Title: Swimming with Sharks, Dancing with Dolphins By rita Email: mommacita1@juno.com Rating: NC-17 Pairings: SB/Appy Archive: Yes, please. Just tell me where. Series: No. Website: Jenlmr's website, whose URL I lost in the latest computer crashes (sigh). Disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me and I make no profit from them. I just like to play with them and I almost always put them back as good as new (if not better ). Notes: With apologies to the film makers and divers in "Ocean Men" which, after hubby pointed out how slashy it was, wouldn't let me alone. Warnings (if needed): M/m sex between very consenting partners. If you don't like it, why are you on this list? Summary: The Galactica reaches Earth and the warriors take time to sample some of its recreational possibilities with unfortunate results. *** "Care to join us, Captain?" one of the new cadets asks politely. They've just been through their first skirmish with the Cylons. Not much of a skirmish by Galactica standards, a triad of scouts tracking us - no baseship backup and - if we did the job right - none responding to any communications from these scouts. But it was their first encounter and they did well. Boomer and I exchange indulgent smiles. The adrenaline's pumping and they deserve to celebrate. "Thanks, Byron, but no," I reply, smiling. I remove the plastic rectangle that passes for money on Earth from my pocket and flip it to Boomer. "Buy a round on me, Boom-boom," I instruct. My heart lurches as I realize I've almost perfectly mimicked my love tossing a belt-pouch full of cubits to our best friend and I've used his words, too. I turn away to the patiently waiting figure behind me, eyes tracking my every move. I have to fight to keep the smile in place, knowing the terror a frown will cause, but it's difficult as I hear Byron query, "Why does he keep him with him? Doesn't he know that we have facilities on Earth that would give him proper care?" I can't fault him for asking, really. Byron's going to be the Starbuck of whatever squadron he ends up in, driving his captain crazy, but keeping him honest and alert. Lords bless us for Warriors like Starbuck, or the Starbuck who was until a yahren - year - ago. Of course the cadets have all noticed that my wingman is ... different. How could they not notice? I guess what should really surprise me is that it's taken this long for any of them to voice the question. I consider turning to respond, but Boomer beats me to it. "The Lieutenant saved the Captain's life. He feels ... indebted." Jolly, lounging nearby, adds, "Besides, he's still one of the best frakking viper pilots there is - who better to protect the Skipper?" It's more than that, much more, Boomer and Jolly both know it, but Boomer is always the soul of discretion, bless him, and Jolly will always rise to his friends' defense. I continue toward the still figure but another approaches from the side. "I'll take Uncle Starbuck back to our quarters, Dad," Troy offers. I look at my son. He's almost as young as Cadet Byron, but he's a newly minted Warrior, no longer a Cadet. Just like Zac ... I forcefully turn my thoughts away. "Thanks, Troy," I say, accepting the offer. "Starbuck?" The blue eyes meet mine anxiously and he straightens to attention. I force the smile on my face to widen. "I'm going to go with the Cadets and buy them a round in the OC. You go back to our quarters with Tr - Boxey, okay?" I correct myself, unsure that he would recognize the adult name. "Yes, sir." The response is placid, barely above a whisper. When was the last time he said "no"? I remember exactly ... *** "What's wrong with just staying *here*?" Starbuck whined, rolling away from my outstretched hand and stretching out languidly in the oversized bed. "We can do *this* on the Galactica," I pointed out. "But how often are we likely to have the opportunity - or the time - to free dive?" "And we'd want to free dive why?" Starbuck inquired archly, not budging. "We want to free dive because ... because it's exciting. Exhilarating. A way to celebrate being alive and on Earth. The closest thing to free floating in space." "Like free floating in space, huh?" I nodded eagerly. "Umm, 'Pol, the last time we free floated in space, 'exhilarating' was *not* the word you used." I did the closest thing to a pout that I could manage. "You really want to do this," Starbuck stated with a sigh. He sat up, the satin coverlet sliding down to reveal his bronzed and well-sculpted chest. "I'll go as far as the beach with you - to cheer you on." He slid gracefully out of bed, revealing that the rest of his nude body was equally bronzed and well-sculpted. "I can work on my tan while you free dive." "You don't free dive from the beach, Bucko," I retorted, throwing a copper Speedo at my partner in life and love. "You don't?" Starbuck echoed blankly. "No, silly." I couldn't hide my laughter at his ignorance. You do it from a boat out at ... they call it the 'ocean'." "A boat," Starbuck repeated looking distinctly queasy. "As in 'cruise ship'?" he asked hopefully. "I like cruise ships." "No, not as in 'cruise ship'. As in