Oct 2001


	Title:        Too Late
	Author     rita 
	Rating:     NC-17
	Pairing:     SB/Appy, SB/others
	Warnings: For Iris (and others): Graphic non-consensual sex.  Reference
	to repeated rape. Graphic description of results of the aforesaid.
	Reference to child abuse.  Angst.  H/C.  Actually fairly heavy on the "C"
	this time. Possible canon character (major) death.
	Summary: Based on an80sfreak's "Dirty Story" concept, Starbuck is raped
	and blackmailed until he's critically injured.  Will help arrive in time?
	Feedback: Yes, please. mommacita1@juno.com
	Archive: Yes, just let me know where.
	Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I just like to play with them.  I
	receive no profit from them or any of my writing, unfortunately.

	Thanks to an80sfreak for the story concept and to Val and Fingers for
	beta-ing and enhancing it.

	***

	He wasn't going to make it.

	He'd managed to drag himself back to the changing room where they'd
	stripped him. The lighting turned on automatically when it sensed him and
	as soon as his feet cleared the door, it slid closed. Shortly afterwards
	the locker room lighting sensed the absence of biological forms and shut
	off.

	He tried to pull his clothes on, but the motions set off a series of
	painful abdominal spasms culminating in projectile vomiting.  When he
	stopped retching he propped himself up against the back wall.  The small
	room was spattered with his blood and a puddle was slowly growing beneath
	him.

	No, he wasn't going to make it.

	He was sure Gherkin hadn't meant to kill him, just ratchet up the pain a
	notch.  But the cadet had gone too far and something had given way inside
	him.

	Maybe, he thought, not willing to let go of hope completely, maybe if
	someone missed him ... but he knew no one would until he didn't show up
	to teach next cycle. Far too late. If he were still piloting he'd be
	missed, he thought, but he'd screwed that up, too.  Frakking lung damage
	from smoking fumarellos had him grounded for a yahren.

	No one would think anything of his absence in the BOQ or the OC.  His
	friends would think he was with Cassiopeia.  And he'd learned after
	Gherkin's first attack that Cass wouldn't miss him.  When he'd commed
	her, too bruised physically and psychologically to keep their date, she'd
	made it clear that she never counted on him to show up anyway.

	His own frakking fault, but no one would miss him.

	The whole thing was his fault, he reflected.  Stupid and unprofessional
	to humiliate Gherkin in front of the whole class - even if he was acting
	like an idiot when he had so much potential.  The kid could be a fine
	warrior if he'd just focus and fly straight.

	Foolish to agree to meet Gherkin alone in that store room.  After being
	accused of murder, he couldn't really blame himself for going unarmed,
	and he was overpowered by Gherkin's four friends.  But going at all was
	foolish and he wouldn't have been roughed up as much as he had been if he
	hadn't fought - his own fault again.

	Then there was his pride that kept him from reporting the attack.
	'Rape,' he told himself. 'Gang rape, stop denying it.'  That just gave
	Gherkin ammunition for blackmailing him with demands that became more and
	more humiliating and debasing. Amazing how quickly he'd fallen back into
	the submissive patterns he'd been trained for at the orphanage.  As if
	he'd never escaped to the Academy and left all that behind. Was it still
	rape when he went to them, he wondered? Probably not. It didn't matter,
	he realized.  He had told no one and, very soon now, it would be too
	late.

	"A quickie before the game," Gherkin had said.  "No bruising.  Wouldn't
	want to arouse suspicion."  So he'd met them in the locker room.  They'd
	pulled him into this private changing room, put a "Maintenance in
	Progress" sign up, stripped him, taped his mouth, and played with him
	while the other players arrived and suited up.  They'd paused to make
	sure he heard his friends' comments about his unreliability and lack of
	commitment. Gherkin wanted him to know what his supposed friends thought
	of him just to add to his humiliation.

	When the game finally ended and the players had all left, they dragged
	him out and began in earnest, using some sort of club up his astrum to
	encourage his performance.  Gherkin's friends had eventually left,
	satiated, but Gherkin remained, twisting the club idly in his body. He
	remembered wondering what Gherkin wanted.  Finally the cadet spoke.
	"What grade am I getting?"

	The battered man on the floor was nonplussed.  Was he supposed to be
	grading Gherkin's assault skills?  Then it clicked.  Cadet grades were
	due to the Colonel at the end of the secton.  "I don't exactly have my
	record book on hand," he'd replied.

	That got him a vicious jab with the club in his ass.  "You're going to
	pass me with high honors, aren't you?" Gherkin prompted.

