they came into his line of sight. Initially, they had come in and 
surrounded him with laser pistols set to kill, in case he erupted in 
rage when the implant was turned down, but now they just took the time 
to abuse him after turning the device down. He sighed knowing he had to 
obey them.

"Ooh, nice clean blankie, huh Starbuck?" Reese leered, pulling it off 
him.  His two cohorts unshackled Starbuck while Reese ran his hands up 
and down the sleek body.  He reached around and turned the implant to 
its mid-power setting.  "Tell me you like this," he purred.

"I like what you're doing," Starbuck replied obediently, silently 
cursing the man.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you - no, wait!  *Beg* me to fuck you - on 
your knees."  The other Security guards laughed.

Starbuck got onto his knees in front of Reese.  "Please fuck me, 
Reese," he said in a monotone.  "I want you to fuck me."

"You get hard just thinking about it, don't you?" Reese asked.

Starbuck felt his balls tighten and his cock become rigid at the 
suggestion.  "Yes," he whispered.

"And you want it rough, don't you?"  Reese continued.  "It's what you 
deserve."

"Screw me hard, Reese.  I need to be punished."

Reese's grin grew even wider.  "Now, how could I deny you what you 
need?" he asked to the uproarious laughter of his audience.  "Assume 
the position, 'Lieutenant'," he commanded.

--Security Chief Reese to the Bridge.  Secuurity Chief Reese to the 
Bridge immediately-- the Unicom sounded as Starbuck got onto hands and 
knees.

"Frak!" Reese cursed.  "What in Hades can they want now?"  He sighed 
and thought cold thoughts until his erection was no longer obvious 
through his uniform.  "Tell you what, boys, you can have him now, then 
take him to the Captain.  He's got some sort of special assignment for 
him."  He left the alcove muttering under his breath.

"You want the front or the back?" one of the remaining guards asked the 
other.

"I'll take the front first, then we can switch, long as he cleans me 
off after."

"Yeah, sure, I'll get his clothes while you're getting cleaned up."

"You wanted it rough, right asshole?"

"Yes, sir.  I deserve to be hurt."  Starbuck couldn't even cry out - he 
hadn't been told to - as he was penetrated with neither warning nor 
preparation.

"Open," the guard in front of him ordered.  Starbuck tried without 
success to close his mind as he obeyed.

***

"You are to use whatever means necessary to destroy the Cylon base on 
this asteroid," Boomer ordered.  When he got no response, he turned to 
his former friend.  He smiled openly at him as he reached around and 
turned the implant to its lowest setting.  "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain, I understand," Starbuck answered. 'I understand that 
you're sending me on a suicide mission,' he finished silently.  Aloud 
he continued, "I am to attack the Cylon base on the asteroid in 
quadrant Chi Theta and continue the attack until it is destroyed."

"Correct," Boomer said.  "Jolly, take him to munitions and let him take 
whatever he wants to carry out the mission."

"Right, Captain," Jolly replied, "Only ..."

"Yes?"

"Umm, shouldn't you tell him to return to the Galactica after the base 
is destroyed?"

'Fool,' thought Boomer.  Looking at Starbuck, he saw that at least *he* 
knew it was meant to be a one-way mission.  "Of course.  I forgot," he 
replied, putting on a chagrined expression.  "I still keep thinking 
..." he sighed dramatically, then shook his head sadly.  "Starbuck, when
you've destroyed the base, return immediately to the Galactica.

"Yes, sir."

***

"Major?  Starbuck is requesting permission to land."

"Starbuck?" For a micron Apollo was bewildered.  "Where was he ..."

"Captain Boomer sent him to destroy the Cylon base.  He's returning 
after accomplishing his mission, sir," Omega explained patiently.

"Yes, of course.  Permission granted."

"Shall I contact Security to pick him up in the landing bay."

Apollo closed his eyes and bit back a sob.

"Sir?"

"Yes," he sighed.  "I suppose you have to."

***

"Made it back again, eh?"  Reese said as he led Starbuck out of the 
landing bay.  "I swear I don't understand you.  Why don't you just 
suicide on one of these missions?"

"Can't," Starbuck replied, shrugging without thinking. 'Frak!' he 
thought a micron too late, realizing he'd answered a rhetorical 
question, one the implant should not have allowed him to respond to, 
and used body language to boot.

"What was that?"  Reese looked at him sharply, then looked around.  He 
grabbed Starbuck by the elbow and pulled him into a nearby utility 
closet.  "What did you just say?"

"I said I can't suicide - unless someone tells me to," Starbuck replied 
through clenched teeth.

"Hmm.  Time for a little experiment." He looked around and found a bolt 
torquer.  "Pull your pants down and face the wall."

Starbuck obeyed as mechanically as he could.  Maybe if he "failed" the 
experiment he could still get out of this.  To his dismay, he felt 
Reese turn the implant up - yet he felt no inhibition.  He knew he 
could turn around and deck Reese if he wanted to - but what was the 
point?  His thoughts were interrupted by the unheralded entry of the 
rough handle of the torquer.  He cried out and instinctively tried to 
pull away.

"Well, well, well.  What have we here?" Reese asked, holding Starbuck 
still on the tool.  "Looks like you and me ought to have a little talk. 
What do you think?"

Starbuck nodded.

"Good.  Turn around."  Reese let him go, but left the torquer embedded 
in Starbuck's rectum.  "How long have you been able to act on your 
own?"

"I don't know." Reese shoved Starbuck against the wall, forcing the 
torquer in more deeply.  Starbuck gasped, "Please, Reese.  It's the 
truth.  I can't keep track of time in the alcove - I really don't know. 
A while.  The implant, it doesn't always work.  I can tell when it's 
not working - it only happens when the setting's changed.  It always starts 
working again after it's been back on the high setting for awhile."

"I bet you'd like me to keep quiet about this."  Starbuck nodded.  "So 
make me an offer."

'Anything's better than the Prison Barge,' Starbuck reminded himself. 
"I'll ... I'll keep on doing what you order - except getting hard, I 
can't ..."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't find me all that attractive.  I can still get 
that when you *are* under control.  But just what you've *been* doing 
isn't enough.  I think - yeah, I think you're gonna have to do more.  I 
might need to make some extra visits to your little resting place.  And 
I think you're going to have to *learn* to get yourself hard - while I 
watch, maybe with some buddies."

"Whatever you want, Reese," Starbuck whispered.  "I'll do anything I 
physically can if you'll keep this secret."

"Well, then, I think we got us a deal.  Shall we start now?"  Starbuck 
nodded.  "Use the torquer.  Make yourself cum.  Then it'll be my turn."

Starbuck closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder.  Then he reached 
behind him and began to manipulate the tool in his rectum, turning so 
Reese could see both what he was doing and how he was responding.  He 
dredged up a memory of doing something similar - in private - before he
and Apollo got together, imagining the thing in his ass was the lover 
he wanted more than life itself.  He brought up that memory and it took 
him over the edge.

Starbuck had no sooner climaxed, lost in a dream of Apollo making love 
to him, when he was abruptly brought back to reality by having the 
torquer jerked out of him.  "Very nice indeed," said a voice that was 
decidedly not Apollo's.  He was slammed face-first into the wall as 
Reese began brutally thrusting into him.  He could barely breathe, let 
alone cry out at the pain as he was pounded inside and out, front and 
back.  It was all he could do to protect his face from being smashed.

It ended as abruptly as it began.  With a grunt, Reese spewed into him 
and withdrew.  Starbuck was on his knees cleaning him without 
prompting, taking the second round down his throat.

***

Seven Sectons Later on a Planetary Exploration Mission

Boomer gave Jolly a sad smile.  "I'll take care of him," he assured the 
chunky Sergeant.  "You go see what the Major wants - no point in 
upsetting him with ... this. It's the least I can do for my old 
friends." Boomer motioned Starbuck into his tent. Starbuck obeyed 
instantly, not even raising an arm to move the tent flap out of his way 
as he entered.

Jolly nodded his understanding and squeezed Boomer's shoulder in 
sympathy as he headed for Apollo's tent.

Boomer paused outside the tent until Jolly was out of sight.  Then he 
motioned to the two Security guards who were lounging near the cooking 
pit.  Casually, they strolled over and followed him into the tent.

Starbuck stiffened at the sight of the two Security guards. The same 
two always seemed to be part of Reese's team lately. Idly, Starbuck 
wondered whether the other Security guards had gotten bored with raping 
him or whether some latent sense of morality had roused at the constant 
abuse of a helpless man.

Boomer noted the movement out of the corner of his eye and chuckled 
aloud.  He noted the shudder that ran through Starbuck as Boomer turned 
toward him.  Deciding to heighten the effect, he slowly unbuckled his 
gun belt as he walked toward the immobile pilot.  He tossed the belt 
onto the camp desk.  Briefly he considered asking Starbuck if he were 
going to wet himself, which would, of course, make him do just that; 
but he thought better of it - the smell would make the tent 
uninhabitable. Instead he reached out and stroked the blond's cheek 
gently, setting off involuntary trembling. He reached around and turned 
the device to its highest settings.  The trembling instantly became no 
more than synchronized muscle spasms.

"Gonna play with him, Captain?" the curly-haired guard asked, leering.

Boomer turned on the guards.  Their laughter died on their lips at his 
statement.  "No.  I'm *not* going to 'play' with him.  I have no desire 
to dirty myself with unnatural acts just for the sake of torturing the 
helpless. And I have more control over my hormones than you do," he
snarled.  "That's why you're in Security and even *he* is a Warrior."  
He walked around his desk and seated himself behind it.

The two Security guards turned to face him, unconsciously coming to a 
close approximation of parade rest.

"Now," Boomer continued, "Let's see if you can do this job right." 
Carefully he drew on his gloves, and then unholstered the laser pistol 
in his gun belt.

The curly-haired guard reached for it, only to have his hand slapped 
away by Boomer's free hand. "Maybe you're not capable of doing even 
this simple task," he remarked evenly.  He turned to the other guard.  
"Do you know what he did wrong?"

The man addressed nodded, pulling out his own gloves and donning them. 
"Yes, sir.  Fingerprints, sir."

"Precisely."  Boomer nodded approvingly.  "Give him your weapon first."

The curly-haired guard belatedly pulled his own gloves on and took the 
weapon from his partner. He concealed it in an inner pocket of his 
jacket.  Only then did Boomer hand over the weapon to the now unarmed 
man, who quickly holstered it and looked to the Captain for further 
instruction.

"Now remember, you'll only have one chance at him.  He's directed me to 
convene an all-hands meeting at 1500 centars.  Somehow, I've forgotten 
to get the word out to the men.  Negligent of me, but I've got so much 
on my mind."  He grinned ferally and the guards grinned back. "When I 
remember, probably around 1455, I'll send my old buddy here to let him 
know the meeting will be starting late.  You know what to do from 
there."

"We're supposed to help Tigh set up at 1445.  By the time Starbuck 
arrives, the body'll be cold. I give the gun to Starbuck, then we 
overpower him and raise the alarm."

"Make sure you turn that frakking dial in his neck down to the lowest 
setting before you raise the alarm," Boomer reminded them.  'With any 
luck, he'll turn the pistol on the two of you and save me a disposal 
problem,' he finished mentally.

"No problem, Captain," the curly-haired guard assured him.  "Leave 
everything to us." He checked his chrono.  "We better be on our way."

The two guards turned and headed for the tent's only entrance only to 
be halted by Boomer's voice.  "Don't forget to give your partner his 
gun back before anyone arrives," he reminded them.  "Dismissed."  He 
looked after them thoughtfully, and then turned to the man standing 
next to him. "It'll all be over soon, Starbuck. I'm sure they'll put 
you out of your misery after you kill Tigh in cold blood. It's too bad 
Tigh has to die, but how else can I move up the ladder than by making 
way for Apollo to be promoted?"  He rose and quickly turned Starbuck's 
control device down to the medium setting.  "Well, I've got to check 
the camp. Don't go anywhere while I'm gone.  I'll be back in 10 centons 
or so to send you off on your final mission."  He left the tent 
laughing to himself.

***

Starbuck counted slowly to 100 then went to the tent's entrance.  Using 
the flap to hide himself, he looked around carefully to make sure 
Boomer was nowhere nearby.  Hearing his voice at the landing site, 
Starbuck set off for Apollo's tent at his "usual" mechanical pace; the 
device no longer hindered him except at its highest setting.  'Now, 
what do I tell Apollo?' he pondered as he walked. 'If I don't have a 
message from someone, he'll raise the alarm. I've got to get him to 
listen to me somehow.' He grinned suddenly, realizing Boomer had 
supplied the answer, then quickly wiped the expression off his face.  
He looked around covertly.  No one had noticed.  Actually, he realized, 
most of the Warriors went out of their way *not* to look at him.  
'There but for the Lords' Luck go most of you, my *friends*,' he 
thought bitterly. Still, he wondered why it was *his* luck that had 
gone sour.  But he put that thought aside as irrelevant, and practiced 
what he'd say to Apollo. 'Major, Captain Boomer sent me to remind you 
of the all-hands meeting Colonel Tigh has called for 1500 centars.'  
Yes, that would do it.

Apollo would almost certainly ask him what meeting he was talking about 
and then he would be free to tell him the truth.

As Starbuck approached the command tent, he heard Apollo's voice.  "I 
guess that about wraps it up, Jolly.  Find the Captain and have him set 
up the teams for the morning."

"Yes, sir, Skipper - I mean Major.  I'll get right on it." Jolly exited 
the tent backwards and nearly ran into Starbuck, who stopped short, 
expressionless, just in time.  Jolly smiled at him, hoping to set him 
at ease.  "Message for the Major?" he asked.  Starbuck nodded, not 
moving. "Go on in then." Jolly held the tent flap for his friend, a 
pang of sadness passing through him as Starbuck obeyed without a hint 
of recognition.  He sighed as Apollo's cold tones reached him, then 
shook his head and walked away, wondering aloud, "What ever happened to 
bring them to this?"

"Yes, what is it?" Apollo knew Starbuck had done nothing to deserve the 
frost in his voice, but it was the only way he could deal with the 
zombie who had once been his vibrant lover.

Starbuck was terrified by Apollo's greeting. Abused regularly, sexually 
by Reese and his men, mentally by Boomer, he suddenly realized that 
Apollo was capable of inflicting more pain than any of them. 'I need to 
save Tigh,' he insisted to the part of him that cowered in fear.
Forgetting his whole lie, he blurted out "Please, Apollo - Major - 
you've got to listen to me!" He backed away, trying to stay out of 
Apollo's reach so Apollo didn't turn the device back up before he 
delivered his warning.

"Stand still, Starbuck; let me turn the device up and then you can 
talk," Apollo ordered.  Apollo had had absolutely no interaction with 
Starbuck since he had thrown him out of his quarters. Carefully 
shielded by those who cared about him as well as those who needed him 
kept in the dark, he was totally unaware that Starbuck's punishment had 
gone far beyond the restrictions of the device.

Starbuck stopped moving, but started shaking as Apollo approached. 
"Please, Apollo - Major - I can't tell you if you turn it up!" he 
begged, hands out in a gesture of helpless need.

Thinking that perhaps the device forced strange behavior, Apollo 
decided to let him speak. Hand on his holster in a position that 
brought echoes of hurt to Starbuck, he said, "All right, go ahead.  But 
this better not be a trick."

"No trick.  I swear. They're going to kill Tigh.  Before the all-hands 
meeting.  Any time now. They were on their way when I came to tell 
you." Starbuck knew he was almost incoherent, but he needed to get the 
meaning out before he could be silenced.

Apollo instinctively trusted Starbuck's words. 'He's telling the truth. 
I know Starbuck.  He wouldn't lie about something as important as this. 
Besides, if what he says is true, there's no time to waste thinking.'- 
But his next thoughts stopped him.  'What if it *is* a trick? Starbuck 
isn't supposed to be able to act independently.'  Either way, Apollo 
knew he had to check out what Starbuck had told him, and quickly. He 
reached Starbuck in two strides and pushed him against the tent pole.  
Quickly scanning the device embedded in the man's neck, Apollo turned 
the device *all* the way up, immobilizing Starbuck, and rushed out of 
the tent to save Tigh.

Starbuck wasn't actually immobilized, although with the device fully 
turned up, the slightest movement sent slashes of pain through his 
head. He ignored the pain and hurried after Apollo, catching up with 
him just as he reached the meeting site.

Apollo glanced at Starbuck as he came up beside him.  Starbuck thought 
he looked unsurprised, maybe even relieved.  But neither man had time 
to ponder the situation. They had arrived in time to see a Security 
guard aiming his weapon at Tigh's back.

With a nod of acknowledgement at his partner's presence, Apollo lunged 
for the assassin, while Starbuck, realizing what Apollo expected him to 
do, went for Tigh, rolling him down a slight incline.

Tigh initially struggled, then, hearing the sound of the laser pistol, 
lay still and let Starbuck cover him with his body, realizing the pilot 
was protecting him.

Once he had knocked the guard down and kicked his laser pistol out of 
reach, Apollo backed off and shouted for help.

Boomer was the first to arrive, closely followed by the rest of the 
team. They covered Apollo as he bound the guard's hands behind him. The 
guard suddenly kicked out at Apollo and ran for the surrounding 
wilderness. Boomer immediately aimed his weapon and fired with deadly 
accuracy. Approaching with weapon drawn, Jolly inspected the body.  
"He's dead," he called to Boomer, who was approaching, pistol still 
held loosely in his hand.

"Frak!" Boomer exploded, throwing his weapon down next to the 
assassin's. "I thought my pistol was set on stun!"

Tigh came up the hill pushing Starbuck ahead of him. Starbuck was 
completely docile, not resisting Tigh's shoves.  Both men were bruised, 
but not seriously injured.

Apollo approached the two men.  "Leave him alone, Colonel; he's the one 
who saved your life."

Tigh let go of Starbuck and looked at him appraisingly.  "How did that 
happen, Major?" he asked.

Apollo explained how Starbuck had burst into his tent and announced the 
plot.  Starbuck, eying Boomer as the Captain dispersed the gathered 
Warriors, remained silent.

Tigh questioned Apollo's instantaneous acceptance of Starbuck's words, 
but Apollo couldn't explain, all he could say was, "Starbuck would 
never lie about something like that."

To Boomer's evident dismay, Tigh accepted this.  But only Starbuck 
noted Boomer's calculating expression or that only Boomer and the 
curly-haired Security guard remained in the clearing with Starbuck and 
the senior officers.  'We could all be dead in microns - and no one the 
wiser,' he thought. To protect Apollo and Tigh, when Tigh prompted him 
for the name of anyone else involved, Starbuck identified only the two 
Security guards as the ones he overheard discussing the assassination 
plot.

Stunned, the curly-haired guard allowed Boomer to disarm and bind him. 
"I'll secure him in my tent, sirs," Boomer told Apollo and Tigh.

The two officers nodded. "We'll take Starbuck back to the command tent; 
meet us there," Tigh directed.

"Let's go," Boomer said, tugging the guard towards his tent.

As Boomer approached the command tent from that direction, Tigh, 
Apollo, and Starbuck approached from the clearing.  Suddenly they heard 
the unmistakable sound of a laser pistol on overload. Whirling, they 
were in time to see Boomer's tent explode.

"Must have had a laser pistol hidden on him somewhere," Boomer 
muttered, perhaps a little too quickly.  He glanced around, but only 
Starbuck was looking at him.  The others were still staring at the 
sparking remains of Boomer's tent.

"Must have," Apollo agreed, shaking his head as he turned slowly. 
Something was *wrong* here, but things were happening too fast for him 
to put his finger on what it was that seemed out of place.   "I'll take 
charge of Starbuck," he announced, the words leaving his mouth unbidden.
Somehow he felt the need to protect Starbuck until he figured out what 
the problem was.

Boomer was about to protest, but paused to think of some plausible 
reason that Apollo shouldn't have that responsibility.  Before he could 
come up with something, Tigh said, "As you wish, Major." And then it 
was too late. Boomer mumbled something about reorganizing the camp and 
stalked off.

The three men watched him, two of them feeling a niggling disturbance 
in their minds, but unable to bring it to the forefront.  The third 
knew exactly what didn't fit, but remained silent, awaiting his fate.

Tigh was the first to turn to him.  "Starbuck, I owe you my life.  I 
only wish there was some way I could thank you." Starbuck merely 
shrugged and looked down. Tigh shook his head and walked away, but the 
feeling that he was allowing a grave injustice to continue would not 
leave him.

Apollo led Starbuck into the command tent. "Hands behind your back," he 
ordered, turning Starbuck roughly, he handcuffed Starbuck's arms behind 
his back.  "Up against the pole," he said, pushing Starbuck so that he 
stumbled.  Apollo bound him to the tent pole by his ankles and a rope 
pulled through the handcuffs on his wrists. Ashamed at having to treat 
Tigh's savior as a criminal, Apollo refused to meet his eyes.

Starbuck made no objection, merely obeying as Apollo barked out orders 
and not resisting being handled roughly. The pain had returned, both 
the physical pain caused by the device as he defied it and that other 
pain, the one that made him feel hollow inside, the pain he had borne 
since Apollo had thrown him out so long ago.

Apollo still felt the need to apologize.  "It's just until I can 
arrange to get you back to the Galactica and have Salik repair the 
device," he told the silent pilot.

Starbuck considered telling Apollo that Boomer had been behind the 
assassination attempt, but Apollo's actions made him hesitate. 'He's 
had time to think now, Bucko.  He only believed you before because 
there was no choice - it was act now or it would be too late,' Starbuck 
told himself, watching Apollo pace in front of him, head down.  'Now he's 
thinking, and you of all people know how his mind works.  Just because 
I didn't lie before, doesn't mean I'm not lying now.'  He laughed 
mentally, a bitter mirthless laugh.  'And it would be my word against 
Boomer's. Hades! *I* wouldn't believe my word against Boomer's! Why 
should anyone else, least of all Apollo?'

As if he heard Starbuck's thoughts and wanted to confirm them, Apollo 
spoke softly.  "I can't tell if you're really okay, you know. After the 
times you ... you attacked me, I just can't tell. If you're free, you 
could blow up again.  I can't risk that, Starbuck. I just can't."
Starbuck didn't reply and Apollo wondered whom he was trying to 
convince, Starbuck or himself.

Getting up with a heavy sigh, Apollo announced, "I'm going to arrange 
for your transport back to the Galactica.  I want Salik to fix that 
device as soon as possible."  Apollo waited, but Starbuck didn't 
respond.  With another sigh, Apollo left the command tent.  'That 
didn't come out the way I meant it,' he thought.  'Lords know I don't 
want the device fixed - I want Starbuck fixed - back the way he was 
before...' He sighed again and went to find Boomer.

When Apollo opened the tent flap, the first thing he saw was Starbuck 
slumped in exhaustion.  "Dear Lords!" he gasped, "What have I done?"  
The way he had bound his ex-lover didn't allow Starbuck to do anything 
more then droop forward as far as his arms would reach from the tent 
pole. Quickly Apollo untied Starbuck's wrists.  The sleeper fell 
bonelessly onto Apollo.  Careful not to dislodge him, Apollo knelt and 
untied his ankles, then carried him to the cot and laid him down.

With reluctance, Apollo pulled Starbuck's cuffed hands over his head 
and tied the cuffs to the railing at the head of the bed. He started to 
loop rope around his ankles to secure Starbuck's legs to the foot of 
the bed, but couldn't bring himself to do it.  Instead he pulled the 
blanket up over the sleeping man, then adjusted his head on the pillow.

Starbuck felt the change in his sleep and snuggled into the unusual 
warmth and softness.  Apollo watched as he rubbed his cheek against the 
pillow. A smile crossed Starbuck's face and the worn look dropped from 
him as he relaxed and rolled onto his side.

Impulsively, Apollo leaned forward and kissed the blond's forehead. He 
felt a stirring in his groin as Starbuck murmured indistinctly.  "I 
could take you right now, you look so beautiful," Apollo whispered.

"Go ahead."

"What?"

His voice still heavy with sleep, Starbuck repeated, "Go ahead," and 
added, "Everyone else does."

"I ... uh ... didn't mean to wake you," Apollo stammered.

"'Sokay.  I've learned to sleep lightly.  Let's me prepare myself - 
mentally anyway."

"I'm sorry, Starbuck.  I won't take advantage of you."

Starbuck shrugged as best he could with his hands secured above his 
head. He hadn't turned around to look at Apollo nor had he opened his 
eyes.

The two men maintained an awkward silence, finally broken by Apollo.  
"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

"Freeing my hands is out of the question, I assume," Starbuck said, 
trying for a teasing tone.

Apollo chuckled.  "Aside from that."

There was another long pause.  Then, very faintly, Starbuck murmured, 
"Would you hold me for a bit?"  When Apollo didn't answer, he offered, 
"You could tie my legs if it would make you feel safer."  Still no 
answer.  Starbuck sighed.  "Never mind; it wasn't ... I've no right to
ask that of you."

"Oh, Starbuck," was all Apollo could say.  He slid onto the cot and 
spooned up behind his beloved, his arms going around Starbuck's waist. 
He buried his head in Starbuck's hair and let his tears fall silently, 
so he didn't upset the man he held.

His back towards Apollo, Starbuck didn't try to wipe away the drops 
that slid from beneath his closed eyes at the nearness of the person he 
thought would never touch him in love again.

***

"He's fully anaesthetized?" Dr. Wilker asked as he walked into the 
surgery suite.

"No, I didn't dare," Dr. Salik answered.  I administered a nerve block 
and paralytic instead."

Wilker nodded.  "Probably a better idea.  We don't have to worry about 
side effects and I can test as I go. I presume you used a paralytic 
with a fast-acting antidote." It was Salik's turn to nod. "Well, let's 
get started then."

***

Centars later, Wilker admitted defeat.  "I'll have to make another 
device.  At least I know what the problem was."

"Oh?" Salik inquired politely, a comforting hand on Starbuck's 
shoulder. The poor pilot had been in and out of drug-induced paralysis 
so many times Salik had lost count.

"Yes, the material I put around the wires to simulate the myelin 
sheathing of the dendrites was too thin.  The continual fluctuation of 
energy packet strength wore it away."

"In other words, your device shorted out," Salik said.

"Well, if you're going to treat it like some sort of engine part..." 
Wilker began huffily.  Salik just continued to look steadily at him. 
"All right, yes.  It shorted out.  If we had known right away, when the 
first wire ... shorted, as you put it, I could have repaired it.  But 
now there's too much fusing..."

"Did you check whether there's been any brain damage from either the 
shorting or the fusing?" Salik interrupted Wilker's disgruntled 
monologue.