diving boat." "As in 'small, rocking boat out in the big waves and wind with no land in sight', right?" Starbuck asked, knowing the answer already. "I think I'll stay here, my stomach feels funny," he patted his flat midsection gingerly, "just thinking about it." "Get dressed before I dress you myself!" I snapped, losing patience. I took a menacing step toward the bed. Keeping the bed between us, Starbuck snapped the Speedo at me in response. It was enough to make me attempt my first dive of the day - across the bed. After a little wrangling, I pinned the blond face-down and straddled him. "I think you need discipline, Lieutenant," I remarked. "You're demonstrating a distinct lack of obedience to a superior officer, to say nothing of a lack of the daring spirit that marks a good warrior. I shall have to apply remediation." *** Eventually, we did end up on the diving boat. But Starbuck didn't want to free dive. On the trip out, he'd learned about the dolphins - intelligent sea-mammals native to Earth - and wanted to meet them. I, on the other hand, preferred the depths. The incipient danger of meeting a school of sharks - I'd been told they were little more than animate killing-and-feeding machines - added spice to the adventure. So, donning a wet suit and following the diving line down, I went to swim with the sharks, while my beautiful blond went dancing with the dolphins. And disaster struck. The sharks grew tired of swimming with me, I guess. Or maybe they were hungry to start with and just waiting for me to tire. It doesn't really matter. When I began to run out of breath and stroked for the line to follow to the surface, they surrounded me, bumping and pushing me away from the line and further down into the depths of the sea. I thought I was about to die. Good thing I was in a wet suit or they would have rubbed my skin right off. But as has happened every time I've had that thought, my blond savior suddenly appeared - how he knew I never found out, although I suppose I could ask him. He'll certainly tell me. Anyway, he whipped out his belt knife and cut himself - long, shallow cuts that wouldn't normally be life-threatening. But in this case they were. The scent of blood in the water drew the sharks away from me. Instantly they were on him. I didn't see what happened after that. Two dolphins maneuvered me to the surface. Four more appeared with Starbuck hanging limply in their midst before I could climb the boat's ladder. As I turned to ask him if he was all right, Starbuck beat me to it. "Okay, 'Pol?" he queried, raising his head above the level of the dolphins to scrutinize me. "I'm fine - thanks to you," I replied. Before I could ask if he was okay, he nodded and smiled, then closed his eyes and went limp. The Earth crew took him into their care immediately and then checked me over, so I didn't get a chance to see him again until he was on a stretcher, bound for an ambulance. "He'll be fine, Captain," a dark-suited civilian who appeared to be in charge of both the military and medical workers assured me. "He's weak from blood loss - those slashes he made bled a lot in the salt water - and he has a few abrasions where the sharks bumped him before the dolphins intervened, but nothing serious. Anything else we can do for you while we've got him?" It was then that I made the biggest mistake of my life. "Sure," I said jokingly. "Make him obedient." I swear I was joking, even Starbuck thought so; he raised his head and stuck out his tongue at me. But apparently Colonial humor differs from Earth humor. The dark-suited officer-in-charge took me at my word. Two sectares, months if you prefer, later, Starbuck was returned - not much different than he is now, a yahren, year, later. Obedient. I don't know why and I don't know how to fix it. *** I sigh and a stirring beside me makes me realize I've upset Starbuck. The anxiety in his eyes is unmistakable and he's actually resisting Boxey's gentle tug on his arm. I look around; the others are long gone. I've gotten lost in my thoughts. I smile gently. "It's all right, Starbuck." "Something wrong?" he asks. I pause to interpret that. Starbuck is no longer able to refer to himself. "Something wrong?" might be a query because I've been standing staring at nothing for microns, minutes; but it might also be the closest he can come to "Did I do something wrong?". I answer both possibilities. "Everything's fine. I just changed my mind. Let's go home." *** "It's been a year, Bucko," I murmur as I stroke the unruly blond hair. I think he's asleep, although I've discovered that, in order to obey me, he will fake it. This is one of the times he's faking. "Year?" he queries. He doesn't go anywhere except with me, unless it's on a "space mission" as they're called on Earth - as Jolly said, he's still one of the best pilots around - so he hasn't picked up the Earth-specific words and phrases. "Yahren," I explain. He nods his understanding, undoubtedly filing the new word away - he's always been a quick study with just about everything, especially language. He ventures a question - two in one cycle, day, a new record. "A year since