	'When porcines astronavigate,' he'd thought. "You'll get the grade you've
	earned," he said aloud.

	Another jab, into new territory deep inside him.  "You're going to fail
	me, aren't you?" Gherkin accused.  "You think you'll get rid of me that
	way, don't you?"  He began thrusting the club in and out, deeper with
	each thrust.

	"No," he had gasped.  The thrusting stopped.  He caught his breath and
	continued.  "Your grades aren't that bad.  But I won't put you at the top
	of the class either.  You placed yourself with the effort you put into
	your work."

	"Frak you!" Gherkin had screamed, plunging the club in until his victim's
	screams echoed off the walls.  Gherkin had been careless when he removed
	the tape from Starbuck's mouth, but luck was on his side. '  In the
	storage areas Gherkin had chosen before, Starbuck's screams would have
	attracted attention. Instead, undisturbed, he yanked the club out and ran
	off, doubtless to throw it down the nearest disposal chute.

	'Just my luck that Gherkin decided to do this here, where there's no one
	around if there's not a game on. The instructor who does grade him will
	look at the steadily declining grades and wash him out,' he thought.
	Small comfort, but it would have to do.

	He shivered; he was cold, so cold.  Maybe he could pull the turbo wash
	curtain down over him.  He forced his lethargic body into motion,
	stretched, and yanked with all his waning strength.

	***

	Apollo was all the way back to his quarters when he realized he'd dropped
	an armband somewhere.  Already annoyed at Starbuck's absence, he now
	cursed his own carelessness along with Starbuck's casual disregard for
	commitments as he retraced his steps all the way back to the locker room.
	The armband was under a bench.  When he bent to retrieve it, he noticed
	the wet reddish-brown streaks on the floor. 'Must be a leak somewhere,'
	he thought and made a mental note to report it.  He turned to leave when
	a crash and a hoarse cry came from the changing room that was closed for
	repairs.  "Anyone in there?" he called.  "Are you all right?"

	His only response was the sound of gagging and choking.  He ran to the
	changing room entrance, nearly slipping on the wet streaks that, he
	noticed, led to the doorway.  Thumbing the manual override, he stepped
	into what looked like a charnel house.

	Apollo looked down and saw that he had nearly stepped on the source of
	the noise.  The man was so hunched in on himself, and covered in blood,
	that Apollo only recognized him by the blond thatch of hair, and even
	that was matted with blood.  "Starbuck!" he cried, kneeling down and
	pushing the turbo wash curtain off.

	"No.  So cold, please no," Starbuck moaned, reaching blindly for the
	material he had paid for so dearly.  The slight motion set off the spasms
	again and he spewed bloody spittle on Apollo.

	"Lords!  Who did this to you?" Apollo gasped, drawing Starbuck to his
	chest, unmindful of the mess.  He held his wingmate tightly until the
	spasms passed.

	"'Pollo?" Starbuck asked querulously.  He recognized that he was
	hallucinating, the last stage of bleeding out.  Apollo couldn't be here,
	but he held on to the comforting illusion and waited for death.

	Apollo recognized the symptoms of internal hemorrhage. He had to get to
	the comm. unit and call for a med team immediately.  But his wingmate
	clung to him desperately.

	"Don't leave me, Apollo," Starbuck begged in a whisper.  "So cold, don't
	leave."

	"I won't, Starbuck.  Stay still," Apollo soothed.  He lifted his friend
	as gently as he could, cradling the blond head against his shoulder, and
	made his way to the comm. unit.

	"Taking me to the Angels yourself, 'Pol?" Starbuck murmured.  "Don't
	think they want me.  Didn't last time."  He reached a blood-covered hand
	up to Apollo's cheek and stroked it.  "Thank you, 'Pol.  Much less scary
	with you here."  He sighed and his hand dropped limply.

	"Shh, don't talk," Apollo said, shifting his burden to free a hand.  As
	he banged on the emergency call button, he almost missed Starbuck's
	words:

	"Love you, 'Pol.  Always have."

	Then Starbuck went limp in Apollo's arms.

	***

	He could still feel Apollo's comforting presence, even when his hand
	wasn't smoothing the hair back from his forehead or adjusting whatever
	was covering him. 'Interim State,' he decided. 'Guess there really is an
	afterlife.  Apollo must be allowed to stay with me until a decision is
	made.' He smiled. 'Shouldn't take 'em long to decide, the way I lived.'

	Apollo felt the change in Starbuck, although the blue eyes remained
	shuttered.  He stroked the blond hair, now clean of the blood that had
	matted it.  "No head wound," Salik had announced smugly when the
	cleansing water ran clear.  "Just the perforated bowel."