Wilker turned back to Starbuck and tilted his head forward.  He 
inspected the open wound left by removal of the device carefully.  "No, 
there doesn't appear to be."

Salik nodded, satisfied.  "So you were saying?" he prompted.

"Hmm? Oh, yes.  I'll make another device with stronger resistance in 
the wire wrap." He paused.  "I think I'll add an alarm as well.  That 
way, the first time any wire is exposed, we'll know right away and can 
replace it."

"What sort of alarm?" Salik asked.

"Something simple," Wilker said, thinking out loud. "Ah, I know! And it 
will take care of two problems at once.  When a wire's exposed, it 
begins leaking energy.  The packets don't get transmitted.  If I have a 
constant low-energy stream of packets going through all the circuits at 
all times, the disruption will be noticed instantaneously.  It could 
cause a burst of high-level energy through all the circuits, 
incapacitating the subject immediately.  That would preclude any 
dangerous impulses from being acted on and alert everyone that the 
device has failed."

"And if Starbuck is piloting a viper when he's 'incapacitated'?" Salik 
inquired dryly.

"Oh.  Hadn't thought of that." Wilker sighed dramatically.  "I suppose 
it could trigger an audible signal instead."

"That would be much better for all concerned, I'm sure," Salik said 
approvingly.  "But what about the low-level energy stream?  Won't that 
hurt Starbuck?"

"No, I'll make sure the energy level is low enough to do no permanent 
damage, even over yahrens," Wilker assured him.  He shrugged.  "He'll 
have a constant headache in all likelihood, but after all," he pointed 
out, "the man is being punished for murder."

"Involuntary manslaughter," Salik pointed out, to no avail.  "Very 
well. How long will it take you to have the new device ready for 
installation?"

"Well, seeing that it doesn't need testing, I can have it done in a 
secton."

"Good.  I'm sure the Commander and the Council will want you to give it 
your top priority."

***

One secton later:

"He's prepped?" Wilker asked.

"Yes, same as last time," Salik responded.  "This is the new device?" 
He held out his hand and Wilker proudly gave it to him.  "It's twice 
the size and at least twice the weight of the old device," Salik said, 
hefting it.

"Well, with the additional circuitry and the heavier wire wrap, what 
did you expect?" Wilker replied.

"He'll need a neck brace if he has to wear this!" Salik sputtered 
angrily.

"Nonsense.  Put it in and you'll see.  He's in fine physical shape.  
His upper back muscles will adjust to bear the weight."

"Eventually," Salik conceded.  He looked more closely at the new 
device. "Where are the bezel and external controls?"

"Just reuse the ones from the old device," Wilker said carelessly.  He 
grew impatient.  "Look, this has cost me a secton away from important 
research.  Do you need me for the actual installation?"

Salik looked thoughtful for a micron.  His eyes went from the original 
device, still soaking in antiseptic solution, to the new one and back 
again.  He glanced at the gaping hole in the neck of the man sitting 
motionless next to him.  Finally he looked up at Wilker.  "No, Doctor, 
I think I can manage the operation myself.  I wouldn't want to take any 
more of your time."

"Good. Oh, here." Wilker rummaged in his lab coat pocket.  "I made up 
some extra wires so you won't have to call me when one of them wears 
through."  He handed them to Salik, nodded peremptorily, and left the 
suite.

"All right then, Salik said after ensuring that Wilker had left the 
Life Center.  He locked the surgery suite's doors.  "This shouldn't 
take long at all."  He examined one of the worn-through wires on the 
original device and, picking up a scalpel, began scraping the sheathing 
away from the new device's wiring, pausing now and then to compare the two.  
When he was satisfied that the wiring was similarly "worn through" on each 
device, he casually tossed the new device into the disposal unit.  
"This won't take long," he again assured the seated man, whose eyes had 
been following his every move. The doctors had seated him because they 
could test his responses more easily from that position than if he were 
lying on his stomach.

Quickly Salik reinserted and carefully attached the device to 
Starbuck's neck.  He turned it to its highest setting, administered the 
antidote to the paralytic, and then walked around to face the pilot and 
waited for it to take effect.  "You understand you're going to have to 
continue your act."

The pilot nodded.  He hesitated, and then spoke one word.  "Why?"

Salik paused to consider his answer.  "Because there's something else 
going on here.  I don't know what it is, but I know your history too 
well to believe you suddenly became violence-prone, and then equally 
suddenly stopped.  The device didn't keep you from escaping.  You've 
had ample opportunity with or without violence.  And you're smart 
enough to find a place to hide if you wanted to.  You won't tell me 
what's going on, will you?"

Starbuck shook his head.  "There's no way to prove what I know," he 
said simply.

"Well, then I've done all I can to help you.  Don't drop your guard at 
any time - even when you're alone with me once we leave this room."

"I understand," Starbuck said.  "Thank you."

***

Boomer paced the duty office muttering to himself. The duty officers 
all found other places to be when the Captain was at his desk.

"Maybe he's worried that somebody'll try to kill him," Giles suggested.

"Maybe," Jolly agreed doubtfully. The Captain didn't seem *worried* to 
him.  It was something else.

"Maybe he's just feeling guilty because both of the assassins died," 
Greenbean said, glancing at the shadow of his CO as it moved back and 
forth.

Jolly nodded, as the word clicked.  "That's it.  He's acting guilty."

"But that wasn't his fault," Giles objected.

Jolly looked at them both and at Bojay who had been listening to the 
quiet conversation. "Maybe that's not what he's feeling guilty about. 
But he's sure acting like he's guilty of *something*."

All four men glanced at the duty office window then away.  "You're 
right," Giles said finally.  "He's acting guilty about something."

Bojay gave them a significant glance, but strolled away without 
commenting.

Greenbean looked at the duty office again and said mournfully, "I wish 
Apollo was still our captain."

Jolly put his hand on his wing mate's shoulder.  "You're not the only 
one, old friend. A lot of things were different when Apollo was our 
skipper."

The door to the duty office opened suddenly and the three men jumped.

"Jolly!" Boomer's voice rang out across the silent room. "Find Reese 
and get him in here."

"Yes, sir!" Shrugging at the other two pilots, Jolly hurried off to do 
the Captain's bidding.

"Don't you two have anything else to do but stand around yapping?" 
Boomer snapped at Giles and Greenbean.

"Yes, sir," they responded instantly and hurried away.

***

"No, sir, I'm sure that new device is working.  You can try it 
yourself. He couldn't get hard on command while it wasn't working and 
now..." Reese trailed off, realizing he had slipped.

"And you know this because..." Boomer prompted, rounding the desk.

"Well, I, that is he, just before..." Reese stammered.

"Take a moment to get your story straight," Boomer said in a low, even 
voice that held more menace than shouting at the top of his lungs would 
have.

"Just before you took him down to that planet, sir, I caught him umm 
doing something he shouldn't have been able to.  I took him aside 
privately and got the truth out of him.  How the device sometimes 
didn't work."

"And why didn't you bring him to me and report it immediately?"  Boomer 
hissed, his voice still low.

"Well, I was going to, sir, but *just then* Corey and Parks came and 
took him to the shuttle, so I didn't have the chance."  Reese was proud 
of himself for such quick thinking.  The fact that sectons of 
blackmailing Starbuck into sexually degrading acts had passed between 
Reese's discovery and the planetary mission seemed to have slipped the 
Security Chief's mind.

Boomer grunted.  It was plausible.  And Corey and Parks were no longer 
around to either validate or deny Reese's story.  "Very well," the 
Captain rumbled.  "Nonetheless, if the device failed once, it can fail 
again.  Starbuck has to be eliminated."

"But the device is new.  Starbuck's only had it for, what? Two sectons? 
And Dr. Wilker and Dr. Salik say..." Reese began.

"Just what they said in the first place.  They can't be any surer of 
this new device than they were of the old one.  I want him *dead*."

"But..."

Boomer sighed.  'I'm surrounded by fools,' he thought. 'Below me, above 
me, they're all fools.  Even Apollo.  The Major might not know that I 
saw him bedding Starbuck down on the planet, but I did.  He's too 
softhearted.  He'll have to go.  Reese will have to go, too.  But first
Starbuck, then Apollo.  Reese can take care of both of them, then I can 
arrive, just a little too late...' Reese's stammering penetrated his 
thoughts, interrupting them.  "That's enough!" he snarled.  "I really 
don't care about your opinion.  You'll do as you're told.  Since you 
show no imagination whatsoever, I'll tell you what to do..."

***

Reese had the naked man flat on his back, and had raised his booted 
foot to stomp his chest, when he was hauled away.

"What the frak do you think you're doing?" Bojay snarled as he hurled 
Reese into the nearest viper and knelt beside Starbuck.

"He was acting funny," Reese insisted.

"There's an alarm that goes off if his inhibitor stops working," Bojay 
pointed out as he felt Starbuck for pulse and breathing.

"Yeah, but I wanted to check,", Reese answered, approaching the two 
pilots.  "And when I went to restrain him, he attacked me."

"And how did he end up naked?" Bojay asked, looking pointedly at the 
pile of discarded clothes.

"Uh, well, I wanted to be sure he didn't have a hidden weapon," Reese 
stammered.

Bojay found the pulse and heard thin wheezing.  He half-rose, hand on 
his pistol.  "Really?"

Reese went on the attack. "Why are you bothering with him anyway?" 
Reese asked, backing off.

"Maybe for old times' sake," Bojay suggested.

Reese snorted.  "Yeah, after he killed your shipmate?"

Bojay was kneeling again, moving in closer as though he wanted Starbuck 
for his own purposes.  "Maybe I don't want someone *else* punishing 
him." He reached down to fondle the bruised genitals.  Starbuck moaned.  
"Not that it's *your* business, is it?"

"Well, I'm not supposed to leave him unguarded," Reese protested.

"Does he look unguarded?" Bojay asked.  "This is warrior business. 
You've turned him over to me - you can leave."  He paused.  "Unless 
you'd like me to report what I witnessed?"

"And I'll report you!" Reese huffed.

"Doing what?" Bojay asked, working Starbuck with more gentleness than 
it appeared.  "Checking him for damage?"

Reese had no answer for that.  Cursing, he moved off.  When Bojay was 
sure he was truly gone, he asked softly, "You okay, Bucko?" He reached 
around and turned down the device on Starbuck's neck.  His hand came 
back covered with blood. "Dear Gods!" Bojay breathed, and then ran to 
the nearest comm unit.  "Med team to the viper bay - emergency!"

***

"You're quite sure Starbuck is no longer a threat to others?" Councilor 
Tinia asked.  It was the third time someone had asked the same 
question.

"Starbuck is catatonic," Salik recited. "We aren't sure whether it's 
due to brain damage or trauma from the attack."

"A justified attack," Councilor Uri pointed out.

"According to the attacker," Apollo noted dryly.

"You're here as a courtesy, Major," Uri replied sharply.  "Please do 
not force us to ask you to leave."

"I don't see that the cause of the catatonia matters, gentlefolk," 
Adama suggested from the head of the table.  "The point is that the 
device was damaged - and the attack caused at least physical injury, if 
not brain damage.  He's quite ... harmless."  Adama cleared his throat 
as his voice cracked on the last word.

The Councilors, even Uri, had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

"If I may address the Council?" That Colonel Tigh spoke at all was 
unusual.

"Of course, Colonel.  Go ahead," President Constans directed.

Tigh pondered where to begin.  "Gentlefolk," he began, smiling at 
Adama, "I owe my life to Starbuck.  In gratitude that he gave up what 
little freedom he had to save me, I put him back under the control of 
an untested device that let *anyone* render him helpless.  Perhaps the
device failed.  Perhaps he did initiate the incident that resulted in 
his injuries; but perhaps not. In view of the two incidents involving 
Security, is my duty, as head of the Security forces, to investigate 
whether there is a lack of ... training, or other weakness.  I shall do
so as soon as these Cylon attacks let up.  But, as the Commander says, 
it doesn't matter.  I ask you to consider, in the face of his actions 
the one verified time that the device failed, and with the knowledge of 
his current condition, what is served by having him restrained in this 
manner again?"  Little did the Colonel know he would not get the chance 
to conduct the investigation before the matter was closed with the 
finality of death.

The Councilors exchanged glances.  Finally, Constans spoke for them 
all. "You speak with great wisdom, Colonel.  Thank you.  The Council 
will accept the recommendation of the medical and ... military 
communities that Starbuck no longer requires physical restraint of any 
kind."

"That still leaves the question of what to do with him," Uri pointed 
out. "If he doesn't need restraint, even *I* can see that the Prison 
Barge is not the place for him."

Siress Blassie spoke up from her place at the end of the table.  "We 
will ensure his comfort and *safety*," she emphasized the word in 
quiet, but firm tones. Everyone squirmed as she met the gaze of each 
person in the room.

Apollo spoke up, and would not be quieted this time.  "Thank you for 
your kind offer, Siress, and thank your mate, Chameleon, too, who, I'm 
sure, supports you in your offer," he began and Siress Blassie smiled 
and nodded.  "But Starbuck should have been my mate long since.  I 
shouldn't have abandoned him when he needed me," Apollo cleared his 
throat and Adama looked down at the table, "but I did.  I won't abandon 
him now, when he can't even make his needs known.  I will care for 
him."  He spoke over the murmurs that met this bald statement.  "If 
necessary, I will resign my commission and hope that the Siress's kind 
offer would extend to me as Starbuck's caretaker.  But I *will* take care 
of him."

Sire Constans spoke again.  "I'm sure such ... radical changes won't be 
necessary, Major.  Surely military command can accommodate your ... 
personal situation."  He turned to Adama.  "Can it not?"

Adama looked up, tears of pride in his eyes, the certainty that he 
should have done more, sooner, in his mind.  "We most assuredly can, 
Mr. President; we most assuredly can."

***

Apollo had come to the meeting agitated.  He tried hard not to 
communicate his state-of-mind to Starbuck, but emotions were the one 
thing Starbuck consistently reacted to.  They were the last to arrive. 
The group already seated in Commander Adama's office included Dr. 
Salik, Cassiopeia, Boomer, and Tigh.

Cass patted the empty place next to her on the couch and Apollo guided 
Starbuck there and told him to sit.  Once Starbuck obeyed, Cass took 
his hand and he turned towards her.  She smiled, but he just looked at 
her blankly.

Apollo went up to Adama and in a soft voice asked nervously, "Where's 
Boxey?"

Adama looked at him in surprise.  "With Athena.  I'll pick him up on my 
way back.  Surely you didn't expect me to bring him?"

"No, no.  I just ... wondered, that's all.  He's okay?"

"He misses you. After you call and say good night, he always asks how 
long it will be before he can go home."

Apollo looked over his shoulder at Starbuck.  Starbuck's head was 
lowered, as though something fascinating was in his lap.  "I can't," 
Apollo said, shrugging helplessly as he looked at his father.  "It 
wouldn't be good for either of them.  Maybe when Starbuck's more 
settled in a routine, when he at least seems more normal outwardly."

Adama shook his head.  "I'll keep Boxey for as long as you need me to, 
son, you know that.  But you must consider, Starbuck may never seem 
better, even if there is more improvement."

"Give us a little more time, Father.  Maybe some real work, something 
useful will..."

Adama shrugged.  "Perhaps. But it's been a quartile.  And, frankly 
Apollo, even though I know the strides he's made, I can't *see* any 
difference."  He turned his attention to the group sitting around the 
small room, and Apollo, recognizing the dismissal, perched on the arm 
of the couch next to Starbuck.  "Well, shall we get started?" Adama asked.

"We are prepared to demonstrate..." Dr. Salik began, gesturing to 
include Apollo, Cass, and Starbuck.

Adama held up a hand to forestall him.  "I'm sure you are, Doctor.  But 
I don't think we need to make Starbuck perform like a trained daggit. 
Let us grant the man some dignity as we determine his future."

Salik nodded his agreement and Apollo let out a sigh of relief.  That 
Starbuck would demonstrate his ability to follow a routine he had no 
doubt.  But he saw it much as his father did, a performance.

Adama continued.  "I would rather poll those gathered here.  I have 
tried to include all who might have a vested interest or concern.  So 
let me ask each of you to speak in turn and give your opinion on the 
advisability of ... using Starbuck in some manner that benefits the 
fleet and makes use of his capabilities.  We can begin with you, Doctor."

"Thank you, Commander.  Starbuck has a limited range of self-awareness. 
But he has very good focus and easily follows straightforward commands 
and learns set routines."

"Could you give us an example, Doctor?" Tigh asked, knowing his part 
would be to decide what sort of job Starbuck could handle.

"Certainly, Colonel.  The nearest analogy, unfortunately, is to his 
conduct under the control device, when it was functioning properly. 
Starbuck, once given a command, or set of commands, will follow them, 
adjusting for obstacles, until he has completed them.  He does not seem
to have the ability to initiate any actions on his own, however.  So, 
although he appeared completely catatonic when he left Life Center, 
with verbal directions from Cass and Apollo, he began to get himself 
out of bed once awakened and to wash and dress himself. He progressed 
to the stage of merely needing to be awakened and told to 'get ready 
for breakfast', in order to perform those functions."

Cass interrupted.  "He's actually gone beyond that by quite a bit now, 
Doctor.  If Apollo's on long patrol or otherwise occupied, I can wake 
him with the comm - he answers it although he doesn't speak - and he'll 
get himself ready, including preparing and eating breakfast and come to 
the physical therapy room."

Apollo put in, "When I'm there to wake him, and I try to be as often as 
possible, I can review the entire day's activities with him and he'll 
get everything done that I list and be wherever I tell him to on time."

Boomer knew he had to say something positive about Starbuck's progress 
at this point. He tried to put on the same uncomfortable, guilt-ridden 
expression the others wore.  "One of his activities is working in the 
simulators.  I've monitored his progress from time to time, and queried 
the instructors as well.  His reaction time is slow," Boomer added, 
trying to sound reluctant at saying anything negative.  "It's as if he 
has to think about every move he makes. But he seems to have total 
recall of how to pilot.  If he were merely recovering from a physical 
injury, I'd recommend reinstatement."

"Very well," Adama said thoughtfully.  "Tigh?  What do you think?"

"It seems to me that it would be dangerous to place him in a viper 
since his reaction time is off," Tigh began, and Boomer cursed 
mentally, seeing an opportunity slip away.  "But if his piloting skills 
are intact?"

Boomer nodded and looked up hopefully. "And he can memorize and follow 
a routine flight plan?"  Cass, Salik, and Apollo all nodded. "Then I 
think we could use him as a cargo shuttle pilot.  It would mean minimal 
interaction with people," he pointed out.

"That would be a good thing, actually," Cass said, with an apologetic 
glance at Apollo.  "One thing that does seem to confuse him is being 
given direction by more than one person.  And he tends to interpret 
anyone speaking to him as someone giving him direction."

Tigh turned to Adama.  "And we're always short of shuttle pilots."

Adama was still looking thoughtful.  He turned to the man being 
discussed, who had remained quietly seated between Apollo and 
Cassiopeia all this time, seemingly oblivious to the conversation going 
on around him.  "Starbuck," Adama said gently, leaning towards him.  
Starbuck looked up and focused his eyes on the Commander, but his blank 
expression didn't change and his eyes showed no recognition. "Would you 
like to pilot again?" Adama asked.

The centons stretched out in silence.  Finally, Apollo broke it, 
beginning, "Father, you know he doesn't speak."

But Adama held up his hand for silence and gestured towards Starbuck. 
Slowly, as if it took a conscious effort, and never taking his eyes 
from the Commander, Starbuck nodded.

"Do you think you can pilot a shuttle on a regular route?" the 
Commander continued.

This time no one intervened.  Finally, with a sigh that was almost a 
shudder, Starbuck nodded again.

***

Apollo's personal log.

Silence is my punishment. Silence and stillness. There is no sound, no 
motion from the body lying unresponsive next to me. No sound, no 
motion, even when the nightmares come.

Tears flow. Muscles tense and relax. Ejaculate spurts. When he was 
first returned to me, I would clean him and the bed while he lay limp 
and unresisting, not even conscious perhaps. Now, before I can move to 
him, his eyes open, initial confusion clears from them, and he waits in 
his stillness. A response of sorts, I suppose.

Does he know who turned his beautiful body into a skin-covered sack of 
broken bones and ruptured organs?  Bojay says he found him that way. 
Maybe he did.  Maybe he finally got his revenge for Turlo's death. 
Reese was supposed to be guarding him.  No love lost there either.  Not 
that it matters. I know that it's my fault. My refusal to protect him 
unconditionally, to keep him safe. Right from the start, I took the 
easy way out - pushing him away instead of holding him close. And after 
he sacrificed the little freedom he had to save Tigh, were any of us 
grateful?  Frak, no.  "Thanks, Starbuck, now back under control for 
you."

He gave himself to me willingly, but I threw him away at the first sign 
of trouble. Threw him to our enemies - the ones so jealous of us. One 
of them is the immediate cause of his state, but I'm the root cause; I 
know it.

"Fully recovered," the doctors say. No physical reason for the silence, 
the lack of self-motivation. Trauma or brain damage, they are unsure 
which. Not that it matters. At least not to those of us outside his 
brain. Perhaps it matters to him.

When he's told to, he moves. He can follow orders; take direction, even 
complex instructions. Just like when he had the device implanted. So he 
flies shuttles. Waits for cargo to be loaded and passengers to embark. 
Flies to the destination. Waits for cargo to be unloaded, passengers to 
disembark, new cargo to be loaded, returning passengers to embark. 
Returns to shuttle bay. Repeats.

After his shift he follows the next routine: goes back to our quarters, 
prepares the dinner I've preprogrammed, sets the table. When I walk in 
he will be sitting, silent and still, waiting for his next direction.

***

Reese is dead. Shot through the heart with his own laser pistol just as 
he climaxed from a blowjob. Colonel Tigh and Dr. Wilker who have been 
in charge of the investigation have called Commander Adama, Chief 
Opposer Solon, and me to the lab.

We listen to Colonel Tigh. Someone who knew of that unmarked setting 
set the laser pistol on narrow beam kill. Someone who would have to be 
a warrior; Reese himself probably didn't know the "assassination 
setting", as we call it, even existed. "The angle of the death beam 
indicates the perpetrator was also the one performing the sex act." I 
love Tigh's ability to depersonalize a situation. Make it somehow less 
obscene.

Tigh looks straight ahead as the implications of his statement set in. 
Adama and Solon exchange glances and even I raise my eyebrows. To have 
done that, the killer would have had to change the pistol's setting by 
touch while it was still in the holster on Reese's hip, drawing and
shooting at the instant of climax. Even I couldn't do that with any 
degree of accuracy or consistency.

The five of us now avoid each other's eyes. Only one warrior is - was - 
capable of that level of precision. Wilker quietly remarks that he 
should see to disposal of the body. He tosses the autopsy and weapons 
analysis report down and leaves the room.

Tigh clears his throat and speaks over the noise of the biological 
recycler to report that the murder weapon yielded genetic traces 
identifying the wielder. In passing, he mentions that there was a 
computer glitch and Wilker's hard copy report is the only documentation 
of the investigation. He stops speaking. Adama puts his gloved hand out 
and Tigh places the laser pistol in it. Adama casually puts it down on 
top of the only documentation of the investigation. On the surface of 
an experimental matter disintegrator. Chief Opposer Solon bends to 
consider the evidence. As he leans over the equipment, his hand brushes 
a sensor. There is a flash and an acrid odor.

I watch as the Commander of the Fleet and the Chief Opposer destroy the 
only evidence that a crime even occurred. Adama and Solon. The epitomes 
of ethics.

***

Sound is my salvation. He murmurs in his sleep; sometimes I can make 
out a word or two. His dreams are no longer nightmares and his face 
bears a smile instead of tears. I reach reluctantly to awaken him for 
his shift, not wanting his voice to stop. His eyes open, initial 
confusion clears from them, and he turns to me, the smile remaining on 
his lips. Lips that open and speak my name.

***

"You sent for me, Father?"

"Ah, yes, Apollo.  Thank you for coming so quickly.  Colonel," 
Commander Adama nodded at his second in command, "Perhaps you'd like to 
do the honors?"

"Of course, Commander.  Captain," the Colonel addressed Apollo, who 
remained standing, a somewhat suspicious look on his face.  "Security 
made an ... interesting discovery while cleaning out Reese's locker."

"Oh?"

"Yes.  They discovered a quantity of unlabeled chemicals.  I had Dr. 
Wilker examine them.  The Commander and I thought you'd be interested 
in his report."

Apollo was getting impatient. "I suppose I should be grateful I'm not 
being briefed by Wilker himself, but could you get on with it?  Your 
summons seemed urgent, so I didn't take the time to have someone come 
to stay with Starbuck." He didn't like to leave Starbuck alone.  True,
Starbuck's condition was stable, but the reality was that Starbuck was 
only intermittently aware of his surroundings.  In any case, Apollo 
didn't like leaving him unsupervised for any length of time.

"Very well," Colonel Tigh said, slightly annoyed at Apollo's attitude. 
"Wilker found that the chemicals were the components of a drug known as 
Silent Rage - ever hear of it?"

Apollo drew in his breath in a whistle.  "Not since the Destruction. 
Wasn't that the drug that allowed killers to be totally silent?  I 
thought it was eradicated."

"It was banned, but occasionally turned up in assassins guilds.  Yes, 
it not only allowed them to be silent, it enforced the silence.  Once 
taken, the drug inhibits all vocalization.  It also inhibits any sense 
of proportion, especially where violence is concerned, so a minor 
annoyance becomes outrage," Tigh confirmed.

"And this was in Reese's locker?"

"Yes, in its components, but a small vial contained residue of the 
completed drug."  Tigh paused.  "Wilker had Salik bring up the blood 
profile taken on Starbuck just before the device was installed."

"No!"  Apollo cried.  "No, it can't be!  He was drugged and then set up 
in violent situations?"

"We think so, yes," Adama confirmed, chagrin etched into his face.  
"The drug wasn't tested for - it's not on the standard test sequence.  
But it was there.  The amount indicates it had been accumulating for 
some time."  He paused.  "It's strange that there weren't more violent 
outbursts - something to alert those around Starbuck that something was 
wrong.  But there were only the brawls in the OC and the Ready Room.  
Not enough to establish a pattern."

"There was more," Apollo muttered, sinking into a chair, his hands to 
his face. "I ... I didn't want him hurt.  I thought the best thing for 
both of us was for him to leave.  But I threw him to the kingbeasts, 
didn't I?"  A sob escaped his tightly pressed lips.

"Now, we don't know that.  We don't know how the drug was introduced 
into his bloodstream or by whom," Adama pointed out. "However, it seems 
highly unlikely Starbuck would have taken it voluntarily.  And he 
certainly wouldn't have procured *anything* from Reese."