the beach?" How does he know, even now, where my thoughts are? "Yes, I was thinking about the beach and diving." He has nothing to respond to, so he remains silent. He's at ease enough to ask a question, maybe he won't become too agitated if I ask a couple of my own. "Do you remember the diving boat?" He nods. "The sharks almost got you." "Almost," I agree. "But you were there to save me." He shrugs, then offers, "And they fixed it the way you wanted." He looks directly at me for assurance that he hasn't overstepped some limit that was placed on him. I stroke his hair again and feel him relax. I press on. "What did they fix?" He looks at me, momentarily perplexed - how could I not know, his gaze asks - but he answers in a flat tone, devoid of emotion. "You told them to... 'make him obedient'. They did." For a micron, second, something passes behind his eyes, then it's gone. "I was joking," I whisper, looking down and away from him. "They didn't think so." His voice is bitter. I look up, startled and he instantly backpedals. "They took you at your word. Did what you said." He shrinks away as if fearing a blow. I've never hit him. Well, except when we were playing. And certainly not since he came back like this. I don't understand why he thinks I will. "What did they do to you?" I ask, not even realizing I'm speaking aloud. But he answers - he has to, I guess, to be obedient. I can sense his difficulty, finding words to tell me what I want to know but unable to refer to himself. "They used drugs - hypnotics, maybe - and machines. When ... it wasn't right, they punished. Until it was always right - there was no other way, no choice." He seems unperturbed by what he's telling me. But then the only emotion he's expressed in the last year is fear, like now when I gasp in horror and a look of pure terror crosses his face. Even so, he *sounds* completely calm as he attempts to placate me. "Sorry, no complaints, just telling - you wanted to know, you asked." "They hurt you, because I told them to make you obedient?" I know he's telling the truth, his mental state for the past year has proven it beyond doubt, but I don't want to believe it. "Trained, programmed. Behavior modification - reward and punishment." He shrugs again, to show it doesn't bother him. They may have forced him to be obedient, but somehow he's skirted around the need to tell the truth. He'll lie to save my feelings still. "Only hurt when it was ... required for obedience." "Why can't you talk about yourself?" I demand, frustrated at his need to work around that restriction. He thinks for a long micron, working out how to answer. Finally he taps his chest. "Nobody there. Only exist to please you. Only for you." Suddenly he smiles. "That part's okay," he says and for that instant the old Starbuck shines through his eyes. "But you're not pleasing me!" I blurt out. "No!" he cries. "Please, no!" He rolls into a ball, rocking himself. I pull myself together hurriedly. Gathering him in my arms, I speak in what I hope are soothing tones. "It's all right," I tell him again and again, until he stops shaking. "It's not your fault." He braves a look into my face. To my surprise his face is dry - perhaps he's forbidden to cry. "Okay now?" he asks. "Yes. No. It's not okay, but it's not your fault." "Fix?" I understand that he's asking me how he can fix what's wrong. But the tone of mixed hope and fear undoes me. "Bring back the old Starbuck!" I cry, and tears fall from my eyes for both of us. "Disobedient Starbuck?" he asks, and I nod. He's silent for a micron, then reaches to wipe away my tears. "Can't," he finally says sadly, shaking his head. That one word breaks me. I sob and he pulls me into his arms, soothing me as I just soothed him. I feel him kissing my eyelids and stroking my face, calming me as he's done in yahrens past. Finally I still and he holds me away from him. "Look at ... look," he demands, unable to say "me", but I understand and look into his concerned blue eyes. "Not gone. Never gone. Just ..." he sighs with the effort to put forbidden thoughts into words. "Always love you. Always will." He pauses and I can see his struggle to overcome the obedience programming. "Show you?" he asks finally, giving up on finding words that he can voice. I nod and he lays me down gently, kissing my tears away until my face is dry. Undressing me slowly and kissing his way down my body. He shows me with his body, shows me he really is still there, my lover, my savior, my life. It's been a yahren since he's taken the lead, although after several sectares of abstinence I began making love to him again, always wondering if he got anything out of it or just responded to avoid imagined or threatened punishment. Now I know. "I love you," I whisper as we lay together afterwards. "I never meant for them to do this to you." And he responds, "I know." And then, as if testing reality, he whispers, "I love you, 'Pol." We look at each other in wonder. Maybe alone he can't bring the old Starbuck back, anymore than I can. But maybe, maybe together we can. After all, together we swam with the sharks and danced with the dolphins.