	'*Just*,' Apollo thought.  As if that weren't enough.  They were still
	pumping blood into Starbuck, pausing at intervals to check for "leaks".
	So far, they'd found several each time: small punctures in the large
	intestine in addition to the large tear that had nearly killed his friend
	- his beloved. 'Did you really mean it?' Apollo asked silently, looking
	down at the pale face.  Starbuck smiled, as if in response, and Apollo
	stroked his cheek.  Raised voices distracted him and he looked towards
	the doorway.

	"...a slut! They all are.  That's the difference between a socialator and
	a common prostitute.  I should have recognized the signs, I knew enough
	of 'em." Cass's strident voice declared. "I request a transfer to another
	case - another ship if necessary," she said, obviously repeating what she
	had said before.

	Salik pitched his voice lower, but was just as vehement.  "Regardless of
	what you were, or what you think of the Lieutenant, he is in critical and
	unstable condition and will need round-the-clock observation and
	intervention.  You are the available med tech.  You will take charge of
	the patient until you are relieved.  When the crisis is over, I will
	entertain your request for a transfer."

	"I will not tend this whore and clean up his filth.  I recognize the
	results of rough sex even if you don't.  He doesn't deserve the attention
	of a floor-cleaner, let alone the full services of Life Center."

	Starbuck heard the words and cringed.  He had been judged and found
	wanting. 'What a surprise, Bucko,' he thought.  He was wondering what his
	eternal punishment would be when he felt Apollo leave his side.  Despite
	his certainty that his judgment was a fair one, he called out, "'Pol,
	don't leave me."  But his hoarse cry was drowned out by Cass's harsh
	tones.

	"He should be left to tend his own wounds.  On Gemmon he'd be thrown out
	onto the streets to live or die as the Fates decreed."

	Apollo jumped up as Cass's first words registered and reached her to deal
	a hard slap across her face as she finished her statement. "Get out," he
	hissed.  "Get out of my sight before I lose all control."

	Her hand to her reddened cheek, Cass turned to the chief physician.,
	"Aren't you going to do anything?" she demanded.

	"Yes, I certainly am!" Salik declared, turning to the main part of Life
	Center.  "Security!"

	Two black-suited officers trotted into the room.  Starbuck watched
	through slitted lids.  'So that's what the minions of Hades look like,'
	he thought.  Somehow it figured.

	"Take this med tech into custody," Salik ordered.

	"The charge, Doctor?" one officer asked as the other held Cassiopeia
	loosely by the arms.  She appeared too stunned to resist.

	"Threatening the well-being of a patient," Salik responded, looking her
	straight in the eyes.  "I'll be down to press charges once I've
	stabilized the patient."

	As she was led away, Cass broke free and darted to Starbuck's bedside.
	Spitting in his face, she snarled, "You should have bled to death, whore!
	Try again!" and pulled the tubes out of his body.

	Starbuck's world went red, then grey, white noise thundering in his ears.
	Then finally everything faded into black silence.

	***

	"Open your eyes, Starbuck."

	"No, please.  Don't make me," he whimpered, cringing away from the
	presence he sensed.

	"I won't force you, but I wish you'd look at me."  The voice sounded
	weary, as though they'd had this conversation too many times.

	Starbuck realized they had.  Were Hades' creatures supposed to be
	reasonable, he wondered?  He didn't think so.  Maybe it was because he
	did everything else they told him to.  He accepted whatever they put in
	his mouth, drinking or chewing and swallowing as directed.  He moved his
	body to allow clothing to be taken off and put on.  He complied with
	orders to stand, walk, sit, and lie down. He didn't resist when he was
	examined, no matter how invasive or painful the examination was, although
	he flinched and trembled when he was bathed or toileted.  But he had
	never been rebuked or punished for it.

	Right now he was sitting, unfettered, in a chair.  He hadn't been
	restrained in a long while, he realized.  Hades wasn't like that, he was
	sure.  For that matter, why would he still need food or bodily attention
	of any kind if he were dead?  The thought made him blink.  And then his
	eyes were open, looking into sad green eyes that watched him closely.

	"Starbuck?"

	"Apollo?" His voice sounded weak to his ears.

	The sadness faded from the green eyes and the weariness left the voice.
	"Who else?" Apollo smiled.

	"Why are you here?" Starbuck asked.

	"Uh, because I live here," Apollo answered carefully.  Salik had warned
	him that Starbuck would be disoriented when - actually Salik had said
	"if" - he finally regained full consciousness.