Tigh nodded his agreement then picked up the thread of the discussion. 
"The Council agrees that Starbuck was almost certainly drugged without 
his knowledge.  And, with that established, has agreed to exonerate him 
of all culpability for his actions during the time the drug was 
affecting him."

"Big of them," Apollo said.

"Apollo!" his father admonished. "The Council would like to make 
amends. A ceremony of reinstatement was their suggestion."

Apollo laughed.  "That will mean *so* much to Starbuck.  So, what do 
they want me to do?  Dress him in his dress uniform and bring him to 
the Council Chambers for an apology he won't understand, but that will 
play well on the IFB?  I won't subject him to that. He can't be 
reinstated. He'll never pilot a viper again.  He's barely focused 
enough or strong enough to pilot the Interfleet shuttles.  Please give 
the Council my thanks on Starbuck's behalf.  I wish I had the courage 
to tell them what I know he'd want to."

To Apollo's surprise, his father didn't reproach him.  "Very well.  I 
suspected you might feel that way.  And as Starbuck's guardian, you 
have the right to refuse this ... suggestion. I told the Council as 
much. They weren't very happy, but that's too bad.  Leaving Starbuck 
what dignity he has is the least they can do.  They'll issue an 
announcement, of course.  He'll be reinstated at full rank and pay 
grade.  With back pay retroactive to the time he was stripped of his 
commission."  Adama sighed.  "That should help cover the costs of any 
caretakers you need to hire.  And I will issue an announcement that 
Lieutenant Starbuck will be placed on light duty - the shuttle 
assignment he currently has - at full pay, until such time as his 
medical condition allows him to return to full duty."

"He doesn't need any caretakers and I wouldn't spend the Council's 
blood money on them in any case.  And if he continues to require any 
medical assistance - therapy or pain killers - I'll expect them to be 
covered by the Council, *not* taken out of his back pay."

"I'll inform the Council of your decision.  I'm sure they'll accept 
your terms," Adama said dryly.

"I need to get back," Apollo said, standing.  Then he looked from one 
to the other, slightly embarrassed.  "I know I must seem ungrateful.  
I'm not.  I realize both of you had to work very hard to get the 
Council to come around.  It's just ... "

"Too little, too late?"  Adama suggested.  "Yes, son, it is."  He 
spread his hands in a helpless gesture.  "If I could go back to the 
cycle when Starbuck pleaded guilty and insist on a full medical scan, I 
would.  If I could do *anything* to change what happened, I would.  But 
this is all I can do.  This and being there for you, if you'll accept 
my help."

"You already are helping, Father, by keeping Boxey with you," Apollo 
said, awkwardly hugging the older man.  "Thank you, both of you," he 
finished, including Tigh in his glance.  "I really must go."  Quickly 
he left the room.

"You still have Boxey?" Tigh questioned.  "Why?"

Adama nodded sadly.  "Apollo is afraid that Boxey will demand too much 
of Starbuck - expect him to be ... well, *Starbuck*, if you know what I 
mean."  Tigh nodded.  "Personally, I think that might be good for 
Starbuck.  Apollo is full of guilt - you saw."  Tigh nodded again.  "He
doesn't prod Starbuck.  Salik isn't convinced the device or the beating 
led to extensive brain damage - the scans just aren't conclusive.  If 
it's trauma, Starbuck needs a stimulus to bring him out of it.  But 
Apollo won't - can't really - push him."

"What are you going to do, Adama?"

The Commander smiled.  "You know me too well, old friend.  I've some 
ideas.  It may take some time, but I'll set the wheels in motion fairly 
soon, I think."

***

Exodus Remembrance

"Boxey is off with his Caprican classmates reenacting the Exodus from 
Kobol to Caprica on one of the Agro Ships," Adama's voice reported. 
"It's 'safe' to come up now."

"Good," Apollo replied, ignoring the sarcasm that seeped through the 
comm unit along with the implied suggestion that Starbuck go to Adama's 
quarters with him.  'I'm doing the right thing,' Apollo told himself.  
He looked over at Starbuck sitting on the couch and staring at his 
hands. He would sit like that for centars unless he was given a task to 
perform. Aloud, he continued.  "He's doing just what all the other 
children are doing, each with children from their own colony world, 
just like I did."

"Well," Adama corrected gently, "Not *just* like you did.  You were on 
a planet in a protected natural area, not on an agro ship containing 
the last remnants of the nature of all the colonies."

"As close as we can get," Apollo protested.  "And just like on Caprica, 
it's a dual-purpose tradition.  It teaches the children and frees the 
adults for the ritual feast.  Will you take out the scrolls?" he asked, 
sounding almost like Boxey in his eagerness.

"Of course," Adama replied.  "How else can we read from the annals of 
our ancestors and keep the memory of the Exodus alive?"

"It would be interesting to hear the annals of the other colonies," 
Apollo remarked. Each colony's annals started the same way, leaving 
Kobol, but ended on a different world.

"It would indeed.  Well, are you going to keep this up until all the 
work is done and all you have to do is eat?  Adama asked.

"No, Father," Apollo said, chuckling.  "I'll just dose Starbuck and put 
him down for a nap.  Then I'll be right up."

"Why not bring him with you?" Adama suggested again gently.  "Boxey's 
not here."  He managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice this time.

Apollo hesitated.  'Starbuck could help Athena set up the feast 
tables,' he thought.  'I can bring him back and sedate him for the 
night before the feast begins.'  "All right," he agreed.  "But I'll 
bring him back here before the rest of the guests arrive."  

***

Starbuck helped Apollo set up the tables and move the chairs into 
position.  He seemed oblivious to the conversation Apollo carried on 
with Athena as they worked. "Who all is coming this year?" Apollo asked 
his sister, who bustled in and out between dining area and kitchen.

"Just about all the Capricans on the Galactica, I think," Athena 
replied, laughing.  "Everyone but Boomer.  Whoops, careful, Starbuck," 
she said to the quiet blond who had suddenly dropped the chair he was 
carrying. It landed on its side.  "Are you tired?"

"I should take him back," Apollo said, but Athena held up a hand and 
waited for Starbuck to respond.

After a long pause, Starbuck slowly shook his head.  "Not tired," he 
murmured and bent to right the chair.  "Sorry," he whispered. "Please, 
'Pol.  Not tired."

Athena stood still and waited.  She had heard Starbuck speak Apollo's 
name before, but nothing else.  On those rare occasions when he 
communicated, it was through a head shake or gesture. 'Please, 
brother,' she prayed, 'Don't blow it.'

Apollo smiled at the nervous man. 'Lords, does he think I'm going to 
beat him for speaking?' he wondered. "Okay," he said keeping his voice 
light. "If you're not tired, we'll stay for a little while longer."

To distract them, Athena said brightly, "It was awfully nice of Boomer 
to volunteer to man the duty office."

"Yes, it was," Apollo agreed.  "Someone has to supervise the 
volunteers. They'll all miss the ceremonies and feasts."

"Well, I guess it's necessary to make sure we're not caught unawares by 
the Cylons while we're celebrating," Athena replied, heading for the 
kitchen.

Apollo turned to say something to Starbuck as he put the last chair in 
place, when Adama called from the next room.  "Can you help me take 
down the scrolls, son?"

"Coming," Apollo called hurrying towards his father's voice.

Starbuck looked after Apollo, but stayed at the table; he was done with 
the chairs and Apollo had given him no further instructions.  Athena 
came in with the tablecloth and matching napkins.  She put the napkins 
down on a chair and unfurled the tablecloth.  Without thinking, 
Starbuck caught the ends and helped her lay it over the table.  
"Thanks, Starbuck," Athena said.

Starbuck turned white, realizing he had acted without being told to, 
but he managed a weak smile.  Athena handed him the napkins and left to 
get the dishes and silver.  Starbuck stared at the napkins for a 
moment, then began placing them around the table.  He took the plates 
from Athena when she came in and together they set the table in 
companionable silence.

Apollo and Adama came in carrying the rolled-up scrolls and stopped to 
watch.  Adama's smile was hidden behind the scrolls he was holding as 
he saw that the start of his plan to draw Starbuck out was working.  
Athena finished placing the spoons and carefully took two scrolls from 
Adama and set them in position on the plates.  After a moment's 
hesitation, Starbuck did the same, taking scrolls from an astonished 
Apollo and setting them out.

When they were done, Athena casually said, "Crystal's all that's left, 
Starbuck.  Help me get it down?" and headed for the china closet where 
the crystal was stored.  Starbuck followed her without a glance towards 
Apollo.

Apollo started to follow, but was held back by Adama.  In a low voice, 
Adama urged, "Bring him back for the feast, son."

"And if he gets confused or frightened in the middle of the ceremony 
and disrupts it?" Apollo asked, angry at what he sensed was a setup.

"Bring his medication.  If you think he's getting agitated, you can put 
him to bed in Boxey's room," Adama said, pleased at having a ready 
response.

"You're not expecting him to participate, I hope," Apollo said.

"I wouldn't force him to do anything he's uncomfortable with," Adama 
replied ambiguously.

Apollo looked at him suspiciously, not liking the answer.  "I told 
Boomer I'd relieve him.  I can't do that if I've got to take Starbuck 
back to our quarters after the feast and get him settled," Apollo 
protested, now grasping at straws.

"I'm sure Boomer won't mind waiting an extra centar or so, especially 
if we send down some plates from the feast."

"I'll have to check with him; he may have other plans." Adama raised an 
eyebrow.  "I'll admit it doesn't seem likely on Exodus night, but we 
shouldn't assume," Apollo responded.

"Very well, you check with him," Adama conceded.

"And I'll have to see how Starbuck's acting.  If he's tired, he gets 
confused and distracted more easily, and he's usually not this active."

"I really doubt that setting the tables is going to wear him out, 
Apollo," Adama said in exasperation.  "In fact," he checked his chrono, 
"if you leave now, Starbuck can rest for a centar while you check with 
Boomer and make any other arrangements you're going to complain about. 
Then he'll be refreshed and there'll still be plenty of time for both 
of you to get ready for the feasting."  He made a shooing motion with 
his hands, then turned and took the crystal carefully from Starbuck, 
who was just entering with the goblets carefully hung between his 
fingers.  "I'll do that, Starbuck.  Thank you for all your help; it 
made the setting up go much faster.  Apollo seems to think you need to 
rest after all this hard work, so run along with him."

Starbuck looked warily from the Commander, who smiled encouragingly, to 
Apollo, who held out his hand and smiled so that his lover wouldn't 
think anything was wrong. Starbuck took Apollo's hand and followed him 
out.

***

At the feasting, the readings went around the table, each person 
looking up at the end of his or her reading to cue the next person. 
Apollo completed his reading and looked to Athena, sitting just beyond 
Starbuck. But Starbuck began the next reading without looking up.  When 
he finished, Athena smoothly picked up.  Apollo blinked back tears of 
happiness, while Adama smiled triumphantly at Tigh, who nodded in 
acknowledgement.

After the readings and ceremonies were over, the eating began in 
earnest. During the main course, Starbuck put down his fork and looked 
uncomfortable.  Apollo asked, "Do you need to use the turbo flush?"

Starbuck reddened and nodded.  "Do you nee - " Apollo began, but 
suddenly yelped, "Ow!".

Sheba, sitting across from Apollo, had kicked him under the table.  He 
looked up, startled, and she glared at him and nodded towards Starbuck, 
who had his eyes closed, his face bright red.

Apollo lowered his voice, and turned the question into, "Do you know 
where the turbo flush is?"  Starbuck nodded again and opened his eyes. 
"Go on, but hurry back or you'll miss dessert."

***

Apollo and Starbuck were on their way back to their quarters when they 
heard, "Captain Apollo, please report to the Duty Office.  Captain 
Apollo to the Duty Office, please."

"Starbuck, can you get to our quarters on your own?" Apollo asked.

Starbuck looked around him, getting his bearings.  Then he nodded.

"I'm going to go to the Duty Office then.  I'll be home as soon as I 
can, okay?" Apollo waited for Starbuck to nod again, then hurried off.  
In the Duty Office he found a note from Boomer telling him that there 
had been an incident on the flight deck that needed Boomer's attention 
and he'd be back within a quarter centar.  Apollo settled in to wait.

***

Starbuck continued towards Apollo's quarters.  Suddenly he was grabbed 
from behind and a hood was placed over his head.  It was all too 
familiar.  He didn't struggle; he just sighed and allowed his captor to 
lead him away.

***

'That's right, Bucko,' Boomer thought.  'Just come along without a 
fuss." Boomer half-led half-dragged the hooded man for a short 
distance, then pushed him forward through a doorway. He quickly 
activated the privacy lock. 'Good boy,' Boomer thought, as he stripped 
his passive captive and bound his hands behind his back. 'Too bad you 
weren't this obliging a yahren ago,' he thought as he raised the heavy 
club, aimed carefully for a spot that would cause pain without doing 
severe damage, and brought it down hard.

Starbuck fell to the floor under the blows and curled up as best he 
could to protect the most vulnerable parts of his body.

Boomer continued the brutal, but precisely placed blows until Starbuck 
no longer shielded himself. He stopped in mid-swing and dropped the 
club when the bound man sagged in defeat. He grabbed Starbuck by the 
shoulders, dragged him across the rough concrete floor, and pulled him 
up and over a saw horse. Then he kicked Starbuck's legs apart and bound 
them, and turned away.

Boomer had been silent from the time he accosted Starbuck; the only 
sounds he made were the click of his boots on the hard floor as he 
pulled an object out of the burlap sack lying near the door, checked it 
over and placed it quietly on the floor. He pulled several other 
objects out of the sack, then put the club into it.

Starbuck had been unable to suppress his whimpers, loud in the silence 
of what he judged to be a small empty room. Even the sound of his body 
being pummeled and dragged echoed. Now he heard his own ragged breath 
and racing heart. Beyond that came the sound of clothing being opened 
and flesh rubbing against flesh. The booted steps approached and stopped 
behind him. Starbuck tensed, but his muscles relaxed as centons passed 
in silence.

Boomer had made sure Starbuck heard him masturbate - he was certain the 
traumatized man recognized *that* sound, even in his brain-damaged 
state; he grinned smugly as the bound and hooded man tensed at his 
approach. When Starbuck finally slumped against the sawhorse, Boomer 
suddenly gripped his buttocks and pulled them apart. Before Starbuck 
could react, Boomer plunged his long, hard cock inside his rectum to 
its full length and pressed heavily against him. He grasped Starbuck's 
limp penis and scrotum with a gloved hand, twisting and squeezing. When 
Starbuck drew in breath to scream, Boomer silenced him by encircling 
his neck with a cloth-covered arm, his muscled bicep pressing against 
Starbuck's windpipe, barely allowing him to breathe. Then he began to 
thrust in and out of Starbuck's rectum in time to the twisting and 
squeezing.

Starbuck withdrew mentally. He was barely aware of Boomer's climax. He 
lay passively on the unfinished flooring when his arms and legs were 
released. Boomer used foam and rags to roughly but thoroughly clean 
him, making sure not a drop of his semen was left in the torn hole. 
Starbuck did not react as he was further tormented by the harsh 
chemicals and scraping.

Boomer left him lying on the floor while he put the soiled rags and 
used canisters back in the sack and reached down to push a button on 
the object he had placed on the floor.  Then he kicked Starbuck in the 
ribs, careful not to break any, until he finally roused, just as a 
mechanical voice asked harshly, "Do you hear me? Do you understand what 
I am saying?"

When Starbuck failed to respond, Boomer encouraged him with another 
kick to the ribs. Painfully Starbuck raised himself to his elbows and 
nodded.

Satisfied, Boomer marched away, boots clicking.

Starbuck collapsed again when the sound of the boots receded. He heard 
the door slide open.

"Wait five centons, then remove the hood, dress, and go to Apollo's 
quarters," the mechanical voice ordered.

Starbuck raised his head far enough to nod again. He heard the door 
shut, but no lock clicked into place. Mentally he counted down the 
required time, then obeyed the instructions, showing no emotion. In 
Apollo's quarters, he undressed, threw his clothes into the recycler, 
and put on a night shirt which didn't quite cover his bruised backside. 
Starbuck's eyes fell on the chrono next to the bed; it had been less 
than a quarter-centar since he had left Apollo. With a sob, he curled 
up under the covers in a fetal position.

***

Apollo carried a limp, unresponsive Starbuck into the Life Center, 
shouting frantically for help. He was quickly relieved of his burden by 
careful med techs, who whisked Starbuck into an examining room. Apollo 
tried to follow, but Cassiopeia held him back. "What happened, Apollo?"
she asked.

"I don't know," Apollo almost wailed, pushing her aside. When she held 
on to him, insisting that he tell her what he did know, he began pacing 
and spoke in a rambling manner. "I relieved Boomer when he returned to 
the Duty Office and then finished out the shift. Then I went straight 
home. I found Starbuck in bed. I couldn't wake him up."

"Why didn't you send for a medical team?" Cass asked skeptically.

"I don't know," Apollo repeated. "I ... he ... I just picked him up and 
... and I came here.. He... "

Whatever Apollo was going to say was lost when Salik called, "Apollo, 
we need you in here."

Starbuck, roused by the noise and pain of the medical examination and 
treatment, was disoriented and cringing away from the med techs and 
doctors, shaking violently. Hearing Apollo's name, he reached out 
blindly calling, "'Pol?"

Apollo rushed over to the bio-bed and soothed Starbuck, allowing the 
treatment to be completed.

As the med techs were cleaning up, Chief Opposer Solon entered. "I need 
to question Starbuck," he told Apollo apologetically.

"Come on, Solon," Apollo began angrily. "You know he's barely aware of 
what's going on at the best of times. Do you really think he'll be able 
to tell you who did this to him?"

"I still have to question him, Captain," Solon insisted. "He is the 
victim and the only witness. Time is of the essence if we are to learn 
anything useful."

The door opened and Salik stepped in. "Apollo, I need to talk to you. 
In private."

Apollo looked down at Starbuck. His eyes were wide open; he was staring 
at the wall behind Solon. Apollo sighed and slipped off the bed, 
careful not to disturb the traumatized man. He glared at Solon as he 
passed him.

Salik had never found an easy way to tell family and friends about the 
injuries their loved ones had suffered, especially when the injuries 
were the result of an attack. He had long ago settled for bluntness and 
he didn't waver now. "Starbuck was raped, but no permanent damage was 
done," he told Apollo. Salik went on. "I think the attacker's purpose 
was to terrorize Starbuck, not hurt him physically."

"Why do you think that?" Apollo whispered, stunned at what he had just 
heard.

"Because he was beaten with a blunt object, but no bones were broken or 
internal organs were damaged. Really, he's just got some bad bruises. 
Also, the attacker carefully cleaned Starbuck, removing all traces of 
biological matter that might lead to identification."

"Oh, Lords!" Apollo moaned. "When will it end?"

Inside the examination room, Solon asked questions Starbuck could 
answer by shaking his head or nodding. To his surprise, Starbuck was 
fully responsive, answering every question appropriately. Finally he 
asked, "Do you know who attacked you?"

Starbuck shook his head, then looked up to see the skeptical statement 
on Solon's face. With great effort, he said, "Hood."

"Hood?" Solon echoed. "I don't understand."

Starbuck tried harder. "He put a hood over my head. He came from behind 
me."

Realizing Starbuck could speak if circumstances demanded it, Solon 
asked, "Can you tell me anything else?"

Starbuck sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bio-bed, 
rubbing his face with his hands. Finally he looked up and said, "If I 
show you where he took me, will Apollo let me come home?"

Apollo, standing in the doorway with Salik, thought, 'He must think 
I've abandoned him!' He rushed in and embraced Starbuck. Then he 
remembered that Starbuck had just been raped and pulled away. He tried 
to speak soothingly, telling Starbuck, "Of course we'll go home." He 
turned to Salik.

"He doesn't need to stay in Life Center," the doctor confirmed.

"Then I'm taking him home now," Apollo said firmly, putting a 
protective arm around the blond.

Solon interrupted. "I'm sorry, Captain, but if there is any evidence, 
we must find it before it's destroyed."

Apollo gently asked, "Starbuck, do you feel up to showing Solon where 
you were attacked?"

'Maybe if I do what he wants, Apollo will still let me stay with him,' 
Starbuck thought, having felt Apollo draw away. In a monotone, he began 
speaking. "When you left, I started for your quarters, like you told 
me. But then someone grabbed me from behind. Whoever it was put a hood 
over my head and took me to a room - I know where - and he tied me up 
and ..."

"It's all right, you don't have to say any more," Apollo assured him.

Starbuck obediently stopped speaking and got up, a little unsteady. 
"I'll take you to the room now."

Salik, who had slipped out of the room while Starbuck was speaking, 
came in with a set of clothes and suggested, "You'll attract less 
attention if Starbuck isn't paraded around in a nightshirt."

Watching Starbuck carefully dress himself, trying to avoid the worst of 
his injuries, Solon wondered, 'Maybe it could have waited.' He sighed; 
it was too late now.

***

Moving as quickly as Starbuck's aching body would allow, the small 
group arrived at the door to a storage area. They walked in to a bare 
room, smelling of disinfectant and cleaning solution. "Well, whatever 
he beat you with is gone. Probably out a garbage chute by now," Solon 
remarked.

Starbuck nodded. "When I took off the hood, everything was gone. He 
tied me to .... something wood. But it's not here either."

"What's this?" Apollo asked. He had been wandering around the edges of 
the room, hoping to find some scrap that had been overlooked.

"Looks like the bottom half of a Cylon's face," Starbuck suggested, 
walking over. He sounded so normal that Apollo looked up abruptly. 
Starbuck took a step back, but gestured at the object. "Look for 
yourself. I think that's what it is," he said.

Dr. Wilker, whom Solon had sent for, arrived in time to hear Starbuck's 
words. He hurried over, pulling on disposable gloves. He squatted in 
front of the object. "That's just what it is: a Cylon voice box," he 
confirmed.

He pushed a plunger on the underside and a mechanical voice said, "Do 
you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying?" After a pause it 
continued, "Wait five centons, then remove the hood, dress, and go to 
Apollo's quarters."

"It's been programmed to utter the instructions Starbuck was given," 
Wilker said. He ran an instrument over it and sighed. "But it's been 
wiped clean of fingerprints."

"Then unless Starbuck can remember anything familiar or unique about 
his attacker, we'll probably never bring him to justice," Solon said 
sadly, shaking his head.

All eyes turned to Starbuck. He looked at the box and shuddered. 'No 
one would believe me if I told them who I know it must be,' he thought. 
He pressed his lips together and shook his head without looking up.

***

"I know it's very unusual, Commander. But with the shortage of pilots 
and the increased frequency of Cylon attacks, I don't see any other 
alternative." Boomer looked around the briefing room. Tigh was nodding 
his agreement. Reluctantly, Apollo did, too.

"Very well, then. *All* of us will return to our first careers," 
Commander Adama said firmly. "Tigh, you and Omega will rotate with me 
on the bridge - one shift of bridge duty, one shift off-duty, then a 
shift on standby with whichever squadron is on alert.

"Very good, Commander. I'll let Omega know," Tigh said, rising and 
excusing himself from the meeting.

Adama turned to Apollo and Boomer. "The two of you should pull Bojay 
into a similar schedule." Both men nodded. Adama addressed Boomer. 
"Captain, the shuttle pilots will have to have similar schedules or 
we'll have them asleep at their posts."

"I understand, sir," Boomer assured him. "And the cadets? The current 
class is very inexperienced."

"Do we have enough experienced pilots to pair them up?"

"Not quite, but some of the shuttle pilots are retired warriors," 
Boomer said. "If we can use the best of those, we should be able to 
..."

"Shuttle pilots?" Apollo interrupted. "I came in late, but I didn't 
think I'd missed anything. You're planning to use shuttle pilots in 
vipers?"

"Yes, Major, there's no other choice." Boomer smiled at Apollo, 
reminding him, "It's been done before."

"That was different," Apollo insisted. "We had *no* viper pilots. And 
we weren't under constant attack. Starbuck and I had time to train ..." 
he trailed off and bowed his head. Adama and Boomer exchanged 
uncomfortable glances. Suddenly Apollo's head came up. "You aren't 
going to put Starbuck in a viper?!"

Adama cleared his throat, but Boomer spoke up first. "Actually I had 
another idea. Starbuck can fly shuttles; he's been doing it for almost 
a yahren."

Apollo had to nod. Sometimes it seemed like the only thing Starbuck 
looked forward to was his shift piloting the cargo shuttle.

"Well, the R&D boys have come up with a drone viper - it's an unmanned 
viper full of explosives that's remote controlled. I vetoed the idea of 
having it controlled by another viper - that would be suicide for the 
pilot." Both Commander and Major indicated their agreement to that. "So 
they came up with the idea of having it controlled by an armed shuttle, 
similar to the two-man viper you tested a while ago, Apollo."

"If it's similar to *that*, I'm vetoing it, right now," Apollo 
responded.

"No, no, it's not a viper, it's a modified shuttle. What I meant was, 
it's got weaponry. The pilot controls the shuttle and its lasers, while 
the copilot controls the drone viper. I was thinking that Starbuck 
could pilot it in the next battle with a cadet as copilot. The cadet 
would be controlling the drone, testing it to see whether it's 
effective against Cylon attack strategy. And if all Starbuck can manage 
is to keep the shuttle out of the line of fire, that's okay."

"And if he can do more, and use its weaponry against the Cylons as 
well," Adama put in, "so much the better."

Apollo looked from one man to the other in horror. "You're trying to 
get him killed!" he accused them.

'He's on to me!' was Boomer's immediate reaction, then he realized 
Apollo was just being protective of Starbuck. "Not at all, Apollo," he 
said smoothly. "I'll make sure he's covered at all times. I'll assign 
Jolly and Greenbean to cover the shuttle."

"Excellent, Captain!" Adama said, a bit too heartily. "It's decided 
then. Apollo, perhaps you can explain it to Starbuck? Or would you 
rather one of us did."

"I'll send him to the Captain, Commander," Apollo grated out, sullenly 
formal. "He should be given his orders by his CO." He turned on his 
heel and walked out.

***

Starbuck stood silently just inside the Duty Office door until Boomer 
looked up and noticed him. 'I guess those rumors that he regressed 
after the attack are true,' he thought.  'Everyone was saying he was so 
much better, even though I couldn't see it.  But even if he was, I 
think my little meeting with him put an end to that.' "Apollo send 
you?" he asked.

Starbuck hesitated a micron, then nodded slowly.

"I have a new assignment for you."  Boomer waited, but got no response, 
so he continued. "We need all the pilots we have to fight the Cylons. 
You've just been reinstated." He watched his former friend closely for 
a reaction and was pleased when he got none. Surely even Starbuck at 
his best couldn't control an involuntary reaction to that news, Boomer 
thought. "We've decided that you'll pilot an armed shuttle that will be 
controlling an experimental drone viper.  You'll be paired with a cadet 
who isn't flight-certified yet.  The cadet will control the drone."

Starbuck remained standing just inside the door, looking in Boomer's 
general direction, but gave no response.

"Do you understand your new assignment?" Boomer asked, wondering if 
Starbuck was even capable of being the pawn Boomer needed him to be.

After another micron's hesitation, Starbuck nodded again.

"All right, then," Boomer said, satisfied.  "I guess I should tell you 
that the drone, in addition to having the standard viper lasers, will 
be packed with explosives that will detonate on impact.  Your job will 
be to pilot the shuttle and keep it in one piece and in line-of-sight 
of the drone."

Boomer rose, walked over to Starbuck, and put a heavy hand on the 
blond's shoulder.  "The battle will be hectic.  You'll have to be very 
careful to keep the shuttle out of the fray.  We've lost a lot of good 
pilots, so everyone who can fly will be out there - Apollo, me, even 
Adama and Tigh; only Bojay and Omega will be holding down the fort.  It 
would be a real shame to lose one of the senior staff.  Of course, what 
better way for an old warrior to go than in battle?"  He grinned.  "For 
that matter, what better way for a *young,* overrated Major to go than 
in battle - especially in front of his father?"  He patted Starbuck's 
cheek and leaned in conspiratorially.  "I want the Commander's son to 
go down in a blaze of glory." He stepped back.  "All right, then.  You 
have your orders.  Dismissed."

***

When the alert sounded, Starbuck and Apollo both reacted.  Apollo 
realized just how far back Starbuck had come.  'You can't hold a 
conversation with him, but he knows what's going on around him, no 
doubt about it,' Apollo thought.  "Good luck, Bucko!" he called as they
separated to go to their ships.

"You, too, 'Pol!  Be careful!" Starbuck called back automatically, as 
he rounded the back of the shuttle.  Then he slowed seeing Boomer 
coming out of the shuttle.

"Is something wrong, sir?" a female cadet, approaching the shuttle, 
asked.

"Just checking the drone's programming," Boomer informed the cadet. He 
nodded at Starbuck. "Cadet Capri, this is your pilot, Lieutenant 
Starbuck," he continued smoothly. "Starbuck, your copilot."

"But, sir, I'm not qualified..." Cadet Capri stammered.

"Just a turn of phrase," Boomer assured her.  "You control the drone; 
Starbuck is more than capable of piloting a shuttle by himself, aren't 
you, Bucko?"

The hesitant nod the Lieutenant gave the Captain as he walked past them 
into the shuttle didn't instill great confidence in Capri, but Boomer 
gave her a reassuring pat on the back.  "He's still a fine pilot, trust 
me," he said.

"Of course, Sir," Capri replied.  Saluting, she turned and followed 
Starbuck.

Once the shuttle doors were closed and sealed, Starbuck dropped the 
pretense of brain damage.  "Have you had any flight training?" he asked 
Capri.

"Yes, Sir, Lieutenant.  But I haven't piloted yet."

"Would you like to run the prelaunch check?" Starbuck offered, giving 
her one of his patented smiles.

"Yes, sir!  I can do that!" the excited cadet replied, all doubt 
disappearing.

Starbuck listened with half an ear to the cadet's recital while he 
checked the drone's programming. He was not surprised to find that 
Boomer had reprogrammed the drone's command sequence to tell it to head 
for Apollo's viper's signature, which Starbuck recognized instantly, 
instead of heading for the nearest Cylon signature. Starbuck briefly 
considered reprogramming it to head for Boomer's viper instead, but 
realized the cadet would think she killed the Captain if he did that.  
So he reinstated the original code.

***

The battle was every bit as hectic as Boomer predicted it would be. 
Starbuck had to stay on his toes to keep the shuttle out of danger. 
Twice he had to steer with one hand while arming and shooting the mini-
laser cannon mounted on the underside of the shuttle with the other 
hand. Finally Boomer gave the signal to target the drone.

'Now you'll get yours, *Major*,' Boomer thought, watching the drone in 
anticipation.  'And if your lover has any mental capacity left, which I 
doubt,  I'm sure it will be gone after he sees you explode into space 
debris!' Boomer's glee turned to astonishment as he watched the drone
unerringly find the closest Cylon craft and disintegrate it. "No!  Get 
Apollo, not the Cylons!" he shrieked as the drone turned to the next 
Cylon craft, and then a third, disintegrating them one after another.

Boomer watched in disbelief as the drone performed according to 
specification - and not following the replacement protocol he had coded 
in.  Losing the last shreds of his hold on reality, he screamed, "I'll 
do it myself.  He's not going to stand in my way any longer!" and aimed 
his viper on a collision course with Apollo's.

Starbuck knew he - or rather Apollo - didn't have the time it would 
take to explain what was going on to Capri and convince her to take 
action. With a stifled cry, he pushed Capri aside and accelerated the 
drone while manipulating it onto a course parallel to Apollo's and 
between him and Boomer.

Capri thought Starbuck had suddenly gone mad.  But there was nothing 
she could do to stop his lightning-quick actions.  She backed as far 
away from him as she could, fearing he would turn on her next.

Boomer, unable to change his trajectory, rammed the drone. The drone 
and Boomer's viper exploded into shards and vapor.  Shrapnel hit 
Apollo's viper damaging one wing.  Using well-honed skill, Starbuck 
pulled the shuttle into a support position under the damaged wing and 
the two craft landed in tandem.

Starbuck stayed in the shuttle and stared through the view screen as 
the support crews struggle to free Apollo from his damaged viper.

Capri, however, ran out of the shuttle as soon as it stopped, and 
headed for the nearest Security guard. "He pushed me out of the way and 
took over the drone's controls," she cried. Her version of events made 
it seem that Starbuck intentionally placed the drone in Boomer's path, 
and the Sergeant in charge quickly ordered a Security team to board the 
shuttle and arrest him.

Starbuck made no attempt to resist them, but the guards, fearing a 
violent outburst, subdued him with stun guns and shackled him tightly, 
before dragging him out of the shuttle.  Before Apollo could squeeze 
through the small hole the ground crew had made for him, Starbuck was 
out of sight.

Sergeant Frey, who had ordered the arrest, suddenly found himself 
besieged by angry warriors. Apollo, finally free, charged him. "What 
have you done with Starbuck?" he demanded.

Jolly had been suspicious of Boomer's motives for some time, and had 
been in a position to see Boomer's actions. He quickly came to 
Starbuck's defense. "What are you doing?" he yelled, running up to 
Frey. "I saw Captain Boomer deliberately change course and head 
directly for Apollo's viper. If it hadn't been for Starbuck, the Major 
would be dead!"

Bojay and Omega had observed the whole scene from the bridge, helpless 
to intervene.  As soon as the arrest was reported, Omega countermanded 
it, while Bojay ran to the landing bay to find out what had gone on. 
"Who ordered Lieutenant Starbuck's arrest?" he bellowed. "Whoever did 
will have to answer to me."

"You'll have to wait your turn, Bojay," Commander Adama said as he came 
within calling range.  He turned to Apollo.  "Apollo, you'd best get 
down to the brig and reassure Starbuck.  I'm sure he's frightened and 
confused by what happened."

Tigh called from a comm unit.  "Omega's arranged for his transport to 
Life Center.  Security seems to have been a little rough on him." As 
Apollo raced past him on his way to Life Center, Tigh strode over to 
the nervous Security Sergeant, face set in a grim mask.  "You, Frey," 
he ordered. "Get the names of everyone involved in the arrest.  I expect 
to see you with a complete list and an accurate account of exactly what 
happened in my office in one centar!"

***

"How's Starbuck?" Tigh asked as he approached Apollo in the Life 
Center.

Apollo exploded.  He'd been in the Life Center for 20 centons without 
being allowed to see Starbuck and he'd had just about enough.   "How 
the frak should I know?  You think Salik's told me anything?  Hades, 
no!"

"Apollo!" Adama's stern voice came from behind Tigh.  "Get control of 
yourself.  That's no way for a Colonial Officer to act!  Especially not 
in front of his young son."

Boxey peeked around from behind his grandfather.  "Hi Dad," he said 
uncertainly.

Apollo got down on one knee and held out his arms for his son.  "Boxey, 
I didn't mean to scare you.  It's all right, really it is."

Boxey nodded somberly. "It's okay, Dad," Boxey assured him.  He allowed 
his father to hold him a micron longer, then pulled away.  "Can I ask 
you a question?"

"Of course, Boxey.  What is it?"

"What are biters?"

"Biters? Where did you hear about biters?"

"When Dr. Salik commed Grandpa, he said he should come down 'cause 
they'd put biters on Uncle Starbuck."

"Biters!" Apollo exclaimed, looking up with a glare at his own father.

Adama had the grace to look embarrassed as he shrugged.  "Boxey," he 
said sternly.  "You know better than to listen in on other people's 
conversations."

Boxey shrugged.  "But Grandpa, Dad, I learn the best stuff that way!"

Both men ducked their heads and tried to smother grins.  Boxey grew 
impatient with the grownups.  He shook his father's shoulder.  "Dad!" 
he demanded.  "What are 'biters'?"

"Biters," Apollo said, spitting the word out, "are a horrible way of 
restraining a person.  They're shackles with sharp edges.  If they're 
put on tightly, or if the person wearing them struggles, they bite into 
his skin."

"That must hurt," the boy said solemnly.

"Yes, it hurts and it leaves scars. That's why they're illegal - or I 
thought they were." Apollo turned at the sound of the examining room 
door opening. It was Sergeant Frey and Apollo rounded on him.  "Biters, 
Frey? I thought they were banned."

"Not for violently deranged criminals," Sergeant Frey replied.

"Are you trying to tell me your men felt Starbuck was a violently 
deranged criminal?" Apollo took a step into Frey's personal space.

Frey took a step backward, just as a precaution.  "I didn't say that.  
I was just pointing out that they *are* legal in some cases."

"And your *fine* Security officers thought Starbuck was violent and 
deranged enough - never mind that he hadn't even been lawfully 
*accused* of any crime - to require biters?!"

Frey took another step backwards, right into Colonel Tigh.  "Yes, 
Sergeant," the Colonel murmured.  "I'd like to hear the answer to that 
question, too."

"Umm, Colonel, yes.  I, uhh, I was just going to debrief the officers," 
Frey stammered.  "I'll be sure to find out, sir."

"You do that," Tigh said, checking his chrono.  "I believe you have 
less than thirty centons to have a report for me."  He chuckled as Frey 
scurried past Apollo and Tigh without making eye contact.  Tigh 
followed them with his eyes as they exited the Life Center, picking up 
the two men "guarding" the doors on their way.  "Well," he remarked to 
Apollo, "That report should be interesting, don't you think?"  At 
Apollo's noncommittal grunt, he changed the subject.  "Ah, here's Dr. 
Salik now."

"Perhaps someone should take Boxey to the Instruction Center," were 
Salik's first words.

Apollo glared at his father over Boxey's head.  Adama sighed and put a 
hand out, but Tigh offered, "I'll take him. I have to meet the Sergeant 
shortly anyway."

"Thank you, Colonel," Adama said formally.

"Keep me informed, will you?"

"Of course."

Tigh took Boxey's hand and led him quickly out of the Life Center.  
Adama watched them go.  "Now, Doctor, what's the news that's so bad it 
couldn't be told in front of the boy?"

"As if enough hasn't been done to the man," Salik muttered, running a 
hand through the remains of his hair.

"What do you mean?" Apollo demanded.

"Now, now, it's not all that bad - what happened to him, that is," 
Salik said soothingly.  "It's just ... frak!"

Apollo and Adama looked at Salik in shock.  The man almost never 
cursed.

"What is it, Salik?  What's gotten you so riled if Starbuck isn't badly 
hurt?" Adama asked.

"Not badly hurt *physically*," Salik corrected.  "All the yahrens of 
abuse - even if we discount anything that happened during his childhood 
- first the drugging, then that ... that hiideous controlling device - 
the rapes that went on under my very nose!  Do you realize how long ago 
this all started?"

"Two yahrens, three sectars, and an odd number of cycles, I don't keep 
that close count," Apollo responded immediately.

Adama looked at his son out of the corner of his eyes and shifted 
uneasily.  "What happened *this* time, Doctor?" he asked, bringing them 
all back to the present.

"You knew the guards stunned him with their pistols before they brought 
him out of the shuttle?"

"From what I was told of how they handled him, I assumed as much," 
Adama said.

"Heavy stun.  Apparently they got in a few licks afterwards as well," 
Salik continued. "None of them had a mark on him, and I know Starbuck 
can hold his own when he wants to, so I don't think he fought them at 
all, the borays."

"Circumstantial, unfortunately," Adama murmured.

"Well, the rest of it isn't.  He must have still been out when they put 
the biters on him.  From their condition - and his - when I took them 
off, I would say they put them on just loose enough for him to think 
they were ordinary shackles when he came around."

"So he tried to move?" Apollo asked hoarsely.

Salik nodded.  "And they bit, of course.  He was smart enough to lie 
still after that, but once they're through the skin ..." He shook his 
head again.  "He'll be scarred for life, Apollo.  He's so thin, they 
bit right through to the bone at his wrists."

"What else?" Apollo demanded, knowing that alone wouldn't have pushed 
the doctor to profanity.

"Starbuck's been on the edge since that attack a sectar ago," Salik 
said. "It didn't take much to push him over it.  Especially since he 
thought the guards were authorized."

"By whom?" Adama thundered.  "A sergeant of security?"

"Omega heard them say the whole thing was authorized 'by Command'.  
They were taunting Starbuck with that, Omega said."

"What did they *do*?" Apollo cried out. "For Sagan's sake, man, tell 
me!"

"Easy, son," Adama soothed.

"It's all right, Commander," Salik said.  "I understand.  They didn't 
rape him, Major, if that's what you're worried about.  Probably only 
because Omega got there so quickly.  But they did enough."  Apollo 
glared at the doctor, fists balled. "They strip-searched him."

"That's all?" Apollo asked softly.

"It was enough," Salik repeated.  "It was enough."  He motioned towards 
the private room behind him.  "See for yourself."

Apollo didn't need a second invitation.  He rushed through the 
partially closed door and stopped short, looking down at the still 
figure on the bed.  "Starbuck," he called softly.  "Open your eyes.  
It's all right.  It's me, Apollo."

Starbuck heard Apollo's words and his eyes fluttered for a micron as he 
fought an internal battle.  But the unprovoked attack by Security had 
strengthened his fear. 'This is what will happen to me if people find 
out I'm all there,' he thought. He consciously withdrew, shutting his 
mind down.

"Oh, Starbuck, you saved my life," Apollo cried, as the eyes remained 
closed.  "I know you did it intentionally.  It's safe, love.  No one 
will hurt you any more."

Their deep connection stirred Starbuck out of his trauma-induced fog. 
He opened his eyes and looked into Apollo's concerned face.  He raised 
a bandaged arm and touched his cheek.  The cheek was warm; Apollo was 
alive and well. He opened his mouth to reassure Apollo, but his eyes 
caught sight of the bandages. 'Safe?  No.  I'm not safe,' he thought. 
Other memories assailed him.  'Not even Apollo can keep me safe.'   His 
arm fell back to the bed and he slipped deeper into a fugue state, eyes 
open but unfocused.

***

"Physically, he's fully recovered.  The scars on his wrists don't 
impede movement and they're not painful.  But even after six sectons, 
he's not really responsive.  We've tried every technique we know, 
automated options, too.  Nothing seems to help."  Salik spread his arms 
helplessly and stopped speaking.

"So what is the prognosis, Doctor?" Adama asked, a hand on Apollo's 
shoulder, asking the question his son was afraid to voice.

"He can focus on virtually anything if he's directed to do it.  It's as 
though he's somehow filtering what he hears and sees and discarding 
anything that isn't either a direct command or immediately related to 
the task at hand.  In one sentence, he needs someone to give him 
direction and can't be left alone for long periods.  There's no one I 
can think of who can give him that kind of dedicated one-on-one care.  
If he had family or were sealed ... but he's not.  And we don't have 
caregivers to spare for one person full-time.  So I recommend he be 
sent to the Senior Ship, where at least there are caregivers who are 
trained to deal with this kind of situation.

Adama was too dismayed at the setback in Starbuck's recovery to 
respond, but Apollo jumped in immediately.  "Starbuck will *not* be 
warehoused!  I'm taking him home with me.  I'll resign my commission if 
I have to, but I'll take care of him - for the rest of our lives if 
necessary!"

There was a shuffling noise in the entrance to Dr. Salik's office, 
where the three men were meeting.  All three swung their heads to see 
what it was.  In the entrance stood Jolly, with almost all the pilots 
from Red and Blue squadrons along with a fair number of Silver Spar 
pilots and bridge crew crowded behind him.  "With all due respect, 
Major," Jolly began, "I don't think you'll need to resign.  Can't have 
you doin' that anyway."  Bojay, standing behind Jolly, nudged him to 
get him back on course.  "Uh, we came to offer to help.  Any way we 
can. All of us."

Bojay took over.  "Starbuck was ... is my friend, too.  Friend to all 
of us."  He motioned behind him and all the warriors in the group 
nodded emphatically.  "We'll take shifts to relieve you, Apollo.  
Someone'll be with Bucko at all times."

"I ... I don't know what to say," Apollo stammered, rising with tears 
of gratitude in his eyes.

"I believe the appropriate phrase would be 'thank you'," Adama 
suggested, smiling as he, too, rose to face the determined warriors.  
"And, Lieutenant, make sure you include me in your roster of 
caregivers."

***

"Here you go, 'Bucko.  Drink up," Apollo said, handing Starbuck a cup 
of kaf laced with a fast-acting sedative.

After a micron's hesitation Starbuck took the drink and put it to his 
lips, obediently sipping the hot, bitter liquid.  The aftertaste was 
enough of a cue for him to rise from the couch and, still sipping, head 
for the bedroom.

Apollo followed, watching as Starbuck put the cup on the nightstand, 
undressed, put on sleep-clothes, turned down the bed, and sat on the 
edge, mixing these actions with sips of the drugged kaf.  Apollo cursed 
softly. His friend moved mechanically and his face showed no emotion, 
but clearly at some level he knew what Apollo was doing.

Finishing the drink, Starbuck held the empty cup out to Apollo and 
rolled into the bed, pulling the covers up around him.  He lay on his 
back, eyes open.

Apollo completed the ritual, leaning over to kiss Starbuck's forehead, 
then watching as the lids closed over the glazed blue eyes.  Sighing, 
Apollo straightened and walked to the door, dimming the lights before 
he closed it.

Only then did Starbuck allow his tears to fall.  Soon he would be 
thoroughly oblivious, he knew, but not quite so soon or quite so 
thoroughly as he let Apollo believe.

On the other side of the door, Apollo wiped his eyes.  There had to be 
a better way than drugging his already only half-conscious friend 
whenever he couldn't find a caregiver.  Maybe he should ask some of the 
others for suggestions.

***

They sat around Apollo's living area a secton later.  "The others," 
Apollo called them.  Starbuck sat in their midst. 'My babysitters, but 
Apollo's too kind to say that,' he thought.  He catalogued them without 
their notice: Jolly, Bojay, Sheba, and Giles.  Greenbean helped out, 
too, as did Cassiopeia. But Starbuck knew that Greenbean wasn't one for 
coming up with ideas and Cass was on duty - Starbuck had overheard her 
comm Apollo with an apology.

The Commander had dropped him off a centar ago and gone to pick up 
Boxey from Athena.  Starbuck realized he hadn't seen Athena since he'd 
been released from Life Center, although he heard her voice 
occasionally when Apollo commed her to explain why he would be late 
picking up Boxey. He missed her, but supposed that she couldn't take care 
of him. He had come out of his fog enough to take care of his physical needs 
by himself when prompted, but he was still more than his female friends 
could handle.  'Except for Cassiopeia, of course,' he mused. 'But she's 
a med tech - she's seen it all. And Sheba - can't figure out why she 
bothers.' He was glad she did though; the feminine touch was welcome 
after the male caregivers who treated him like a poorly trained pet 
most of the time. 'Not that you'd do any better if the circumstances 
were reversed,' he reminded himself. He missed Athena though.  He 
missed Boxey more. 'Never see him again,' he thought.  'I was a bad 
influence before, and now...'  He stifled a sigh.

Sitting next to him, Sheba, the only woman who could and did take care 
of him except for Cassiopeia, noticed a change in Starbuck's demeanor.  
She put an arm around him and asked softly, "Are you uncomfortable?"

Starbuck stiffened at her touch and had to replay the words.  The 
others, Cass included, would have been more blunt, asking if he needed 
to use the turboflush. But Sheba had a decidedly feminine streak, 
despite being one of the toughest warriors he knew.  He shook his head 
"no" in answer to her question.

"Okay, then," she whispered, patting his shoulder, then removing her 
arm.  "Try to let me know if you need anything."  She turned her 
attention back to the discussion, giving Apollo's querying look a 
negative head-shake.

Apollo picked up where he had left off. "I know we're all trying, but, 
with the shortage of pilots, and with me having to double as Strike 
Leader, I can't always find someone. I hate doing it, but I'm drugging 
Starbuck more and more it seems when I have to leave him."

"You know," Jolly began slowly, thinking as he spoke, "the one 
'positive' side of Starbuck's being like this is he's not afraid of 
people anymore.  "Course that's mostly because he doesn't notice them, 
but it makes it easier."

Sheba nodded. "I've been taking him to the simulators while I go 
through requal," she began, then interrupted herself at Apollo's frown.  
"No, hear me out, Apollo.  Tigh's doing the requal - that's how 
shorthanded the bridge is-"

Bojay interrupted her.  "Give it up, Sheba.  Tigh's doing your requal 
for the same reason he ordered it: to teach you a lesson."  That 
brought a laugh from everyone in the room except Starbuck.  "Face it, 
Sheba, you got caught hot-dogging and now you've got to pay for it."

"As I was saying," Sheba continued, trying to ignore the chuckles, "I 
had been bringing cushions and a blanket and kind of making a nest for 
him near whatever simulator I was in.  But he looked so bored ..."

"He always looks bored, Sheba," Apollo interrupted, gesturing at the 
blank expression on the man sitting next to her.

"Let her finish," Jolly said, in a rare display of annoyance at his CO.

Sheba nodded her thanks to Jolly and continued.  "Well, anyway, when 
the lab isn't busy, I started putting him into a simulator - whatever's 
available.  I didn't pay much attention, I mean, I keep him in sight 
and make sure he doesn't need anything, but otherwise he seems, I don't 
know, focused, maybe.  He busies himself even though I never told him 
to, like he recognizes the simulators."

Jolly picked up the thread. "I've been taking him to the Rejuvenation 
Center.  You put him in front of a game console, and he begins to play.  
Now, he still doesn't pay any attention to anything around him, but he 
seems kind of happy instead of blank."

"That's it!" Sheba exclaimed.  "He looks happy, or at least actively 
interested in what he's doing."

"Could it be he's remembering?" Bojay asked.  "I mean the simulator - 
could he be remembering flying?  Or in the Rejuvenation Center, maybe 
he thinks he's playing Pyramid or whatever."

Apollo nodded slowly.  "Could be.  It can't be anything else.  There 
just isn't ... he isn't ..." He trailed off and sighed.  "But I don't 
see how that helps solve this problem.  Salik's warned me that 
constantly sedating Starbuck could be depressing his ability to come 
out of this ... 'fugue state' he calls it." Grasping at straws, he asked, 
"Is he occupied enough to be left alone - not in a simulator, of course, but 
maybe in the Rejuvenation Center?"

"He wouldn't actually be alone there, Cap.  The attendants are there.  
We can't really ask them to take care of him, but they could keep an 
eye open, like they do with kids," Jolly suggested. He stopped short of 
telling Apollo that both he and Giles had already done just that on a
couple of occasions.  

"He has to be looked after, no question," Giles added.  "But not on a 
centon-by-centon basis.  And especially not if he's actually doing 
something."

Apollo sighed.  He didn't like leaving Starbuck alone, even when he was 
deeply unconscious.  And it just seemed *wrong* to leaving him sitting 
somewhere, staring at nothing, even for a short time.  But if what the 
others were saying was true, that he was occupying himself, at however 
shallow a level ... He shook himself free of his thoughts.  "It's worth 
a try," he said finally.

***

Apollo forced himself to bring Starbuck to the Rejuvenation Center when 
he was next called into a short meeting.  The attendants assured him 
that Starbuck was no problem.  "We're glad to help out, Major," one of 
them told him.  "The Lieutenant deserves a better hand than he's been 
dealt."

"Well, if you're sure," Apollo said, still hesitating.

"Sir," the other attendant on duty responded, "He's no trouble.  Just 
sits at whatever game he's put at and plays until someone comes to get 
him.  We make sure none of the kids bother him - although he doesn't 
seem to mind if they watch him play."

"He probably doesn't even notice," Apollo said sadly.  "All right.  But 
be sure to comm me if there's any problem, anything at all."

There were no problems and Apollo found it easier to leave Starbuck the 
next time an urgent summons came.  With a great deal of encouragement 
and prompting from their friends, Apollo began to do this whenever he 
had to go on duty and the next caretaker would pick Starbuck up there. 
He had to admit that, although he couldn't see that it made any 
difference to Starbuck, all the caregivers, including himself, felt 
less of a strain knowing they didn't have to rush quite as much.

***

"Giles will be picking you up in a little while, Bucko," Apollo told 
his silent friend, as he seated him at a Pyramid console. He ticked off 
the preparations he'd made.  Starbuck was washed and dressed, had 
eaten, and used the turboflush.  Apollo looked down at him, already 
engrossed in the game, before turning to leave, and wondered whether 
Starbuck understood or even heard what he said.

Cadet Capri, who rode with Starbuck in the shuttle on that fatal day, 
entered the Rejuvenation Center as Apollo left.  She hesitated on 
seeing Starbuck, then approached, meaning to apologize.  'Finally, he's 
alone,' she thought.  'Seems like he's always with friends, and I can't 
talk to him then.' Not wanting to interrupt his game, she stood behind 
him and watched.

After several centons, she realized that he was winning and it would be 
a long time before the game ended.  He won game after game. 'He doesn't 
seem to even notice that I'm here,' she thought, slowly coming closer 
until she was standing right next to him. Finally, she spoke up. "I've 
never seen anyone play this well.  You're amazing!"

Starbuck was startled by the vaguely familiar voice behind him.  He 
replayed the words without turning around, trying to figure out who it 
was and if he needed to respond.

"I'm sorry," Capri stammered when she saw the Lieutenant flinch.  "I 
didn't mean to surprise you."

Giles entered just then and saw the two of them. Starbuck turned 
towards the cadet standing beside and slightly behind him and gave her 
a slight smile while shaking his head. The cadet asked a question and 
Giles was surprised to see Starbuck answer by pointing at something on 
the screen.  'Starbuck doesn't seem to be upset,' he realized with some 
surprise, as he approached.

When Giles walked over, Capri turned to him and said, "Wow!  I've never 
seen anyone beat the computer so consistently.  He's really good."

Giles corrected her.  "Not just good: he was the best."

"Was?"

"You should have seen him play against real people."

"Real people are easy.  They give themselves away, no matter what the 
game is," the cadet informed Giles.

A chuckle from behind them made them turn.  Starbuck had stopped 
playing when he heard Giles' voice, knowing the younger warrior had 
come to pick him up, but had remained aware of his surroundings.  
Engrossed in first the game and then the conversation, he spoke aloud 
without realizing it.  "She's right, you know, Giles.  People have body 
language they can't hide, even if they try."

"Well, maybe that's true," Giles returned, forcing himself not to react 
to Starbuck's unusual initiative.  "But how do you win against the 
computer? It doesn't have body language."

Starbuck realized what he had done, withdrew consciously, and just 
shrugged, but the cadet picked up the conversation.  "It's a different 
skill, I bet.  Isn't it?"

Asked a direct question, Starbuck felt compelled to answer.  "In a way.  
Computers are predictable.  But even *I* couldn't win if I didn't also 
play the games well."

"Then how come I *never* win?" Giles complained.

"Well," Starbuck drawled, once again drawn into the conversation and 
past his fears, "I didn't say it was *all* skill either."

The cadet giggled as Giles glared at Starbuck in mock anger.  Starbuck 
favored her with a wink and a trademark smile - one Giles hadn't seen 
him use in yahrens.  "I guess I've been Starbucked," Giles said, 
dropping the glare for a grin.  "Ready to go?" he asked Starbuck.

Starbuck nodded and stood.  Giles wasn't convinced he needed a 
caregiver at the moment, but wasn't sure how long he would stay focused 
on the real world.

Before Giles could formulate a question that might tell him, the cadet 
interrupted, addressing Starbuck. "Do you play in here a lot?"

"Umm, yeah.  I think so," Starbuck answered uncertainly.  He glanced at 
Giles who nodded.

"Do you think you could give me some pointers some time?" the cadet 
continued.

"I ... don't know," Starbuck said, and turned to Giles.  "Would that be 
all right?"

"Sure," Giles confirmed.  "That would be fine."

"Okay," Starbuck said after searching Giles' face.  He turned back to 
the cadet.  "Next time you see me in here, come over and remind me."  
It was the best he could do; so often he didn't even know where he was.

"Okay, great.  Thanks."  The cadet returned Starbuck's nod of 
acknowledgement and Giles' farewell, then stared after the two of them.  
She didn't know what to think.  Starbuck had shown no recognition of 
her at all.  And he went from being totally charming to almost 
frightened in the blink of an eye.  But he had agreed to show her some 
of his tricks, so she'd have another chance to talk with him.  She 
still wanted to apologize, but not in front of others.

***

Sectons later, when Starbuck continued to "come out of hiding", as 
Giles thought of it, around people who didn't expect him to be 
catatonic, Giles started letting the other caregivers know what was 
going on.  Only Apollo refused to believe that Starbuck was consciously 
tutoring Cadet Capri, even after he watched them interact.

"He's just on autopilot," Apollo insisted. "His nods and pointing 
aren't for her benefit.  It's like we said about the games and 
simulators: it's a kind of echo of his real gambling style." He shook 
his head.  "I just don't see it as real."

Giles retorted, "You don't want to see it.  You like him helpless and 
dependent."

Giles expected his CO to get angry and was surprised when Apollo merely 
shook his head and said, "No, never that.  But I can't go through it 
again - hoping he's getting better, pushing him against his will, only 
to have it all crash down around us."

***

"Hey, Major, your relief shift's here!" Sheba called out as she opened 
the duty office door.

Apollo came from the inner office, a finger to his lips.  He nodded at 
the sofa where Starbuck lay curled, sleeping.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see," Sheba said softly. She looked at the 
handsome face relaxed in sleep.  Starbuck shivered and curled more 
tightly. Sheba frowned at Apollo.  "Couldn't you have raised the 
temperature, Apollo?  He's not dressed in a heavy uniform, after all."  
She reached into a cupboard, brought out a light blanket, and placed it 
over the sleeping figure.

Apollo looked chagrined.  "I didn't think of it.  I didn't mean to 
bring him here, but I couldn't find anyone to watch him." They both 
smiled as Starbuck, feeling warmer, uncurled and snuggled into the 
blanket.

"Why didn't you take him to the Rejuvenation Center?" Sheba asked.

"I was going to," Apollo said.  "No, really," he said defensively at 
her skeptical look.  "But then I thought I'd take him out to eat - 
haven't done that in a long time, and I thought maybe he'd like it; he 
seemed to be pretty focused today."

"Did he like it?"

Apollo smiled.  "Yeah.  He did.  Even looked at the menu and pointed at 
a picture of what he wanted." Apollo paused.  'Of course he didn't 
*say* anything.  Giles says he talks to Capri, even says a few words to 
him.  But not to me.'

Sheba waited patiently with understanding in her eyes until Apollo came 
out of his reverie.

"We shared a pitcher of grog," Apollo continued, "and I could tell that 
did him in.  I think the last time he had spirits was at ... " He shook 
his head sadly.  "Must have been at the Exodus feast."  He sighed.  
"Anyway, I didn't think it was a good idea to leave him when he was
groggy, so I brought him here.  He must have been looking at this book 
when he fell asleep."  Apollo indicated a book lying on the floor.

Sheba bent to read the title. "Strategies for Successful Extraction 
from Behind Enemy Lines," she read aloud. "Sounds like the sort of 
thing Bucko would pick up."

Apollo frowned.  "I don't think he actually reads, Sheba.  Somebody 
must have left it on the couch and he picked it up and turned the 
pages. He'll do that at home, too.  A memory of what one does with a 
paper book."

Sheba pressed her lips together, keeping her disagreement in; Apollo 
*would not* see progress.

"Well, as long as he's still sleeping, I can get some more paperwork 
done," Apollo continued, turning back to the office.

"I'll help," Sheba volunteered, and followed.

***

Starbuck woke to the sound of murmured voices.  It took him several 
microns to figure out where he was and that he must have fallen asleep.  
It took him no time after that to identify the voices as Apollo and 
Sheba working in the office behind him.  The book he had been reading 
lay on the floor. 'Must have fallen off my lap,' he thought, reaching 
for it.  He rearranged himself into a sitting position and found his 
place in the book, keeping one ear to the conversation from the room 
beyond - it wouldn't do to get caught reading; there was no telling 
what would happen if Apollo realized he was aware.  Apollo had made 
that clear when he let Security take Starbuck. 'Didn't leave me there 
long enough for them to really hurt me, just long enough for me to get 
the message,' Starbuck reflected. 'I can't come back; I can't be 
trusted if I'm *all there*.'

Sheba came out to get a new ledger from the supply cabinet and paused 
to watch Starbuck as he intently traced a complex escape route diagram 
with one finger, stopping to tap his finger at certain junction points. 
'So he doesn't actually read?' she thought. 'I wonder whether Apollo's 
really that deep in denial or Starbuck doesn't want him to know. One 
way to find out.'  She smiled to herself and brushed against the back 
of the sofa.

Starbuck made his finger follow the line it was on without further 
pause to its terminus then turned the page. The next few pages were all 
text and he kept turning pages until he came to another diagram.  He 
traced the darkest line on that diagram and then turned pages again.

Sheba continued to the supply cabinet and pulled out the ledger, then 
went back past the blond who continued his seemingly rote perusal of 
the book until she was gone.  He didn't see her turn and watch him leaf 
back to the diagram he had been studying when she made her presence 
known. 'Well,' Sheba thought, 'That answers that question. But why are 
you hiding, Starbuck?'

***

"Ah, you're awake," Apollo greeted his friend as he and Sheba came out 
of the office.  "Ready to go home?"  Not waiting for an answer, he 
continued, "I'll pack up and be right out."

Sheba watched from the doorway as Starbuck marked his place in the book 
and put it back on the shelf from which he had taken it.  Then he bent 
to put his shoes on and, rising, began folding the blanket.

"You don't have to do that, Starbuck," Sheba said walking into the 
room.

Starbuck instantly put the blanket down and backed away from it, hands 
out defensively.

"No, no, I didn't mean you were doing anything wrong," Sheba said 
quickly.  "I just meant it as a sort of 'thank you'.  Most of the men 
would just leave it in a heap."

Starbuck looked at her warily, then nodded and picked the blanket back 
up.  He finished folding it and put it back in its place.

"Okay, let's go," Apollo said as he strode out of the office.  Starbuck 
dutifully followed him, looking back over his shoulder at Sheba as he 
passed through the doorway, a troubled expression on his face.

"Don't worry, Bucko," Sheba said softly.  "Whatever you're doing, I 
won't give you away."

Starbuck gave her a quick, uncertain smile, wondering how long it would 
be before Apollo moved him out to make room for Sheba. 'He can't do 
without forever. Maybe he spends time with her when he sedates me, or 
when I'm with Giles or Jolly.' Starbuck tried to tell himself it didn't
matter, that he didn't care.

"Come on, Starbuck," Apollo's voice came from the end of the hall.

Starbuck nodded his thanks to Sheba, then turned and hurried to catch 
up with the Major.  However much time he had left with the man he 
loved, it would have to be enough.

***

Starbuck watched Giles watching Capri.  He could see them both clearly 
in the reflection of the monitor: the pretty Cadet so intent on 
Starbuck's strategy she never noticed his caretaker, Giles so attracted 
to Capri that Starbuck frequently had to fake a yawn to remind the man 
to take him home.  'Gotta do something about that,' Starbuck thought. 
'And I've got to figure out what Capri's angle is, too.' While he was 
thinking about how to get the two of them together, he was also 
effortlessly beating the computer.

"Wow!  Did you see that, Giles?" Capri exclaimed.  "Now how did you 
know which hand had the capstone, Starbuck?"

Giles came closer, using Capri's rhetorical question as an excuse.  
"What miracle of man against machine did you pull off this time, 
Bucko?" he asked.

Starbuck shook his head.  "Watch," he said hesitantly, rerunning the 
game, "See how Windward is tossing everything but the major suit?  It's 
a clear giveaway that the capstone in that suit's unprotected."

"I guess I just wasn't watching close enough," Capri said shaking her 
short locks.

Starbuck caught Giles watching her hair swing, entranced.  "It's easy, 
isn't it, Giles?" Starbuck asked, startling the other man.

"Huh?  Um, yeah.  I mean, no." Giles brain finished rerunning the 
conversation.  "It's only easy for you, Bucko.  Anyway, I've got duty 
in half a centar, so..."

Starbuck nodded and rose. Capri watched his eyes unfocus and his 
posture slump as he followed Giles out.  'He turns himself on and off 
like a light on a timer,' she thought.  'Wonder what game he's playing 
and why?'  She shrugged and turned back to the monitor to study the 
last hand Starbuck had won.

On the way to the launch bay, where Giles would hand Starbuck off to 
Jolly, Starbuck fought with himself. Capri needed to understand that he 
wasn't ... normal, whole, whatever label you wanted to put on it. 'You 
could always work your way back,' one part of him argued.

'Yeah,' the other part of him said sarcastically. 'Then they'd slap 
that controller on you - probably fixed right this time - to make sure 
you stayed docile.  Or maybe they'd just let Security finish what they 
started.'

'No, the Commander said they knew what happened,' the first side 
insisted.

'Sure,' the other part replied. 'And when did you last see Boxey?  When 
has anyone left you by yourself without drugging you?  Oh, yeah, they 
trust you.  As long as you're brain-dead they trust you.'

And that was exactly why he couldn't tell her.  Someone had to though.  
Could he even *ask* Giles?  It was much easier to defocus, to withdraw, 
than to refocus when he wasn't sure it was safe. 'C'mon Bucko, it's 
gotta be done,' he urged himself.  "Uh, Giles?"  Starbuck stopped and 
put one hand on the wall, staring at his shoe intently.

"What's wrong?  Are you ill?"  Giles was instantly attentive.

"No, no, I'm fine."  Starbuck's examination of the innocent shoe 
continued.  "I ... wondered ... if," he couldn't seem to make the words 
come out of his mouth. "That is, I wanted to ask ... a favor."

Giles waited, then realized Starbuck was waiting for a response.  
"Sure, Starbuck.  Just name it."

"It's Capri.  She, umm, she doesn't know ... about me.  She thinks ... 
there's nothing wrong..."

"There *is* nothing wrong, Bucko.  You're just getting over a trauma, 
like the doctors say."

Starbuck shook his head.  "We both know better than that, Giles," he 
said softly.  "Could you, well, explain it to her?  About what I am, I 
mean."

"Is she bothering you?  I can just tell her to back off."

Starbuck shook his head again.  This was so hard he was sorry he'd 
begun.  "No, please.  That is, unless I shouldn't be ..." he waved his 
hand vaguely, "interacting with her."  He risked a glance towards 
Giles' face, to assess the truth.

"Why not? But I don't understand what you want me to tell her."

Giles had never been the brightest warrior in the barracks, Starbuck 
reflected.  But he was well-intentioned.  He took a deep breath and 
tried to explain.  "It's not fair to her to think she's ... whatever 
... with something *human*.  She should, she should know what I am."  
'There. I've said it,' Starbuck thought closing his eyes. 'Let Giles 
know that I remember, that I know ...' He sagged against the wall and 
fought back the urge to curl up in a ball right there in the 
passageway.

'Frak!' Giles thought, looking around for someone who could deal with 
Starbuck better than he could.  No one was around except a few 
unfamiliar techs. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "I'll maybe take her 
down to the OC for a cup of kaf and make sure she realizes who you are 
and what you've been through." He put a gentle hand on Starbuck's 
shoulder, removing it instantly when the blond cringed away with a 
whimper.

"Starbuck? Can you hear me?"  After a micron, the blond nodded.  "I'll 
talk to her; it's all right. Can you walk with me to the launch bay?"  
Giles waited until Starbuck sighed deeply and straightened, still 
holding the wall.

Starbuck blinked his eyes open and pushed away from the bulkhead.  
"Thanks," he whispered.  "I know I should..." he trailed off, and 
repeated, "Thanks."  Giles smiled reassuringly at him and started 
slowly towards the launch bay.  Starbuck trailed after him, head down.

He *did* feel safe with Giles, more than any of the others who looked 
after him.  And Giles spent more time *with* him, not just dropping him 
off somewhere or sedating him.  Maybe that was why.  Maybe it was 
because Giles wasn't as observant as, say, Sheba.

Starbuck shivered.  Sheba.  He had slipped up there.  And she wanted 
Apollo - always had.  Well, he couldn't expect Apollo to be satisfied 
with a platonic relationship forever.  And Apollo would never take 
advantage of him in his "damaged" condition.  'Be honest,' Starbuck
commanded himself.  'He can hardly bear to touch you. Damaged! 
Encrusted in filth, more like.  Why should he want you?  No, Bucko, if 
you want to stretch out your time with Apollo, you've got to stop 
trying - and pray Sheba will keep her promise.'

***

"I'm your babysitter tonight," Capri announced.  Starbuck looked up and 
something, possibly regret that Capri knew what he was now, passed 
across his face before he blanked his expression and nodded.  "Let's go 
to your quarters."

Without protest Starbuck rose and followed Capri to Apollo's quarters.  
She paused in front of the door, waiting.  After a micron, he realized 
she didn't have the entry code. He keyed it in with a faint frown.  If 
Capri was now assigned as one of his caregivers, he thought, wouldn't
Apollo have given her the code? He shrugged mentally and walked to his 
usual place in the corner of the couch and sat.

Capri stared at him for a micron and then began pacing.  She mentally 
tried out several opening statements and discarded them.  By the time 
she stopped in front of him, Starbuck was watching her warily.  "Look, 
when I first approached you in the Rejuvenation Center, I wanted to 
apologize," she began.

"Why?" Starbuck said, bewildered.

"I knew that you'd gotten beaten up - at least that's what the rumor 
mill said - when you were arrested."  Starbuck shrugged noncommittally. 
"And I was the one that... " She faltered. "I mean the guards took you 
because ... because of what I told them.  So I wanted to apologize." 
She sat on the edge of the opposite end of the couch and looked at her 
hands.

"Okay."  Starbuck didn't quite see where this was going.

"But then you didn't seem to recognize me."  Starbuck shook his head in 
agreement.  "And you were so damn good at the games."  She looked 
embarrassed.  "I got sidetracked.  Probably because I wanted to get 
sidetracked.  What I should have done was told you who I was." She got 
up and started pacing again.

"I knew who you were," Starbuck said softly.  "Not at first, but once I 
looked at you."

Capri stopped right in front of him.  "Then why didn't you say 
something?" she yelled.

Starbuck cringed away from her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, trying not 
to retreat. The edges of his vision were graying. "I ... couldn't."

"Well, I know that now," Capri snorted, missing his reactions entirely.  
"But that just makes it worse.  You're ... like you are because of me.  
Because I ran out like a witless child and blurted everything out 
without understanding any of it."

"No." Starbuck spoke firmly and Capri sat down abruptly.  "You did 
exactly the right thing.  You couldn't possibly know that I hadn't just 
murdered ... him.  I didn't explain; I just pushed you away and aimed 
the viper right at him."

"But I didn't ask!  I could have - should have given you the chance to 
explain!"  Capri wailed.  "And look what happened to you!"

"Stop it!" Starbuck ordered, jumping up and standing over her.  "It's 
not your fault - it's just my fate.   It's what happens to me every 
time."

Giles burst in just then and took in the two of them: Capri sitting on 
the couch in tears, Starbuck looming over her. "What the frak's going 
on here?" he demanded pulling Starbuck away from Capri.

That was all it took to end Starbuck's display of confidence. "No, no, 
please, Giles.  Please! I didn't - I didn't do anything," he begged. He 
trembled in the other man's hands, terrified.

Capri jumped up and tried to pry Giles' hands off Starbuck's arms.  
"What are you doing?" She hollered. "Let him go!  You're scaring him!"

Giles was totally confused now.  He dropped his hands and looked at her 
helplessly.  Starbuck collapsed to the floor and curled up, rocking 
silently. "Oh. Lords," Giles moaned, looking from Capri to Starbuck.  
Capri was furious and Starbuck looked like he had regressed completely.
'Apollo's gonna kill me,' Giles thought, 'if I don't save him the 
trouble.' A stroke of brilliance came to him and he rushed to the comm 
unit to call Cassiopeia.

Cass listened to the panicked warrior, then calmly recommended sedating 
Starbuck. Giles repeated her directions for finding and administering 
the sedative, thanked her, and signed off.  He returned to the living 
area to find Capri sitting on the floor next to Starbuck and speaking 
softly to him.  Starbuck had stopped rocking, but was still lying 
curled up and unresponsive.

Giles joined Capri and together they coaxed Starbuck out of his mental 
retreat. Blearily Starbuck sat up and asked, "Not angry?"

"No, Starbuck," Giles assured him.  "No one's angry at you.  I came to 
get you and when I found out Capri had brought you here I got scared 
something had happened to you.  Then when I came in ... well, I 
misjudged the situation.  I'm really sorry, Starbuck.  I don't know 
what I was thinking - I know better than to think you'd attack anyone.  
Can you forgive me?"

"Seems to be a lot of apologizing going on," Starbuck mumbled.  "All 
unnecessary.  You *can't* know better.  Look at my history - the things 
I've done."  He shook his head.

"You weren't yourself," Giles insisted, careful to keep his voice down.  
"Those things - that wasn't you.  No one believes you would do anything 
like that on your own."

'No one?' Starbuck responded silently.  'Change that to everyone.  As 
long as I'm docile and brain-dead, it's okay. I've got to remember 
that.'

"It's late," Giles said when it became apparent that Starbuck wasn't 
going to say any more.  "Why don't I help you get ready for bed?"

Starbuck nodded and let Giles help him up.  Giles turned to Capri. 
"Would you mind waiting for a few centons while  he settles in? The 
Major's on an exploratory swing out in front of the Fleet, so I'll be 
here until next cycle.  If you don't have any plans..."

"Sure, I'll wait for you. My only plans were to learn some more card-
sharking. Maybe I can beat you at Pyramid instead."

In the bedroom, Giles got Starbuck moving in his bedtime routine.  As 
Starbuck slowly got ready for sleep cycle, his thoughts sluggishly came 
back to Giles' obvious interest in Capri. A safe subject, he realized, 
and one that distracted him from his fears.  From Capri's response just
now, she returned the interest.  Starbuck wondered whether Giles would 
follow through.  'Maybe I could give him a little push.'

Giles brought Starbuck a sedative-laced cup of warm lecha.  Starbuck 
took it readily, drank it down, and settled in.  Giles watched his 
friend relax and turned to quietly leave the room. As he reached the 
doorway, Starbuck called to him and he turned around.

Starbuck gave Giles a wink and nodded towards the living area: "Now's 
your chance.  I'll be totally out of it within five centons.  Have 
fun!" He yawned, rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes. 'There, 
that wasn't so hard,' he congratulated himself. 'I just have to 
remember to be careful around Apollo,' he thought sleepily.

Giles left, shaking his head, but thought, 'Maybe I should take 
Starbuck's advice and let Capri know I'm interested.' He chuckled, now 
fully convinced that Starbuck was pretending to be unaware of what went 
on around him.  'I can't confront him - that might really send him back
inside himself.  And telling Apollo is a waste of breath. But maybe I 
can go over the Major's head - to the Commander.'  Happy with his 
decisions, Giles decided to act on both of them - starting with Capri.

***

Giles and Adama watched as Starbuck carefully replayed yet another hand 
for Capri.  Adama nodded and turned to Giles.  "Yes, I see what you're 
saying.  This happens *every* time?"

"Yes, sir.  He's never unresponsive in here.  Sheba, I mean Captain 
Sheba, says it's the same in the simulators.  He's *there*."

"So I've heard," Adama murmured.  "Well, let's see what we can do to 
push things a bit, shall we?"  He strode toward the pair he'd been 
observing, Giles following with a smile on his face.

"I see it now, but I didn't when you played it," Capri was saying as 
Adama stepped up to them.

Starbuck gestured at the monitor, about to explain the cues, when Adama 
interrupted.  "You know, Starbuck, it seems to me that the Cadet here 
may need some firsthand experience."

"Sir?" Capri squeaked, coming to rigid attention.

Starbuck rose and began to come to attention, too, but more slowly, as 
if following Capri's lead.

Adama wasn't fooled. "As you were," he said.  Starbuck slid back into 
his seat at the console automatically, before the Cadet even began to 
go to parade rest. Adama smiled to himself and addressed Starbuck. 
"What I was saying was that Cadet ..."

"Capri, sir," Starbuck responded. 'Frak!' he cursed himself. 'You just 
fell into a trap, Bucko.  They'll have you in biters again now!' But at 
the same time he realized that, since it was too late, he might as well 
continue the conversation.  "Capri, Commander Adama."

"Yes. Sir.  Of course I recognized you, Commander.  Sir."

"Ahh, Capri, either 'sir' or 'commander'; you don't need to use both," 
Starbuck suggested. "So, Commander," he said in the easygoing manner 
that had been his trademark for yahrens, but hadn't been seen or heard 
in many sectars, "Are you suggesting the Cadet indulge in ... 
gambling?"

"That would seem to be the obvious way to get experience, Lieutenant," 
Adama returned in the same tone. He could tell by Starbuck's darting 
eyes and the way one hand gripped the edge of the console white-
knuckled that his relaxed air was a thin facade, but he went along with 
it; it was most certainly preferable to the unfocused zombie Starbuck 
had become.  "But I doubt the Cadet has the cubits for any of the 
chanceries."

"But sir, surely you aren't suggesting a *private* game?" Starbuck put 
a hand to his chest dramatically, giving himself fully to his old 
persona. "That would be *illegal*." His mouth quirked, but he otherwise 
maintained a straight face. He looked past Adama at Giles.  "Unless the 
rules of conduct changed while I was in my little fantasy world?"

"Not as far as I know, Bucko," Giles replied easily.

Adama noted the exchange with interest, but responded to the question 
literally. "Well, now, a private game is only illegal if items of more 
than nominal value are exchanged.  Surely a game could be played 
without high stakes," Adama suggested.  He met the eyes of each of the 
three warriors in turn.  The cadet was still stunned, Giles was 
surprised but amused, and Starbuck was ... the best word, Adama 
decided, would be 'wary'.  "Shall we say two cycles from now in my 
quarters? I believe Blue Squadron is on furlong then."

"Yes, sir," Giles confirmed.

Starbuck looked from Adama to Giles, uncertainty in his eyes. He'd 
nearly given himself away with Adama. If Apollo wanted him kept down, 
could the Commander feel any differently? 'Watch yourself, Bucko,' he 
cautioned.

Giles caught Starbuck's look. "I'll pick you up, Starbuck," he said, 
thinking the Lieutenant was worried about the logistics.

"Good," Adama said.  "And you, Cadet? Are you available?"

"I'd be honored, sir," Capri managed to respond.

"Then it's settled. I'll see you all at 1400 two cycles from now."

***

"Ah, there you are, Tigh.  And you brought the grog and ambrosa?" Adama 
greeted his old friend as he opened the door.

"Yes, Adama, of course.  But why didn't you just order it from the OC?"  
Tigh's confusion was plain on his face as he walked into Adama's 
quarters and saw the living area set up for - no, it couldn't be, but 
it looked like it was set up for a private gaming session. He turned to 
his commanding officer.  "Adama?  What's going on?"

"Here, let me take that grog and put it up to chill.  Set the ambrosa 
over on the bar, there," Adama instructed.  Coming back from the 
kitchen area, he answered Tigh's question with one of his own.  "When 
was the last time you took part in a friendly game of Pyramid, 
Colonel?"

"A *friendly* game?  Well, I ... Commander!  You know private gambling 
is prohibited."

"Ah but this is for ... rehabilitative purposes, Colonel."  At Tigh's 
skeptical look, he added, "And no cubits will be exchanged."

"Rehabilitative?" Tigh echoed.  "Starbuck?"  Adama nodded. "Does Apollo 
know?" Adama just stared at him.  "Oh, Adama," Tigh issued a fervent 
plea, knowing all the while it would do no good. "You should leave well 
enough alone.  Let Apollo ..."

"My son is far too concerned about the Lieutenant's fragile mental 
state to even consider such a thing.  And even more rigid about 
protocol and rules of conduct than you are," Adama replied. "In any 
case, all that will happen is we'll have an informal Pyramid game in my 
quarters - a onetime thing - while Apollo is with Boxey." The entrance 
chime sounded, interrupting the conversation.

"Ah, here they are now," Adama said going to the door.  "Come in, come 
in. You're right on time.  Giles, there's grog in the chiller in the 
kitchen; Starbuck, ambrosa's on the bar - you know the way, I believe? 
Cadet Capri, I'm afraid I don't know your preference, my dear, but if
you'll just tell me what you'd like - oh, have you met Colonel Tigh?" 
Adama ushered the somewhat overwhelmed cadet into the living area. Tigh 
bowed slightly acknowledging the introduction and followed them.  He 
shook his head chuckling to himself at the transformation of the Fleet 
Commander into a genial host.

As the group settled around the table, Tigh surveyed them.  Giles drank 
his grog from the bottle, not quite at ease, but getting there.  The 
cadet, what was her name? sat to Adama's right, nervously stirred her 
drink as Adama made small talk with her.  Starbuck leaned back in his 
seat next to her sipping his small glass of ambrosa slowly, and 
observing the group dynamics as closely as Tigh was.  Their eyes met 
and Tigh winked at him; after a micron's hesitation, Starbuck smiled 
slightly over the rim of his glass and toasted Tigh silently in return.

A centare later, Giles was fully relaxed and Capri had unwound enough 
to start concentrating on the game.  Starbuck's role was that of 
advisor to Capri, freeing him from having to directly interact with the 
other players. 'A less stressful position,' Tigh decided approvingly. 
He turned his attention to Adama, who was dealing. 'He's really 
enjoying this,' Tight realized, as he watched his old friend expertly 
flip the cards and call them as they fell.

When they broke up, Tigh was unsurprised to hear Adama suggest that 
they meet again.  "'A onetime thing', old friend?" he murmured, hanging 
back as Adama saw the others out.  Adama merely smiled.

***

"What is he doing here?" Apollo whispered as he walked into Adama's 
quarters, a sleeping Boxey on his shoulder.

"What does it look like?" Adama asked.

Apollo looked into the office area where Starbuck sat, clearly 
engrossed in something on the computer. "Father, he just plays at 
computers.  He's just going through the motions - he doesn't *think* 
anymore."  Apollo's voice was low, but anguished.

Adama looked at the sheaf of papers in his hand.  "Ah, well then, it's 
a good thing he isn't *thinking* about what he's doing or he could 
replace me and the entire Council."

"What are you talking about?" Apollo queried, clearly annoyed.

Adama took Boxey from Apollo's arms and handed him the papers.  "Well, 
if this is what he produces when he's 'just going through the motions,' 
I'd say we're lucky that's all he's doing or he'd have taken over the 
Council by now."

"Starbuck came up with this recommendation?" Adama nodded.  "The 
conclusion is obvious, especially the way he walks you through it," 
Apollo said admiringly. "But it would have taken me sectons to see the 
trend. How long has he been working on it?"

"I gave him the raw data to read while I cleaned up after last secton's 
game." Adama continued quickly, not giving Apollo the opportunity to 
voice his disapproval of the regularly scheduled Pyramid games.  "He 
pointed out the anomalies when he handed it back to me that night, just
before I took him home. Tigh and I *had* been working on it for sectons 
and it took us almost three cycles of study to find all the anomalies.  
We still hadn't seen a pattern.  When I picked him up from the 
Rejuvenation Center the next cycle, he asked if he could look at it 
again, so I brought him up here - don't worry, Boxey was in learning 
period.  When I gave him the data again, I asked him why he wanted it, 
and he told me he had been thinking about it and thought he saw a 
pattern to the anomalies.  He'd tried to run some sims on the 
Rejuvenation Center computers, but he wasn't sure he remembered all the 
data points.  He's been working on it here ever since.  He printed this 
out and handed it to me about a centar ago."  Adama paused and shifted 
Boxey to his other shoulder.  The boy murmured and nuzzled his 
grandfather, but didn't wake up.  "Tigh suggested that he might have 
the time to track back further in the scans and determine when this all 
started.  So that's what he's been doing. I've been watching over his 
shoulder."  He coughed, embarrassed.  "I'm afraid I lost track of 
time."

"Well, luckily, Boxey's asleep," Apollo began.

"'Pol? Can I just look at him?" a soft voice interrupted.  The look on 
Starbuck's face nearly broke Adama's heart.  He shifted Boxey to offer 
him to Starbuck, but Apollo made a move to stop him.  "It's okay," 
Starbuck said stepping back hastily.  "I just wanted to look at him; 
it's been so long since I've seen him.  I won't touch him - I promise."

"Of course you can," Apollo said forcing himself to smile at his 
friend.  "I don't want you to hurt yourself, that's all. He's grown and 
he's heavier than you might remember."

Starbuck nodded, hands behind his back, and stared wistfully at the 
sleeping boy.  Clearly he didn't believe Apollo's explanation. Starbuck 
stared almost hungrily at Boxey for a centon.  "Thanks, 'Pol.  I 
appreciate it."  He turned away and walked back to the office area.

"Why don't you put him to bed?" Adama's brusque voice called Apollo's 
attention away from Starbuck's slumped shoulders and bowed head. Apollo 
berated himself for thoughtlessly hurting the man he loved. Avoiding 
his father's angry eyes, he took his son in his arms and headed towards 
the bedrooms.

***

They were halfway back to Apollo's quarters before he realized what had 
happened. He stopped short and turned to the quiet man submissively 
following him.  "You spoke to me!" he said.  "You haven't done that 
since ..."

"Since I killed Boomer," Starbuck finished for him, his voice barely 
above a whisper.  "I ... I didn't mean to ... to speak up.  I'm sorry." 
He clamped his mouth shut, realizing he was only making matters worse 
by verbalizing.

"No!" Apollo cried out, shaking the blond by the shoulders in 
frustration.  "That's just it.  You speak to everyone else - maybe not 
a lot, but you've been completely silent around me until now.  I don't 
understand why, but I don't want you to stop speaking!"

"'Pol, please," Starbuck whimpered, unable to connect Apollo's violent 
actions with his encouraging words.  "I'll do what you want, you don't 
have to ... please don't hurt me."

Apollo let go over his friend's shoulders abruptly at the plea.  
Starbuck stumbled back, off-balance, and then stood still, blue eyes 
wide with fright.  Apollo could see his thumbprints on Starbuck's neck.

"Oh Starbuck, I'm so sorry!" Apollo reached out, but dropped his arm 
when Starbuck cringed back, stumbling again, catching himself against 
the bulkhead.  "I won't hurt you," Apollo said in a quiet voice. 
"Lords, Starbuck, I'd never purposely hurt you."

The blond nodded, but wrapped his arms around his body to quell the 
tremors shaking it.

"You don't believe me," Apollo said sadly.  "I can understand that.  I 
treat you as if you don't feel anything, just because you don't show 
it, don't I? I have to stop doing that."

The blond shrugged. "You're just doing what's best for me," he said 
softly.  "I know that."

"Am I?" Apollo wondered aloud.  "I thought I was, even when everyone 
was telling me I was wrong.  Maybe I was just doing what was easiest 
for me." Starbuck didn't reply, just watched him warily. Apollo rubbed 
a hand over his eyes.  "I have to think.  And not out here in the 
passageway.  Let's go home, okay?"  He held out his hand again, but 
didn't reach to touch Starbuck.  Starbuck unwrapped his arms from his 
body and took the outstretched hand, letting Apollo lead him home.

***

Starbuck was dreaming.  And somehow, even asleep he knew it was a 
dream. He dreamt that Apollo lay down beside him and took him in his 
arms, not just to comfort him after a nightmare, but to love him. The 
loving was passionate yet gentle, nothing like the brutal sex of his 
nightmares - of his memories.  Starbuck murmured in his sleep, a smile 
relaxing his gaunt features.  His body responded to the phantom 
stimulus.  "Oh, Apollo!" he called out, as his body stiffened in 
climax.

Apollo came running at Starbuck's cry.  In the low light he could see 
Starbuck blinking awake, a confused look on his face.  "Shh, it's all 
right," he soothed, rubbing the blond's back.  "You've just had a 
nightmare."

Starbuck rolled onto his side and shook his head. "Not a nightmare," he 
said sleepily.  His supporting hand touched sticky wetness on the 
sheets. "Made a mess," he mumbled.  "Sorry."

"It's all right," Apollo repeated.  "It's not the first time.  Stay 
still and I'll get you cleaned up in no time."  He rose and headed to 
the turbowash to get a damp cloth and towel.

"'Pol?" Starbuck's hesitant voice stopped Apollo in his tracks.

"It's all ri..." Apollo stopped the repetition in mid-word when he saw 
Starbuck's expression.  "What is it, Bucko?" he asked.

"Could I ... could I clean myself up?  Please?" The blond dropped his 
eyes and reddened.

"Of course," Apollo replied quickly.  "Go ahead." He stood aside as 
Starbuck rose a little woozily, pulled a clean pair of sleep pants from 
a drawer, and made his way to the turbowash. He was about to ask 
whether Starbuck needed any help, when the blond spoke again.

"May I close the door?" He knew he was pushing it, but the words were 
out of his mouth before he could stop them.

The plea for a privacy anyone else would have taken for granted made 
tears spring to Apollo's eyes.  Starbuck hadn't had any privacy for 
yahrens. 'And he's never complained or even asked,' Apollo realized. 
Afraid his voice would give him away, he just nodded his assent.

"Th ... Thank you," Starbuck said, somewhat surprised: he'd expected a 
negative response.

Apollo had changed the sheets and gotten his own sleepwear on by the 
time Starbuck came out of the turbowash.  "I think I'll hit the sack, 
too," he said, as he tucked the blankets in.  "Do you want something to 
help you get back to sleep?"

Starbuck shook his head.  "It wasn't a nightmare," he repeated. "I know 
I made a mess, but it was a good dream."  As he said it a look of 
painful longing crossed his face.

Apollo wanted to reach out and brush the look from his face, but 
refrained.  Starbuck did not react well to being touched.  "Is there 
anything I *can* do for you?" he asked instead.

Starbuck opened his mouth to ask Apollo to stay with him, but changed 
his mind. He'd pushed things dangerously far already.  He converted the 
opened mouth from the beginning of speech into a yawn and shook his 
head.

Apollo searched for a reason to delay, but couldn't find one.  "Well, 
good night, then," he said reluctantly and slowly walked out, hoping 
Starbuck would call him back.

Starbuck watched him go with an ache inside.  He rolled over and buried 
his head in his pillow, muffling his quiet sobs, trying to remind 
himself to be grateful for what he had.

In the outer room, Apollo lay on the couch wrapped in a comforter, his 
tears soaking the cushion under his head, as he struggled to convince 
himself that just having Starbuck alive in the next room was enough.

***

Starbuck hesitated at the door to the Rejuvenation Center.  Apollo, 
half-turned to go to the Duty Office, sensed something amiss and 
waited. He'd learned the hard way that prompting Starbuck only resulted 
in retreat.

"Umm, Apollo?" Apollo turned back towards the soft voice and smiled, 
but kept his silence.  "Do you think ... that is, would you have some 
time ... Frak!" This time Apollo had to bite the inside of his cheek to 
keep from speaking in the silence that followed the aborted question.  
Finally Starbuck spoke again.  "Could we have a ... a private 
conversation, maybe in your office?  Soon?"

"Would you like to come with me now?" Apollo offered, trying to keep 
his voice neutral.

"You're not too busy?"

"This morning would actually be good," Apollo answered.  "No 
appointments, no reviews.  We wouldn't be interrupted."

"That would be ... good," Starbuck pronounced gravely.

"Let's go then."

Apollo sat down behind his desk and motioned Starbuck into the chair 
opposite. He felt a pang of grief as he realized how long it had been 
since the two men had sat that way.  "What's up, Bucko?" he asked.

Starbuck fidgeted in the seat.  He hadn't even attempted to talk to 
Apollo in Apollo's quarters - he still didn't think of them as "their" 
quarters, although that's how Apollo always referred to them - because 
he felt at such a disadvantage there: he was the homeless orphan again,
unwanted, taken in out of pity. The familiarity of this setting, 
however, was distracting him.  When had he last been here? He shook his 
head, realizing he really didn't know. Time passage had been fuzzy 
since the control device was first installed. "Umm, 'Pol?  Please don't 
think I'm crazy..." A ghost of the famous Starbuck grin crossed his face. 
"Okay, you already do, but this isn't part of it.  How long has it been 
since we were *here*?"

Apollo didn't mistake his meaning.  After all, he'd been thinking the 
same thing.  Starbuck probably couldn't add up the time, he realized. 
"Well, since I was promoted from Captain? That would be going on three 
yahrens."

"That's a long time," Starbuck said somberly.  "I mean, I knew it had 
been a while, but three *yahrens*?  I never asked before, did I?" 
Apollo shook his head. "Didn't think so.  I could keep track of the 
time when I was on duty, but I wasn't really sure how long I'd been ... 
controlled. Probably should have asked, but it didn't seem important."

"I'm not sure you could have asked, Bucko," Apollo said quietly.

"No. Maybe not," Starbuck conceded.  He shifted in his seat.  "Anyway, 
that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Okay."  Apollo struggled to remain noncommittal.

"Commander Adama asked me if I'd accept the position of aide on 
strategic planning - officially, that is," Starbuck said quickly, 
before he lost his nerve.

Apollo nodded. "I suspected he would sooner or later. What did you 
say?"

Starbuck reddened again and looked down at his hands, twisting in his 
lap.  "I'm not sure ... I think, no, I know.  I panicked.  Just went 
back inside, you know?" He tapped his temple in clarification.

"You *know* when you do that?"

"Not always.  Sometimes though.  Sometimes I do it on purpose," 
Starbuck admitted softly.  "Not this time though.  I just ... I mean, I 
know I don't know *when* it is most of the time, sometimes I'm not real 
sure *where* I am or how I got there. But mostly, around my 
babysitters..."

"Caregivers," Apollo corrected automatically.

"Whatever you want to call them," Starbuck said.  "Around them, or 
around people who don't expect anything, don't know me, I'm ... okay." 
He hesitated and looked at Apollo in a silent plea for the truth.  "At 
least I think I am."

"That's what they tell me," Apollo confirmed.  "I can't say that's 
always true when you're with me though."

"But, the Commander, when he got me calmed down and brought me back 
'out', he still wanted me as his aide." Starbuck sounded amazed.  "He 
said I should think about it when I could.  So I did and ... that's why 
I wanted to talk to you."

Apollo waited, keeping his expression neutral.

When Starbuck realized there would be no outburst, he asked, almost 
timidly, "So, would it be okay?"

Apollo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, and steepled his 
fingers.  He phrased his words carefully, meeting Starbuck's gaze 
levelly.  "Do you want to be a Command Aide?"

"Yes!" Starbuck immediately backtracked from his impassioned reply.  "I 
mean, I think I can do it - I've been helping out for a while, and I 
guess I'm pretty good at spotting things on the long range scan tapes 
and making sense of them.  And even if I spaced out, it wouldn't endanger
anyone, so it's safe enough." His voice shook with emotion at his next 
words.  "I could be *useful* again, Apollo." He dropped his gaze and 
calmed himself before he spoke again.  "That is, if you'll let me."

"Did my father tell you to get my permission?" Apollo asked. Starbuck 
shook his head 'no'. "Then why are you asking me?"

"I don't want to be punished again, Apollo," Starbuck whispered. "I 
don't want to make a mistake and ..." He swallowed. "I wanted to know 
in advance.  If it's not what I should do, I won't.  I'll stop even 
helping."

Apollo tried to get his mind around what Starbuck had just said.  His 
first impulse was to question Starbuck, to find out where he had gotten 
the idea that he would be punished, what he meant by 'again' - when had 
Apollo ever punished him?  But he didn't act on that impulse.

His next thought was to tell Starbuck he had to think about it, that 
he'd get back to him.  But he stopped his tongue before it formed the 
words.

Instead he looked at his friend and was shocked by what he saw: 
Starbuck had the look of a man whose life hung on the next words 
spoken.  He had seen the look before, hopeful, yet braced for 
rejection.  Starbuck had spent most of his life in this state; at one 
time Apollo had thought that his love could convince Starbuck that not 
every door would shut in his face, not every dream would be shattered. 
But Apollo's love couldn't withstand Reese and Boomer's machinations. 
Starbuck didn't have any dreams left, but he held out this small piece 
of what? Dignity? Pride? Hope? He held it out waited for Apollo to take 
it away from him. Apollo knew he couldn't do that to the man he loved.  
"I think," Apollo said slowly, "I think Commander's Aide would be perfect 
position for you."

Starbuck rewarded Apollo with a genuine Starbuck smile, a real one that 
reached all the way to his eyes; a smile so blinding it brought tears 
to Apollo's eyes.

***

Apollo sat impatiently through Adama's recitation of Starbuck's 
accomplishments.  "And your point is, Father?" he asked.  "You didn't 
call me here to tell me how wonderful Starbuck is.  I know you better 
than that.  I know he loves the work, it makes him feel like he's 
contributing."

"Perhaps because he is?" Adama said sharply.

"I didn't say he wasn't," Apollo retorted in the same tone. "It's also 
exhausting him, you know.  I find him curled up asleep almost every 
cycle when I come off-duty."

"Well, that must save you from having to sedate him every sleep cycle," 
Adama very nearly sneered.

Apollo refused to be drawn into that argument. "He needs less sleep-aid 
than he used to," he conceded. "But he's no more aware of what time of 
yahren it is or even what cycle, if it's not a work cycle for him, than 
he was before."

Adama frowned.  Starbuck did seem unaware of what went on around him 
unless it was directly brought to his attention.  "My point," Adama 
said, echoing his son's words, "was that he shouldn't be sheltered from 
Fleet life any longer."

"You mean," Apollo countered, "that I should bring Boxey home.  Maybe 
you should try caring for Starbuck around the chrono; maybe then you'd 
see why that's such a bad idea.  Just dealing with his reactions to 
offhand remarks from adults, not just strangers but people close to him 
who should know better, is a full-time job. I'm not up to running 
interference between a child who *doesn't* know better and Starbuck's 
confusion."

"Maybe you should stop running interference," Adama suggested.

"Speaking of interference," Apollo almost snarled, "don't you think 
you've interfered enough?"

"You treat him like he's an elderly family pet. If I had left it to 
you, he'd still be playing Pyramid with the computer and dreaming of 
getting back into a viper in the sims."

"And what would be so bad about that?  He'll never be stable enough to 
fly again. It's irrelevant anyway.  Starbuck is my responsibility and I 
don't want him hurt.  Or Boxey."

"You owe your life to the fact he was stable enough to fly."

"And look what it did to him.  He doesn't trust me anymore."

"Are you sure you deserve his trust?"

"Do you?"

"I've gotten his trust."

"Well, you don't have mine.  I warn you, Father, I'd better not find 
out Boxey has 'bumped into Starbuck by accident' while he's working for 
you."

"Don't worry, son; that won't happen."

"Do I have your promise on that, Father?" Apollo pressed.

"Yes!" Adama responded vehemently.  "And now, before you impugn my 
integrity any further, I think you'd better leave.  Starbuck's waiting 
for you in the Rejuvenation Center and, who knows, Boxey might just 
decide to stop there on his way home from learning period. I give you 
my word that I will not bring Boxey into Starbuck's presence, nor 
Starbuck into Boxey's." 'But,' he added silently to Apollo's retreating 
back, 'that doesn't mean I won't try to arrange such a meeting.'

***

"Starbuck!" Two small bodies, one furred, launched themselves at the 
slender figure that rose at the opening of the door. He barely had time 
to reach out to catch the unfurred one before its momentum propelled 
him back into his seat. The two balls of kinetic energy resolved 
themselves into Boxey, now in his lap, and Muffit, wagging its mechanical 
tail frantically at his feet.

Apollo would have followed his son and pulled him off Starbuck's lap 
had a hand on his shoulder not stopped him. "Give him a chance, son," 
Adama whispered, and Apollo nodded reluctantly. Father and son stood 
just outside the reading alcove and watched the scene unfold.

Starbuck recovered his equilibrium and tried to gently lift the boy 
from his lap, but Boxey would have none of it. He threw his arms around 
Starbuck's neck, declaring, "I haven't seen you in so long! Grandpa 
said he had a present for me, but I thought he was giving me some weird 
rocks or something."

Starbuck laughed, a sound so unfamiliar that Apollo gasped in surprise. 
"Will I do instead?" he asked. At the enthusiastic nod, Starbuck 
grinned. Then Boxey nuzzled against Starbuck and stilled for a moment. 
Starbuck brought a hand up to brush the unruly mop of dark hair away 
from his face and his sleeve fell back, revealing the ridged scar 
circling his wrist.

Boxey caught Starbuck's hand and lifted his head from the man's chest 
to examine the scar. Starbuck made no move to withdraw, but sat 
passively, his other hand still supporting Boxey's back. Finally, the 
boy looked up into wary blue eyes. "What happened? Where were you all 
this time?"

Before Apollo could intervene in any way, Starbuck replied softly, "I 
was in prison and then on work release. I was in shackles for a long 
time." He dropped his supporting arm and broke eye contact, expecting 
Boxey to jump off his lap and move away. Apollo felt the heart he 
thought couldn't break any further shatter into tiny shards as he 
watched Starbuck withdraw physically; only Adama's firm hand on his 
shoulder held him in place.

Boxey didn't move except to trace the scar with one light fingertip. 
"Does it hurt?" he whispered.

"Not really," Starbuck replied. "Scars like this don't hurt much."

"You're very brave," Boxey said seriously, still staring at the scar. 
"I think it does hurt." He carefully took Starbuck's wrist in both of 
his hands and leaned forward to kiss the scar firmly. "Momma always 
kissed the hurt away," he explained, looking up into tear-filled blue 
eyes. "Did that make the hurting go away?"

"Yes. Yes it did." Starbuck gathered the boy up in a tight hug that was 
quickly returned. "Thank you."

Apollo turned from watching his son heal the man he loved most in life. 
Meeting his father's loving eyes, he echoed Starbuck's words: "Thank 
you."

***

Apollo bolted upright on the couch at the first cry from the master 
bedroom. 'And my father wants me to bring Boxey home.  Then none of us 
would get any sleep,' he thought grimly.  He listened to determine 
whether Starbuck was having what he termed a "good dream" or a 
nightmare. When Starbuck had a good dream, Apollo forced himself to 
remain in the living area, allowing Starbuck privacy to clean up after 
himself and return to bed.

The cries continued this time, however, signaling that Starbuck was in 
the throes of a nightmare. Almost relieved that he could help his love, 
Apollo threw off the coverlet and ran into the bedroom.  "Starbuck," he 
crooned softly, kneeling beside the bed. "You're having a dream.  No 
one is hurting you.  Wake up, love, it's all right."

A soft voice filtered through the obscene demands Reese was making.  It 
was a familiar voice and it seemed to be saying something about a 
dream. The voice drew Starbuck away from his memories.  Somehow, soft 
as it was, it overpowered Reese's loud, coarse tones.  Reese began to 
fade and Starbuck turned from him towards the voice.

Apollo saw Starbuck's eyelids flutter and arranged his expression into 
a caring smile.  This time he'd pulled Starbuck from his subconscious 
before his body humiliated him. "All right now?" he asked, as the 
frightened blue eyes focused on him.

Starbuck took a moment to mentally survey his body, then nodded.  Clean 
and dry this time.  He swallowed and tried to work some moisture into 
his mouth.  "Thanks," he rasped.

"Any time, Bucko," Apollo replied, rising from his knees.  "Would you 
like some agua?"

"Mmmhmm," Starbuck murmured, nodding again.  When Apollo returned with 
a partially full cup, he accepted it with shaking hands.

"Anything else I can do for you?" Apollo asked, as he did every time.

Starbuck looked at Apollo over the rim of the cup.  'Maybe he means 
it,' Starbuck thought. Instead of shaking his head no, as he had every 
time until now, he risked a request.  "Maybe, if you're not too tired, 
you could sit with me for a bit?"

Apollo had remained bent over the bed, in case Starbuck was too shaky 
to keep hold of the cup.  Now he sank down next to Starbuck. "Actually, 
this is more restful than lying on the couch," he said before he caught 
himself.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch," Starbuck replied.

"What?" Apollo was too astonished to censor himself.

"I mean ... this is your bed.  You should sleep in it," Starbuck 
clarified hastily.  "I could sleep on the couch."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Apollo said.

"No, I guess not," Starbuck agreed.  "I'd be unsupervised."

"That wasn't what I meant!  I meant in terms of comfort - you still 
ache; I know it.  Dr. Salik calls it 'chronic pain'. The couch is 
narrow and hard."

"Then you shouldn't sleep there either," Starbuck pointed out.

Apollo laughed.  "I tried Boxey's bed.  That was worse.  I woke up bent 
like a pretzel and feeling as if I'd been baked into that position!"

"Boxey should be in that bed," Starbuck said firmly, then flinched as 
Apollo frowned and looked away. "You could sleep here with me." The 
words were barely audible.

Apollo's head whipped around to stare at the blond. "That's very 
tempting," he said, trying to cover his shock at the offer.  "But would 
you get any sleep?"

Starbuck nodded somberly.

"If you're being honest with me, let's try it."

"I'm being honest," Starbuck said seriously.  "I can sleep with you 
next to me.  I'd know it was you."

Apollo took the cup from Starbuck's hands and put it on the nightstand. 
He lifted the bedclothes and swung his legs under them.  "Then let's 
get some sleep," he said.

With a contented sigh, Starbuck slid down next to his beloved and 
closed his eyes. Apollo turned the lights down and followed suit.

***

"That does it!" Adama proclaimed, throwing down his worthless hand as 
Starbuck raked in the plastic triangles they used instead of cubits. 
"You're obviously back at full capability, Lieutenant.  There'll be no 
more coddling of you!"

Starbuck startled, but looked at the Commander before panicking.  Adama 
was lighting a fumarello held in a grinning mouth, his eyes twinkling. 
Starbuck gave a hesitant smile back.  "I can lose if you want me to, 
Commander," he offered, his own eyes twinkling.  "But I thought you 
didn't want me to cheat."

"He's got you there, Adama," Tigh burst out, chuckling.

Giles looked at the ruin of his Pyramid and shook his head.  "Maybe we 
should go back to playing open hands, Sir," he suggested.

"Too late," Adama averred.  "It's a good thing we don't play for cubits 
or I'd have to give myself an advance on my pay this secton." He 
glanced at the chrono over the bar.  "Well, I hate to break this up, 
but Boxey's due home any time now and I'd hate to have him see his 
grandfather gambling - and losing! Apollo would never let me hear the end 
of it!"

Capri followed his gaze then jumped up.  "Giles!  Come on!  We'll lose 
our reservation on the Rising Star if we don't hurry."

"And I'm due on the bridge," Tigh said regretfully.

When they had left, Adama turned to Starbuck, who was quietly returning 
the room to its former state.  "I know Apollo's working late this 
cycle. Why don't you stay and join Boxey and me for evening meal?"

"I should check..." Starbuck began, but Adama interrupted him.

"You should check with Apollo?"

Starbuck nodded and looked away, embarrassed. 'I shouldn't be ashamed,' 
he scolded himself. 'I can't take care of myself or I wouldn't need to 
be watched at all times.  How can I make decisions on my own?'

"I'll inform my son that you're staying with me so he won't comm your 
quarters and get himself all worked up," Adama said, suiting action to 
word and going to the comm unit.

***

"I hate to leave Boxey alone, especially when he's sleeping," Adama 
said several centars later.  "I promised Apollo I'd bring you home and 
make sure you got ready for bed, but I wonder if you could make your 
own way back."

Starbuck smiled ruefully.  "Nothing wrong with my memory, Commander.  I 
know the way from your quarters to Apollo's. And I know the door code."

"You're sure you don't mind?" Adama was having second thoughts now, 
remembering the last time Starbuck went home from his quarters alone.

"I'll be okay," Starbuck assured him.

"Would you be upset if I asked you to comm me when you get in?"

Starbuck's smile was genuine this time.  "Not at all, Commander.  It 
will help to know someone's waiting to know I got there safely."  With 
that he walked to the door.  "Good night, Sir."

***

Starbuck was ready for bed, but curled into a corner of the couch when 
Apollo walked in, much later than he had intended.  The blond woke from 
his doze as Apollo brushed the hair from his face.  He startled, but 
smiled up at Apollo in recognition. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," Apollo returned the greeting and the smile.  "What are 
you doing up?  Didn't Father put you to bed."

"Couldn't sleep," Starbuck replied, hoping Apollo wouldn't notice the 
evasion.

"Father was *supposed* to give you some sleep aid," Apollo said, 
annoyed.

"Sorry," Starbuck murmured, shrinking back into the couch.

Apollo shook himself.  "I'm not angry at you, Bucko," he reassured him. 
"Only tired and not expecting to find you awake."

"I'll go to bed now," Starbuck said, rising slowly.  "I can put myself 
to bed.  You can do ... whatever you were going to do if I was asleep."

Apollo smiled.  "I was going to crawl into bed next to you."

"Well, you can still do that," Starbuck said.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Apollo agreed, yawning.

***

Boomer's voice ordered Starbuck not to turn around.  He felt the hood 
slip over his head and knew what would happen next.  "No, no, please.  
I won't tell.  I won't get better," he begged his dream-rapist.

Apollo woke to the frantic pleas.  Too tired to talk Starbuck awake, he 
tried something that had worked yahrens ago.  Humming a lullaby, he put 
his arms around Starbuck and began rocking him.

"No, no, please not again..." Starbuck hesitated.  He was restrained, 
but the painful assault didn't come.  Instead he felt as if he had 
moved from a very unpleasant memory to a much happier one.  Yes.  He 
was dreaming of being soothed from a nightmare by Apollo, but this 
dream came from yahrens ago, when they were together, before he went 
violently insane. And it felt so real... "'Pol?" Starbuck murmured.

"Awake now, love?" Apollo whispered in his ear, slowing his rocking.

"No, but I don't want to be.  This is much nicer than waking up," 
Starbuck replied drowsily. "Wish I could stay in this dream."

"It's not a dream," Apollo murmured.  "Open your eyes."

With a sigh, Starbuck did as he was told.  To his surprise the arms 
enfolding him and the warm breath in his ear didn't disappear.  The 
rocking ceased, however.  "Don't stop," he begged.  "Please."

The rocking started up again and Starbuck cuddled into Apollo's body. 
Tentatively he put his hands over Apollo's.  "Nice," he said. "It's 
been so long, 'Pol."

Apollo's body agreed with Starbuck's assessment.  He felt his penis 
harden as Starbuck wriggled closer to him.  Starbuck's breathing was 
deep and even now, and Apollo pulled away, thinking to take care of his 
need in the turboflush.

"Stay," To both men's surprise, Starbuck's tone was that of a command. 
Starbuck tightened his grip on Apollo's hands and pulled Apollo back to 
him.  He turned in Apollo's arms and reached down between them, 
stroking Apollo.

Instinctively Apollo began massaging Starbuck's buttocks.  Soon both 
men were moaning softly.  Starbuck turned again and presented his 
buttocks to Apollo.  "Now, please," he asked.

"Oh Starbuck, it's been so long!"

"Go ahead.  You won't hurt me."  A small part of Starbuck's brain 
added, '*can't* hurt me would be more accurate,' but he tamped it down. 
"Please, 'Pol!" he urged.

Apollo acted before he had time to think about it.  Somehow he was 
inside Starbuck, with no memory of removing clothing or preparing him.  
His body overrode his brain as he rhythmically thrust in and out.  His 
hands reached for Starbuck's cock, but Starbuck had gotten there before 
him. He started to push his hands under Starbuck's, but his climax 
overtook him.

Recovering, Apollo slipped out of Starbuck, who lay whimpering on his 
side.  "What have I done!" Apollo cried out.  "Dear Lords!  I raped 
him. I forced him..."

Starbuck shook his head vehemently.  "No," he wheezed breathlessly. 
"Wanted it."

"Of course I wanted it!" Apollo exploded.  "But that didn't give me the 
right to force myself on you!"

"Not forced!" Starbuck insisted, trying to get a full sentence out. 
"Wanted it.  *I* wanted it." He lay panting with the effort of arguing.

That gave Apollo pause.  "*You* wanted it?" He pushed the damp blond 
hair off Starbuck's face and leaned over so he could look into his 
eyes. Starbuck nodded.  "Then why are you crying?  And why are you 
still shaking?"

"Forgot to breathe," Starbuck said, still gasping.  "And it's been so 
long.  My body's still ... still climaxing."  He met Apollo's eyes 
evenly.  There was no fear or pain in the blue gaze.  "Need some help 
... calming down, I guess," he concluded. 

"I'll mix up some sleep aid in some hot choco, okay?" Apollo suggested 
and was met with a shivering nod.  He got up and tucked the covers 
around Starbuck and went into the kitchen.

Half a centar later, he lay with Starbuck in his arms, watching the 
blond sleep.  He'd had to hold the cup for Starbuck, the blond was 
trembling so badly.  And Starbuck had started to cry again when he 
cleaned him up. "I know you wanted it, love," he whispered to the 
sleeping man, "and I know you enjoyed it as much as I did.  But it 
wasn't right.  You're not strong enough to deal with it. We both took 
advantage of you, but I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

***

It was a fine line, but Apollo felt he was managing it well.  He 
encouraged Starbuck to gradually resume a full work schedule as Adama's 
aide.  He bit his tongue and didn't voice his fears when Starbuck 
ventured out alone to the Rejuvenation Center or accompanied Jolly to 
the Rising Star.  But especially after a tiring or exciting cycle, 
Apollo employed the sleep aid to ensure the excitement didn't translate 
into sexual energy.  It was clear that he still couldn't resist 
Starbuck's advances, so he simply had to prevent them, for Starbuck's 
health and well-being.

As a reward to both himself and Starbuck, he asked one night over 
dinner, "Do you think Boxey would like his bed back?"

Starbuck blinked, but recovered fairly quickly.  "Well, no one else is 
using it that I noticed," he returned with a grin.

"Seems a shame for it to go to waste like that.  But it's too heavy to 
move.  Boxey'd have to come back here to live in order to use it."

"Of course, your father might feel lonely without him."

"True, true," Apollo said.  "But we could always leave Muffit to keep 
him company."

"Now, Apollo, I think that would constitute cruel and unusual 
punishment."  Starbuck paused for a micron then turned serious.  "Do 
you mean it, 'Pol?  You'll let Boxey come back and let me stay?"

"I think it's time, Bucko.  As long as you're comfortable with it."

And even though he knew where it would lead, and what it would cost 
Starbuck physically, and how it would result in his own self-
flagellation for letting it happen, Apollo didn't resist Starbuck's 
passionate response.

Lying with Starbuck drowsing in his arms afterwards, not noticing that 
he had hardly touched the sedative-laced drink on the nightstand, 
Apollo said, "You know we can't do this once Boxey's back."

Starbuck smiled and opened sad blue eyes.  In a soft voice, he 
corrected his beloved.  "'Pol, we don't do it now.  Boxey will just be 
another way to keep me at a distance.  It's okay.  Just being allowed 
to stay near you is all I need. And having Boxey here, too, will be an 
added bonus." Before Apollo could recover enough to answer, Starbuck 
rolled partially off him and relaxed into what seemed to be a deep 
sleep.

***

"I wish Uncle Starbuck was here."

Apollo turned from placing fiber optics on the wire frame representing 
the Tree of Life at the plaintive tone.  "He's just in the next room 
sleeping, Boxey," he reminded the boy.

"Not what I meant.  I meant I wish he was *really* here - like he used 
to be."  Boxey slumped onto the couch, Muffit creeping up next to him, 
whimpering sympathetically and nuzzling his hand.

Apollo put down the strands of glass he had been twining and went to 
kneel in front of his son.  "I know," he said softly.  "I miss him, 
too." He put out a hand and raised the quivering chin.  "But if you 
help me, we'll have a nice surprise for him when he wakes up." Silently 
he prayed, 'And maybe he'll even recognize it as more than a pretty light 
sculpture.' In some ways, Starbuck seemed fully functioning again, but 
in others, he seemed to still move in a fog, unaware of his 
surroundings.

"Okay!" Boxey perked up instantly at the thought of seeing Starbuck 
smile.  As he handed his father the glowing strands of glass, he asked, 
"How come you made him go to sleep anyway, Dad?"

Apollo sighed again.  He hadn't fooled anyone - probably even Muffit 
saw through his cheery "How about a pre-holiday ova-drink?"

Starbuck had looked at him with clarity he rarely let show as he 
accepted his mug and drank it down.  He hadn't looked confused or asked 
"What holiday?" He allowed himself to speak now - when it was just 
"family" - but his words often confirmed his lack of awareness of his 
surroundings.

Not this time.  And when he finished, he set the mug in the sink and, 
with a nod and faint smile at Apollo, headed into their bedroom.  Had 
he looked slightly hurt that Apollo had tried to trick him or was that 
just Apollo's own guilt coloring his memory?

"Dad?" Boxey prompted.

"Hmm?  Oh, I knew the Songsters would be coming around this cycle and 
you know how strangers frighten Starbuck.  I just thought it would be 
easier for him to sleep through it."

"Oh.  I guess."  Boxey shrugged and turned back to untangling the 
multi-colored fiber.  Apollo gave a sigh of relief that he had dropped 
the subject.  But he was mistaken.  As he handed up another strand, 
Boxey said, "I wouldn't have thought of that.  He likes the songs so 
much, I would have thought he'd want to hear the Songsters."

The innocent words sent a pang of guilt through Apollo.  Had he denied 
Starbuck an anticipated pleasure?  He shook his head, no point in 
thinking about that now.  He checked his chrono.  "Hey, squirt!  It's 
time for me to go on duty.  We'll have to finish this after you get out 
of lessons tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, Dad.  But could I stay here instead of going to Grandfather's? 
He's on bridge duty anyway."  At Apollo's uncertain look, Boxey added, 
"I won't try to finish the Tree, I promise.  Not unless there's a 
grown-up around."

Apollo agreed reluctantly.  "Okay.  But make sure there's a grown-up 
*in* the room, not just the Songsters in the halls.  And if you need 
anything, I'll be in the Duty Office, so you can comm me."

"Okay."  He ran to give his father a hug.  "Thanks, Dad.  I'll be 
good."

Apollo grinned and ruffled his hair as he snatched up his jacket and 
left.

***

Faint sounds of singing came through the outer door.  Boxey got up from 
the floor where he'd been wrestling with Muffit and went to the 
darkened master bedroom doorway.  "The Songsters are coming, Starbuck," 
he whispered.  "Maybe you can hear them in your dreams."

"You don't have to whisper, Boxey," came the clear voice.

"You're awake?" Boxey cried gleefully, pouncing on the bed.

"Seems like it." Starbuck sat up to fend off Muffit.

"Then why don't you come out to the main room and listen with me?"

"Your Dad didn't want me to listen," Starbuck explained.  "That's why 
he put the sleep-aid in my drink."

"But you're not asleep," Boxey pointed out.  "I guess it didn't work, 
huh?"

"Guess not," Starbuck said.  Starbuck would have been very surprised if 
it had worked.  He had come in from his shift a secton ago to find the 
packet with a note from Cassiopeia telling Apollo to let her know when 
he needed more.  Starbuck had been trying to keep from wondering if 
Apollo was drugging him.  'He needs a break from taking care of you,' 
he told himself, but the hollow feeling in his stomach didn't ease at 
the truth.

Starbuck tried not to think, tried not to notice anything most of the 
time; but once he started, he found it increasingly difficult to stop. 
He fingered the packet, found himself opening it and considering what 
he could replace the powder with.  It had the consistency of baking 
sweetener, he decided. He weighed it in his hand.  The packet was 
emptied into the sink and its contents washed down the drain before he 
consciously thought about what he was doing.  Then he had little choice 
but to pour in the approximate equivalent amount in sweetener. 'And now 
I'll know whenever he uses it,' he thought. 'The sweetness will give it 
away for sure.'

Boxey waited out Starbuck's distraction.  He would come back to focus 
on him soon, he knew.  When Starbuck blinked back to awareness, Boxey 
was ready.  "Please get up and keep me company, Uncle Starbuck," he 
pleaded. "Dad said I could finish the Tree if there was a grown-up in 
the room."

"Tree?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Boxey remembered suddenly.  "We 
were putting up a Tree of Life."

Starbuck looked blank for a micron, and then put everything together. 
The songs Boxey had been practicing, the Songsters impending arrival, 
and now the Tree of Life.  "It's Festival of Lights time?"

Boxey grinned.  "Yup!  I told Dad you'd know."

***

The tap on the door startled Starbuck. True, they didn't lock him in 
any more, or sedate him, not since Apollo had come home to find him reading
on the couch with the Tree of Life completed and glowing.  But when
Apollo was on deep space patrol, Boxey was still sent to his grandfather
and Starbuck was usually monitored remotely but otherwise left alone.  
He rose and cautiously opened the door, surprised to find Boxey waiting
patiently.  He stepped back to allow the boy to come in.  He wasn't
trusted to take care of him alone, but as far as he knew, he was 
allowed to be alone with him.  "Forget something?" he asked.

"It's Atonement Day."

Starbuck blinked and tried to process the statement; he wasn't aware of
the time of yahren, let alone the exact date.

Boxey was used to his uncle's silences.  Sometimes they were a kind of
trick he played on most people, but he didn't do that to Boxey or his
dad.  "Dad's on deep space patrol."  This got a nod.  "Grandpa's gotta 
be up front at the ritual."  Another nod.  "And Aunt Athena's sick."

"The Commander sent you here?"  Starbuck tried to make sense of the 
boy's disjointed statements.

"No, he says a boy my age doesn't have to go to the ritual."  Boxey
straightened to his full height, almost as tall as Starbuck.  "But I 
want to - for my mom."  Starbuck nodded.  "Will you take me?"

The thought of going to the Atonement Ritual made Starbuck go cold.  It
would be a waste for him, and his caretakers must have realized that or
they would have arranged for him to be there.  Rituals weren't 
something he would choose to fake, if given a choice, and he'd have to fake 
either participation or lack of awareness to attend. He started to shake his
head no, then stopped. 'This is important, Bucko,' he told himself. 
'The kid needs to believe there's something out there besides Cylons, even 
if you can't.'  Unconsciously he rubbed the scar at the back of his neck
where the control device had been.  He nodded at Boxey.  "Okay.  I'll
take you."  He looked down at the casual clothes he had on.  "I have to
find my dress uniform, then we'll go."

***

They weren't late, but the auditorium was almost filled.  Starbuck kept
his head down and let Boxey lead him to the rear of the main level.  He
heard the murmurs as they passed, people assuming Boxey had been told 
to take care of "the poor, brain-damaged fellow" and praising the boy for
his loyalty.  To his credit, Boxey just nodded and kept on moving until
he found two seats together.

When the Ritual began, Boxey handed the Book of Holy Chants to Starbuck. 
"Dad always points to where we are.  I can read a little of the Old
Tongue, but not fast enough to keep up."

Starbuck took the book and automatically found the Evening Ritual.  His
thoughts went back to previous yahrens, when he'd stand with Apollo and
rub his back as the Ritual brought his grief for Ila, Zac, and Serena 
to the surface.  They usually put Boxey between them and, in previous
yahrens, he'd be asleep before the Ritual ended.  There had been so 
many deaths that the entire Ritual Cycle, Evening, Morning, Afternoon, and
Dusk, was focused on mourning and remembrance.  Boxey tugging on his
sleeve roused him from his thoughts.

"Why is it called 'Evening Ritual'?"

"Ah, well, that's because until the Destruction we practiced our Rituals
on planets with times of day ruled by a sun.  Evening Ritual started at
sunset, Morning Ritual started after sunrise, Afternoon Ritual came 
when the sun had past its zenith, and Dusk Ritual was timed to end just as 
the sun went down."

"Sounds neat."

"Yeah, I guess it was, especially Dusk Ritual.  I remember watching the
sky to see how close we were to Break Fast - at the end of the Ritual.
All the kids would be doing that, the ones who were fasting anyway."

"I've never fasted.  Is it hard?"

"Not really.  You kind of get used to it.  And the Rituals keep you 
busy enough you don't notice that you're hungry."

"Are you going to fast this yahren?"

Starbuck shrugged.  "That's up to your dad.  If he doesn't ... feed me, 
I guess I'll be fasting."  He frowned.  "That's not the way it's supposed
to be," he amended.  "Fasting is a conscious choice."

"So will you fast?"

"It doesn't really matter one way or the other to me," Starbuck admitted,
realizing it should.  "If your dad fasts, I will, too, unless he tells 
me not to."

"Can I fast?"

Starbuck started to tell the boy it was up to Apollo, or whoever was in
charge of him, but changed his mind.  "Do you want to?"

"Yeah, I think so.  Grandpa says it helps you focus on ... whatever
you're supposed to be focused on."

"Ah."  The familiar cadences of the opening Plea wafted from the
musicians alcove and interrupted whatever Starbuck might have responded.
He shushed Boxey and pointed at the first of the Old Tongue chants.

***

Apollo hurried from the viper bay to the lifts.  He could still make the
end of the Evening Ritual if Starbuck didn't need too much attention.
Briefly he considered going straight to the auditorium, but he really
wasn't appropriately dressed and he knew no one else would think about
Starbuck as the Holy Cycle began.  He was pretty sure Starbuck didn't
know the Cycle was about to begin and he didn't want to risk his fragile
mental state by exposing him to the raw emotionality of the Rituals.  A
mild sedative in a warm drink would let him sleep through Sleep Cycle.

'What are you saying?' he asked himself. 'You'll have to let him know
you're sedating him - you promised after he found you out the last time.'
Apollo shook his head.  No, he couldn't trick Starbuck; that would be one
more betrayal to add to the list he had already. The list he was supposed
to make restitution for during the Holy Cycle.  'How do you make
restitution for taking a man's life away from him for yahrens?' he
wondered.  Well, he decided, he'd explain to Starbuck why he should take
the medication and hope - 'No, be honest, Apollo,' he scolded himself -
he *knew* Starbuck would take it.  To make up for forcing this on
Starbuck, who never resisted, Apollo promised himself that he would check
with Cass before Morning Ritual to find out the best way to handle the
rest of it.

But Starbuck wasn't there. Not finding him in his usual place, curled up
dozing in a corner of the sofa, Apollo searched the entire place with
mounting anxiety.  Starbuck's clothes lay in a heap on the bedroom floor
and his dress uniform was missing.  Where was he?  His father would be
helping lead the Ritual.  Maybe Athena would know?  She never went to the
Ritual.  He pounded on the comm unit in his panic.

"Athena here, wha?" she mumbled, half asleep.

"'Thena, it's Apollo.  Is Starbuck with you?"

"No, Boxey went to stay with him.  I've been feeling awful, 'Pol.  I
figured the two of them couldn't get into too much trouble and Boxey was
fretting about missing the Ritual.  Why?"

"I'm in our quarters and they're not here."

"Well, maybe Boxey took him to the Ritual."

"Yeah, maybe.  I was going there anyway."

"Good.  'Bye." Athena clicked off, still not fully awake.

Apollo sighed.  His mind raced as he dressed. He should have traded
patrols with someone.  He knew Boxey wanted to go to the Ritual and he
knew his father would be too busy to watch him and would foist him off on
Athena.  What his father didn't know was that Athena *always* got sick
right before Atonement Day.  Not that she was faking it: she just
couldn't take part.  He ran out the door.

***

The usher recognized Apollo immediately. "Major," he whispered.  "Your
party's over in the corner.  They slipped in without my noticing or I
would have seen to more appropriate seating," he apologized.  "I can give
you a portable seat if you'd like to join them, or..."

"Portable's fine," Apollo interrupted, grabbing the seat, and striding
towards the blond and dark heads bowed over a shared Book.  He slowed as
he approached, hearing Starbuck's fine tenor singing along with the
choir.  Apollo quietly slid his seat open next to Boxey.  Looking more
closely at the pair, he realized Starbuck was guiding Boxey through the
Ritual, carefully enunciating the Old Tongue phrases while using his
finger to show him the written symbols.  When the chant switched to
modern language, Boxey's treble joined Starbuck's voice, the blond
nodding his approval at the boy.

When the participants sat for an instrumental interlude, Starbuck passed
the Book to Apollo, an almost fearful look on his face.  Apollo smiled
reassuringly and pushed the Book partway back so that the two warriors
shared it with Boxey.  Starbuck's expression lightened and he took the
edge of the book nearest him in one hand. The Guider, a small,
silver-haired woman with a light, pleasant voice, rose to address the
focus of the Ritual, and the men turned their attention to her words.

"We have been fortunate this yahren, unlike the previous yahrens since
the Destruction," the Guider began.  "Deaths have been few, very few from
battle, for which we thank the Lords."

"Amen," murmured the mass of people filling the hall.

"This does not mean it has been a good yahren for all," the Guider
continued.  The Book wavered in Apollo's hand and he looked over to see
Starbuck shudder.  With his free hand he reached past Boxey to gently
grip the shaking shoulder.  After a micron, Starbuck leaned into the 
grip and relaxed slightly.

The Guider had moved on to her main point.  "...time for Forgiveness.
Forgiveness is not done for others," she explained. "But for oneself; for
the heart.  Forgiveness does not mean acceptance.  An unacceptable act
remains unacceptable.  Destruction cannot be undone.  Forgiveness is a
letting go, a refusal to let the other's wrongdoing rule you.  It is not
easy.  But this yahren, the focus of our Atonement Rituals is
Forgiveness.  Let go of the grief, the pain, the anger by Forgiving."

Starbuck knew she was speaking directly to him - to his heart and mind.
He had come here expecting to feel nothing except perhaps numbness, an
emptiness where belief and trust had once resided.  Instead her softly
spoken words thundered in his ears, echoed in his mind.  "Forgive the
Gods for abandoning you to your fate.  Forgive those who victimized you.
Forgive so that you can return to living.  While you harbor resentment
and anger, you become remote from life, fearful and mistrusting.  Only by
forgiving can you move on."

Could he forgive Boomer, Reese, the other conspirators?  Could he forgive
Adama, Tigh, the Council, Apollo - all those who had condemned him?
Could he forgive the Gods - start believing in them again - after they
had let him be used?  Starbuck felt as if he were being torn apart, all
his barriers and pretenses of dysfunction ripped away, leaving him as
exposed as he had been in Life Center with the control device turned all
the way up.

"Dad!" Boxey's urgent whisper brought Apollo back to the present.

Apollo, too, had been mesmerized by the Guider's words - not to Mourn,
but to Forgive - a concept he needed.  He looked over at his son and saw
Starbuck barely able to maintain his seat, he was shaking so hard.
'Frak!' Apollo thought.  'I should have taken him right back to our
quarters.  I knew he was too fragile for this.'  Quickly he lifted Boxey
up and slid onto the middle seat, putting the boy down next to him.  He
put his arms around Starbuck and crooned soothingly in his ear, unsure of
whether to lift him up and carry him out.

Starbuck felt Apollo's arms come around him, something that only happened
when he was in distress now.  "Forgive."  The Guider's words echoed.  To
forgive Apollo meant to risk rejection, to trust that he really meant the
loving words he used to soothe Starbuck's panic, to reach out and ...
Hesitantly, Starbuck put an arm up to Apollo's chest.  When Apollo didn't
stiffen or move away, Starbuck touched Apollo's cheek with his other
hand, unmindful of the Book that dropped.

It took a conscious effort on Apollo's part not to react when Starbuck
reached for him.  And when he felt that yearned-for touch on his cheek,
Apollo nearly sobbed.  Instead he tightened his embrace slightly and
leaned into the hand on his cheek, unaware of the tears flowing down.

"'Pol?"  Starbuck carefully wiped the tears away with his fingertips.
"Don't cry.  I think ... I think it's going to be all right.  I think
*we're* going to be all right."

***

Epilog

"All ships to high alert," Commander Adama intoned.

"All ships.  High alert by order of the Commander of the Fleet," Omega
announced.

"All active duty pilots to their vipers; all shifts, all squadrons,"
Colonel Tigh ordered.

"All active duty pilots on all shifts in all squadrons: report to your
vipers,"  Omega repeated into the unicomm.

Adama and Tigh exchanged looks.  Adama looked out at the starscape and
sighed.  He turned back to Tigh and nodded.

"All viper-certified pilots capable of flying to the viper launch bay,"
Tigh said quietly.

Omega closed his eyes briefly before speaking into the unicomm again.
"All viper-certified pilots able to fly report to the launch bay."  He
paused and looked at Tigh, who nodded.  "And all shuttle-capable pilots
report to the shuttle bay."  He flicked off the unicomm and walked down
to Rigel's position.  "This is going to mean high casualties."

"If we hadn't already had high casualties, the Commander and Colonel
wouldn't have to do this," Rigel pointed out in her soft-spoken way.
"Colonel?" she raised her voice to be heard over the instrumentation.
"Do you want me to get ..." Her question remained unasked as the subject
of it came out of the small strategic planning alcove off the bridge.

He moved briskly, nodding at Omega and Rigel as he passed.  Rigel smiled
at him and Omega gave him a thumbs-up.  He trotted up the stairs towards
the exit, but faltered as he approached the two command officers.  "I
heard the orders, sirs," he said hesitantly.  "I assumed ... I mean I did
requalify, but I didn't receive a standby assignment. Does that mean..."
He looked from Colonel to Commander, then back.

"Commander Adama," Colonel Tigh said formally, although he tried to
soften his severe expression to reassure the warrior before them.  "I
believe I notified you of Lieutenant Starbuck's requalification status?"

"Yes, you did, Colonel."  Adama turned to Starbuck.  "Report to Blue
Squadron on substitute status, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir," Starbuck flashed a grin that Adama and Tigh
had only seen in the privacy of their recreational Pyramid games.  He
saluted jauntily and started down the exit steps as Apollo strode in.

"Father, what's going on?  High alert?" He caught Starbuck by the arm.
"Hang on 'Bucko.  Stay put until the pilots are all at their posts; the
halls are crowded right now and people aren't looking where they're
going."

Starbuck stopped at Apollo's touch and didn't protest his words.  He
merely looked back at the Command position.

"Proceed to your post, Lieutenant," Colonel Tigh ordered.

"Yes, sir," Starbuck replied and started to pull his arm free.

"Just a micron!" Apollo exploded, disregarding the number of heads that
turned on the bridge.  He grasped Starbuck more firmly, aware of the lack
of struggle his mate was putting up; he had already surrendered to
Apollo's physical control.  "What post?"

"Major! Kindly remember your place!" the Colonel snapped.

Almost simultaneously, Omega's voice sounded in a similar tone from
halfway up to the Command position.  "Bridge personnel, man your
scanners."  Heads swiveled back around and headsets were quickly donned.
The drone of communications and data filled the silence.  Omega spared
one glare at Apollo, glanced at Tigh, then turned pointedly and marched
back down the stairs and away from the looming altercation. He leaned
over Rigel and spoke into her ear.  She whispered into her headset, then
turned and nodded at Omega.  Omega gave a quick nod to Tigh who turned
back to the conversation.

Apollo mounted to the Command position, Starbuck still in tow.  He
continued in a lower voice.  "I apologize for my outburst, Colonel,
Commander.  But surely the Lieutenant isn't being sent into combat in his
... condition?"

"Lieutenant Starbuck, do you have a medical condition of which I'm
unaware?" Colonel Tigh asked politely.

Three pair of eyes turned to the slender blond who looked like he was
caught in a crossfire with no way to shield himself.  "No, sir," he
answered quietly, lowering his eyes and coloring.  "You're aware of all
my medical conditions, Colonel."

"Dr. Salik did certify him for flying, did he not, Colonel?" Adama asked.

"He did.  I wouldn't have passed the recommendation on to you if he
hadn't."

"He's not capable of flying!" Apollo said angrily.  "He could be a danger
to himself and anyone flying with him."

"If Blue Squadron doesn't want him, Silver Spar would welcome Lieutenant
Starbuck.  I'm in need of a senior wing leader," Bojay said coming onto
the bridge unannounced, but obviously aware of what was going on.

Apollo whirled and he and Bojay stared at each other, neither looking
away.  From between clenched teeth, Apollo hissed, "Starbuck is *my*
wingman.  He doesn't fly with anyone else!"

"Then you do want the Lieutenant assigned to Blue Squadron?" Colonel Tigh
inquired politely.

"Yes!" Apollo had been outmaneuvered but he didn't give in gracefully.
"Come on, *Lieutenant*, we need to suit up and get in our vipers."  He
stormed out almost as quickly as he had rushed in.  He didn't pull
Starbuck with him and the blond turned to give a casual salute to his
superiors and a quick, "Thanks, Bojay," before starting after him.

Bojay caught his arm as he passed.  "I meant it, Starbuck.  You're
welcome in Silver Spar."

Starbuck's look of gratitude said more than words could as he clasped his
old friend's arm in the salutation of equals. Then he was gone from the
bridge.

"Thank you, Captain," Adama said sincerely.

"Glad to be of service, sir," Bojay replied.  "Now I'd better get to my
squadron, too."

***

Apollo had racked his brain for a way to keep Starbuck out of the front
lines.  But the Cylons were coming in force from all directions.  There
was no rear guard to be held.  His breath caught each time Starbuck
fired, but his aim was true and his ability to defend his fellow warriors
and elude attack seemed undiminished. Then a first-yahren cadet caught
wing damage and spiraled out of control into two of his fellows, leaving
a gap in the defensive shield of the unarmed passenger ships.  Apollo
spoke without thinking, out of the habit of yahrens.  "Starbuck, can
you..."

Before he finished, his mate was responding crisply.  "I'm on it, Major.
Jolly, Hear, form on me.  Let's cover that hole."  As he soared away, the
two warriors in flight pattern behind him, Starbuck realized Apollo had
left himself unguarded.  "Brie," Starbuck said into his comm. "Move up to
protect the Major's flank, please."

The snapped command, completely correct and delivered with no hesitation,
was met with a, "Yes, sir, Lieutenant!" from Brie who moved into position
instantly.

Starbuck moved his small wing into position and was immediately besieged.
 The Cylons had spotted the gap as quickly as the defenders had.  He
darted and swerved, coming up behind the first three Cylon craft, while
Hear went "below" him and attacked the next three frontally and Jolly
maintained position to deny access to any Cylons who showed an
independent streak.

Coming out of a failed pinwheel amid the fireworks of the exploding Cylon
craft, Starbuck saw Apollo, Brie valiantly at his wing, shooting off at
an angle from the battle, which seemed to be winding down.  He tuned his
comm. to the frequency he knew Brie and Dietra used to converse
privately.

"Where you headed, girl?" he heard Dietra call out.

"The Major wants to get clear to try to get a bead on the base these guys
are coming from," Brie replied, sounding as breathless as if she were
running to keep up with Apollo instead of following in her viper.

"Frak!" Starbuck spat, forgetting his comm. was on.  "Brie!  Hold
position where you are, but keep track of the Major."  He looked around.

Silver Spar was pursuing the surviving Cylons out into the sector ahead
of the fleet.  None of them had come from there and he hoped none of them
knew where they were going.  But he trusted Bojay to allow at least one
to "escape" and be tracked, just in case.

Sheba had Red Squadron spiraling around and between the ships of the
Fleet to catch any stray Cylons hiding in among them.  He nodded at her
attention to detail.

"Jolly?" he called, switching his comm. to the main channel.  His
observations had taken only microns.  He could still see Apollo's
thrusters.  "See if Sheba needs any assistance.  If not, once Red's sweep
has passed you, start gathering up Blue and return to the Galactica."

"Aye, Lieutenant," Jolly said without hesitation.

Starbuck waited a micron to see if either Sheba or Bojay would override
his orders.  When no dissenting voice came, he continued, "Dietra, if
you're not busy would you join me and Brie at her marker?"

"My pleasure, Lieutenant," the dark Lieutenant purred.

Without being told, both women switched back to their preferred private
frequency and waited for Starbuck to speak.  "Have you still got Apollo,
Brie?"

"Just barely, Lieutenant.  Should I go further out?"

"Negative.  Are you in comm. range of the Galactica?"

"Yes, Sir.  I can hear the bridge on their channel.  Rigel's started
landing the cadets from Blue."

"Did the Major say how far he was planning to go?" Starbuck asked,
knowing the answer, because he knew Apollo well.

"No, sir.  He just said, 'Stay here, I'm going to take a look farther
out.'  But you said I was his wingman and you taught us a wingman always
stays with her leader, so I did," Brie finished proudly.

"Good girl!" Starbuck and Dietra both said at once.  Starbuck continued.
"Want to try something a little different?  A game Apollo and I used to
play?"

"Ooh, sounds like fun, Lieutenant.  What do I do?"

"Well, you've got to be sure you can hear both me and Brie.  Follow me
until you can just barely keep a scan on Brie.  Then keep talking so I'll
know I'm still in range of your scanner."

"And you're going after the Major," Dietra said dryly.

"Got it in one!" Starbuck called, shooting away.

"Start talking, baby girl," Dietra called as she powered up her thrusters
and followed.

***

Anyone listening in Apollo's quarters the cycle after the battle would
have thought the two men were each part of a different conversation.

"They shouldn't have put you in that position."

"I haven't felt so alive in yahrens!"

"I shouldn't have allowed them to do this!"

"Six centars in a viper and I'm ready for six more.  Six centars in that
frakking strategic planning center and I'm wiped out."

"After all we've put you through, to throw you to the Cylons again!"

"I wasn't meant to sit at a desk cycle after cycle."

"And then I go and order you into the heat of battle!"

"I wasn't sure I wouldn't fall apart, you know."

"You could have fallen apart, you know."

The two men stopped circling each other and stared.

"I'm sorry, Apollo.  You didn't want me out there.  I should have
refused; said I wasn't up to it."

"But you didn't fall apart, did you?" Apollo said breathlessly, as though
just realizing it.

"I could have.  I could have panicked.  There was no way of knowing."

"You enjoyed it.  Just like you've always enjoyed it."

"I didn't like it when you went off without me," Starbuck pointed out.

"But you followed and brought me back." Apollo approached Starbuck and
stroked his cheek, careful to telegraph his every move in advance.

"I enjoyed it.  I didn't even realize I missed it until I was out there,"
Starbuck said.  He covered Apollo's hand with his own and pressed it
against his cheek, then turned his head to kiss his lover's palm.

"I'm glad you came after me," Apollo admitted.  He waited to see
Starbuck's reaction.  When the blue eyes met his shining with happiness,
he continued. "I think I was kind of assuming you would when I kept on
going."  He pulled Starbuck to him slowly, making sure he didn't frighten
him.  "It's kind of strange," he said.

"How so?" Starbuck asked, pulling back to check Apollo's expression.  It
was thoughtful, but not unhappy.  He leaned into Apollo again.

Apollo nuzzled his hair once then sniffed.  "I think we'd better turbo
wash.  We can continue this in there."

They found other things to do in the turbo wash, Apollo taking the gentle
lead as was always the case now. Soaping Starbuck all over while checking
his expression at intervals to ensure he wasn't complying out of fear,
Apollo cleansed him and soothed his tense muscles.  Then he let Starbuck
soap his back and buttocks, stepping away when Starbuck hesitated at the
crease leading to his rear entrance.  Bracing himself against the wall,
he used Starbuck's soap-covered back as a washcloth to soap the front of
his own body.  Finally, he reached around and grasped Starbuck's
erection, nibbling gently at his neck as he did so.  He stroked firmly
and steadily, not rushing the other man, until Starbuck was panting and
thrusting.  Every so often he checked Starbuck's expression to make sure
he was experiencing pleasure and not pain.  Apollo continued at a steady
pace, waiting.

Finally Starbuck could take the gentle ministration no longer.  "Please,
'Pol," he begged.  "Please bring me off."

"Of course, love," Apollo said kissing his earlobe.  He tightened his
grasp and quickened his strokes, forcing himself to continue when
Starbuck's pants became sobs, until the man in his arms stiffened,
whimpered once, and climaxed, collapsing bonelessly against him.

Apollo turned Starbuck around, heedless of the mess rubbed onto his
stomach, and soothed him with quiet, crooning noises as Starbuck cried
helplessly into his shoulder.  Apollo wondered each time this happened
whether he should do this, but Starbuck swore he wasn't frightened or in
pain; he just couldn't stop the reaction that came with release.

Dr. Salik said it was repressed emotion from times when Starbuck had been
taken and couldn't either fight back or cry.  He had assured Apollo that
Starbuck did indeed need the reassurance of his physical love and that he
was helping, not harming.  Still, Apollo wondered if he shouldn't stop.

Apollo came back to the present as he felt Starbuck's tremors stop and
the sobs become small sniffs that faded to humming.  Then Starbuck was
nipping at his neck and ear, and Apollo pushed him away, laughing.  "At
least let's get the soap off first," he protested.

Starbuck stuck out his lower lip in a pout, but nodded and they quickly
rinsed off.  Then Starbuck reached for Apollo and was pulled against him.
 Starbuck slid himself up and down Apollo, kissing and nibbling his way
further down with each movement until he could catch up the waiting organ
with its salty welcoming droplets.  He looked up at Apollo, whose hands
hovered over Starbuck's head, not quite touching the mop of blond hair.

Apollo nodded and answered Starbuck's loving smile with one of his own.
His hands itched to clutch Starbuck's hair as he used to and set the pace
to his need, but he didn't allow them.  Never would he force Starbuck,
even in sex play.  Too many had forced him to humiliate and debase
himself.  Apollo pressed his palms against the wall of the turbo wash,
afraid to abandon himself to the pleasure Starbuck's mouth and hands were
offering.

'At least he lets me pleasure him,' Starbuck rebuked himself as his
thoughts went to other post-battle cycles, when they spent their excess
energy and adrenaline on each other, reveling in their maleness and
heedless of bruises that would be apparent after a sleep-cycle.

He drew his focus back to the present and gave all Apollo would allow to
the man he loved more than life itself.  Finally, he felt Apollo begin to
surrender his mind to his body and he opened his throat to draw Apollo's
cum in. But Apollo couldn't complete the surrender, Starbuck realized.
He needed proof that Starbuck could withstand his need.  'You'll hurt him
again!' part of Starbuck screamed. 'And when you do, they'll take you
away forever and never let you die.  They'll just use you and use you and
never let you go.'

Apollo pounded the wall with his fists, fighting the surrender that might
lead to Starbuck's withdrawal again.  Suddenly there were strong hands
around his wrists.

Apollo's need overcame Starbuck's fears for himself.  "Cum now!" he
ordered pulling back from Apollo's thrusting cock.  Then he sucked the
cock in and kept a pumping suction going until Apollo ripped his hands
free of Starbuck's imprisoning grasp and pulled and pushed his head to
meet his need, slamming his groin against Starbuck's face and cumming
with a howl.

When Apollo came to his senses again he was slumped against the turbo
wash wall.  He held up his hands and found strands of blond hair in them.
 With fear and horror, he raised his head to look for the man he had
violated so brutally.

Starbuck met Apollo's terror-filled green eyes with his own steady blue
ones.  He sat back against the opposite wall, knees comfortably raised
and a look of satisfaction on his face.  His lips were swollen and
slightly bruised, yet he radiated contentment.

Apollo crawled over.  "Starbuck, I'm so ..."

Starbuck shushed him with a hand to his lips.  "That was wonderful,
Apollo.  I came just from the thrill of it."

Apollo looked at him over his hand.  There were no tearstains on his
lover's face.  There was no wariness in his eyes.  The only thing he saw
was love.  He kissed the palm that lay gently against his mouth.
"Wonderful," he echoed in agreement.

***

They had found the base.  They had landed in force and caught the Cylons
unaware.  The base was rubble.  And their casualties had been minor - no
one killed, no one permanently disabled.

Starbuck and Apollo joined the exultant troops in the OC, Starbuck even
accepting a mug of grog when Apollo offered it.  Only one mug and only
grog, but the first liquor he had dared since it had been his undoing.

Apollo, feeling a lightness and ease he hadn't experienced before,
imbibed more heavily, and Starbuck found himself chuckling as he felt the
arm around his shoulder grow heavier with each step.  He was more
dragging Apollo than leading him by the time they reached their door.
"Good thing Boxey's with his grandfather," Starbuck commented.

"Yeah, it's a fambly ...,firmly ... ah we always got sent to the
grandparents when Dad came home from a battle."

"I see," Starbuck said, supporting Apollo with one arm while keying the
code into the lock.  "Here we go."

"Gonna have to undress me, Bucko," Apollo slurred.  "Jus' like a real sex
slave."

Starbuck steered him to the bed, turned him around, and gently pushed him
backwards. 'So that's what you'd really like me to be,' he thought.  'In
vino veritas, old friend. You'd never let me know though, would you?
Afraid I'd turn into a gibbering mental case.  If you had decided that
was my punishment instead of pushing me out...' he shook his head. He had
deserved what Reese and his men had done to him, despite the guilty
consciences everyone else had about it. Had he been given to Apollo to
use, Apollo would not have been harsh enough.  'Now Boomer,' he thought,
'Boomer was a different story.  I didn't deserve what he did.'  He stood
very still. 'No,' he said to himself firmly, believing it for the first
time. 'I didn't deserve what he did to me.'

"C'mon, slave," Apollo demanded drunkenly.  "Take my clothes off."

"Strip you?" Starbuck asked, smiling at him as he got on his knees.
"Yes, I'll strip you ... Master."

"Now you," Apollo announced as he slouched naked on the bed.  A
half-formed erection waved along with his arm as he pointed at Starbuck.

"Of course, Master," Starbuck said. He did a slow striptease, making sure
he was fully exposed to Apollo.

Apollo looked at the beautiful naked body and giggled.  He had always
wanted Starbuck like this, but never worked up the nerve to tell him.
Not that Starbuck had ever played at Master to his Slave either; Starbuck
had been a loving and gentle teacher until he turned crazy.  Apollo
looked again at Starbuck's body, the scars not marring its beauty but
enhancing it.  Except for the big ugly one on the back of his neck, but
Apollo made a point of not looking at that. Something wasn't right, he
knew.  He shouldn't be doing this; something was wrong, but he couldn't
put his finger on it.  In it.  That was it! He wanted his finger, among
other body parts, inside Starbuck.  "C'mere, Slave," he giggled. "An'
bring some lube with you."

Starbuck's cock perked up at the mention of lube.  Would Apollo finally
enter him again?  Lords, he hoped so.  He'd been a bottom all his life -
almost literally, he realized - until Apollo.  Apollo was a virgin to
male/male sex, so Starbuck played at being the top.  He'd showed Apollo
how to enter him, of course, and towards the end - Starbuck always
thought of his life as ending when he raped Apollo and Apollo threw him
out - they were just about taking equal turns.

Apollo had taken him out of desperate need a few times a yahren ago, but
felt so guilty because Starbuck couldn't control his emotions that he'd
stopped showing any physical attraction until Starbuck had broken through
his own barriers and begged to know whether Apollo still loved him.  Even
now, over a yahren later, Apollo and he only shared mutual masturbation.
It took extraordinary coaxing on Starbuck's part to get Apollo to even
allow Starbuck to give him a blow job.  But anal sex, no.  'Maybe tonight
you'll take your slave from the rear, with a little push in the right
direction,' Starbuck thought.

By the time he retrieved the lube and he and Apollo were arranged to
Apollo's inebriated satisfaction, Starbuck's cock was at full attention.

"Mmm, very nice," Apollo complimented it.  "Very nice indeed.  Can you
get even bigger?"  Apollo asked. "Let's find out." He began playing with
Starbuck's balls, eliciting small moans from the blond lying next to him.
 "On your side now, Slave," he ordered, fumbling with the cap to the
lube.  "Here, it's stuck - open it," he demanded handing the tube to
Starbuck.

Starbuck opened the lube and handed it back to Apollo.  Apollo giggled,
eying first the lube and then Starbuck's ass.  Still giggling he spread
Starbuck's cheeks, put the open end of the tube against his anus and
squeezed.

Starbuck yelped and jerked as the cold gel invaded his body.

Apollo laughed and tossed the tube aside.  "Ooh, do that again, that was
funny!" he said.  "I'll help you." With that his spread Starbuck's cheeks
again and pushed his thumbs into the well-greased opening.

Starbuck jerked and whimpered.  Then he thrust back.  "Yes.  Yes, Master.
 More.  Please more."

Apollo chuckled and withdrew his thumbs.  He slapped Starbuck's buttocks
when the blond groaned his disappointment.  "Nope.  No more.  Not right
now.  Slave shouldn't be enjoying it that much.  Master should," he
decided.  When Starbuck didn't move, Apollo slapped him harder.  "You do
it to me, Slave!  Me first."

'Oh, no, Apollo, don't do this.  Don't ask me to after what I did to
you.' Starbuck was frozen in place.

"C'mon Slave! I told you to do it to me," Apollo insisted.  "Look at
this." He wiggled his floppy penis with one hand.  "Not even stiff.
Gotta make it stiff, Bucko.  Come on."

Starbuck rolled over and reached for Apollo's penis without much hope.
Apollo was too drunk to keep an erection without direct prostate
stimulation.  But he didn't even get the chance to try to arouse him
manually or orally.

"No, no," Apollo said, slapping Starbuck's hands away.  "From the back.
Want that lovely big rod up my ass.  Haven't had anything up my ass in
yahrens.  Come on Slave, do what your Master tells you."

'You'll kill me in the morning, Apollo,' Starbuck thought. "Let me suck
you, Master," he suggested.  "I'll deep throat you into oblivion."

"I know you can," Apollo agreed.  "But I want it up the ass.  Up the ass
like in the good old days.  'Member when you could make me cum without
touching me - just fucking my ass and then make me cum down your throat
again just wiggling your fingers?"

"I remember," Starbuck whispered.

"Do it again, Starbuck.  For old times' sake. Do it now."  Apollo didn't
sound so much drunk as wistful now.

"You'll be sore at first cycle," Starbuck warned, even as he reached for
the lube.

"S'okay," Apollo assured him with the confidence of the very drunk. "I'll
get even like *I* used to."

"I'll hold you to that," Starbuck said, blinking back tears.  "I'm gonna
make you pound me 'til I bleed and beg." That had been a joke with them,
both liking it rough, especially after a battle.  Until Starbuck had done
it with no love, just anger.  Then it wasn't a joke.  Then it was over.

But now, in this strange afterlife as Starbuck thought of it, the Lords'
twisted sense of humor was forcing him to repeat his worst actions.  'I
won't lose control.  I won't enjoy this,' he promised himself fiercely.
An idea occurred to him. "Master?" he said.

"Mmm?  When you gonna fuck me?" Apollo said blearily.

"Shouldn't your Slave be kept from cumming?" Starbuck suggested.

Apollo rolled over again and grinned.  "Ooh, yeah.  Tie yourself off,
Slave.  You don't cum until I say."

Starbuck quickly complied, making sure he tied himself tight enough that
he would stay painfully hard and couldn't cum until he was released.  As
rough as he had been on himself, was he gentle in preparing Apollo.

But once Starbuck was fully inside and stroking slowly and rhythmically
against his prostate, Apollo would brook no gentleness.  When Starbuck
resisted his thrusts, he pulled away, reversed their positions with
drunken strength, and rammed himself on Starbuck's erect organ, thrusting
and grunting until Starbuck, supporting him with strong arms, began
thrusting in time, simply to bring him over the edge sooner. Screaming
out Starbuck's name, Apollo came in his lover's face and collapsed.

Starbuck, fighting a blackout from the pain in his cock and the sudden
change in Apollo's position, rolled them over and wiggled off Apollo's
softening organ.  Biting his lip to keep from crying out from pain and
frustration, Starbuck padded into the turbo wash, cleaned himself, and
brought back supplies to clean up the bed and the unconscious Apollo.  He
felt a surge of pride when his thorough, though gentle, cleaning found no
blood or bruising.  He hadn't lost control; he had pleasured, not brought
pain.

Disposing of the used materials, he curled up in Apollo's warmth, his
cock still tied off and rigid, and lay in Apollo's arms, mentally
chanting the mantra, 'this is what you deserved all along,' to keep still
and silent in his lover's embrace.

Apollo awoke feeling achy inside and out, physically and mentally.
Slowly the sleep-cycle before came clear in his memories.  He rose to
check on Starbuck, who lay with his back towards Apollo, and groaned as
stressed muscles were asked to respond.

"Told you you'd be sore after sleep-cycle," came a sniggering voice from
beneath the covers.

"It's a good sore," Apollo insisted.  "Except for the part in my head."

"Well, you can't blame me for that," came the smug reply, followed by a
gasp as Starbuck injudiciously rolled onto his stomach and overloaded
cock.

"Starbuck!  What did I do to you?" Apollo asked, rolling him over.

"Not you.  Me," Starbuck answered, waving away his concern.  "I fucked
you like you wanted - you did want it, right?" His voice wavered and his
eyes became wary.

"Oh, yes.  More than you could know."  Apollo answered fervently.  "But I
made you do this?  I don't remember ..."

"No." Starbuck spoke the syllable firmly. "I did this.  I was afraid ..."
he dropped his eyes, but forced himself to continue.  "I was afraid if I
was enjoying myself I'd lose control and hurt you." He kept his eyes
closed to prevent the tears from falling.

"Oh, Starbuck, you wouldn't hurt me.  It was the drug that made you do
that.  Didn't you understand?"

Starbuck shook his head.  "It couldn't just be the drug.  I must have
wanted it somehow."

Apollo took him in his arms from the back, careful not to squeeze the
engorged penis.  "No, baby.  Never.  You'd never hurt me.  It was all the
drug."  He reached around to undo the binding on Starbuck's cock and
Starbuck flinched and couldn't suppress a whimper.  "I'm going to untie
you," Apollo said.  When Starbuck shuddered and shook his head, Apollo
coaxed,  "Let me release you."

That broke the dam in Starbuck's heart.  Release him.  Yes, Apollo could
release him from the guilt of rape, of murder, of succumbing to a drug
that overcame his own mind.  "Inside me," he rasped.  "I want you inside
me when you release me.  Please, 'Pol."  He was crying uncontrollably
now, his body shuddering with his sobs.

Quickly but gently, Apollo prepared both of them while trying to calm
Starbuck.  He spooned up behind him and entered him, stroking the blond
hair as he did so.  "This is going to hurt for a micron, love, then it
will be all pleasure," Apollo promised as he reached again for the
binding at the base of Starbuck's penis.

With a huge sigh, Starbuck surrendered completely, his whole body
relaxing around the fullness that was Apollo.  Feeling Starbuck relax,
Apollo began gently stroking his prostate with his penis. When Starbuck
was humming with pleasure, Apollo quickly jerked the binding to release
the catch and pulled it off.

The start of a cry of pain turned into a wordless cry of pleasure as
Starbuck climaxed long and hard.  His spasms brought Apollo over the edge
and for the first time he allowed himself to surrender to the intense
experience as well.  He held Starbuck around the chest as an anchor and
Starbuck wrapped his arms around Apollo's as together they rode out the
ecstasy.

Apollo pulled out and Starbuck rolled over so they were face to face.
They pulled the covers over them together. That used all the energy
either of them had.  Spent but happy, as neither had been in too long,
they slept in each other's arms, safe and secure at last.