	Starbuck looked around.  They were in Apollo's quarters.  He amended his
	question.  "Why am I here?"

	"It seemed like the easiest way for me to take care of you once you were
	disconnected from all the tubes and pipes in Life Center."

	Starbuck thought about that for several centons.  "I'm not dead?" he
	asked finally.

	"No," Apollo replied firmly.

	Starbuck wasn't sure whether to believe him, but decided to play along.
	"Okay," he said and looked expectantly at Apollo.

	After a few centons, Apollo realized Starbuck wasn't going to say
	anything more without prompting.  "What do you remember, Bucko?" he asked
	gently.

	Starbuck frowned in concentration.  "Not really sure," he murmured.
	"Umm, thought I was dying, then you were there."  He looked up.

	Apollo nodded in confirmation and Starbuck closed his eyes to focus.
	Apollo cleared his throat.  "Starbuck?"

	Starbuck opened his eyes and tried a smile, but thought it probably
	wasn't very convincing.  "Still here," he said, half reassuring Apollo,
	half convincing himself.  "Let's see.  I ... died and was being judged.
	Didn't do too well." He shrugged.  "Nothing clear after that.  Waiting to
	be punished, like I was taught."

	"You're not dead," Apollo repeated flatly.

	Starbuck flinched and backpedaled verbally.  "Yes.  I meant I thought I
	died."  He fell silent.  When Apollo didn't respond immediately, he
	shuddered.

	Apollo reached out to reassure him and Starbuck cringed away.  "Easy,"
	Apollo soothed, pulling his hand back.  "No one's going to punish you."
	He couldn't honestly say no one had judged him.

	"Okay,"  The two men sat in silence for a few microns.  Suddenly Starbuck
	blurted out, "It wasn't rough sex!  I swear, Apollo!  I'm not a whore!"

	Apollo was taken by surprise at Starbuck's outburst and pulled him into
	his arms, silently rubbing his back while Starbuck sobbed in shame.  He
	searched his memory to place the familiar words.  'Frak!' he thought. 'He
	must have been conscious after all when Cassiopeia condemned him.'  "No
	one believed her," Apollo murmured into Starbuck's hair.  "And she's long
	gone."

	Starbuck pulled back to look at Apollo.  "Where? How?"

	"Put off the ship before we reached Earth.  All the undesirables were."

	"Earth?" Starbuck echoed, pulling free and moving away warily.

	Apollo cursed himself.  "I'm sorry, Starbuck. I shouldn't have sprung
	that on you.  Gherkin attacked you over two yahrens ago. A lot has
	happened since then."

	"You know about Gherkin?" Starbuck asked very quietly.

	Apollo nodded. "One of his friends confessed when he found out how badly
	you were injured.  Gherkin was put off-ship, too."

	Starbuck shook his head.  Apollo knew what he had done. Others must know,
	too.  Yet they hadn't put him off-ship.  He wondered why.  And Earth -
	they had found Earth.  Did Earth have sex slaves? Was he saved to be
	sold?  Was he truly alive?  Or was this all some hideous punishment?  It
	was too much.  He closed his eyes and retreated into his mind, blocking
	Apollo - or whoever he was - and his pleas, not responding, not thinking.
	
	***

	"Too many trigger points," Dr. Salik said after he finished examining the
	man who sat staring at the wall and listened to Apollo's recitation of
	the periods of consciousness he'd recorded.  "You can't anticipate all of
	them; you shouldn't even try.  Even now he hears things and stores them,
	interpreting them for himself with no touchstone to the outer world."

	"Will it ever get better?" Apollo asked.

	"I don't know," Salik answered honestly.  "I won't lie to you, Apollo.
	It's self-doubt and self-condemnation that's keeping him prisoner.  If
	you don't give up on him..."

	"I won't!" Apollo replied fiercely.

	"I didn't think you would," Salik responded mildly.  "And it's because
	you haven't that he keeps trying again and again.  You're the consistent
	note, non-threatening and always there when he takes the risk of reaching
	out.  He may start to put things together and realize it is safe to come
	back."

	"How will I know?"

	"When he starts remembering previous times he was aware.  When he
	acknowledges that he's alive and where he is.  Those are the clues.  It
	took two years for him to try the first time.  Now he comes around almost
	once a week."

	"Last time I thought he was going to be able to take it.  Then Boomer
	came in..."

	"As I said, you can't anticipate all of his trigger points.  The
	catatonia is lighter now, too.  He keeps his eyes open and can be led and
	directed.  It's a vast improvement, you're just too close to see it."

	"I hope you're right," Apollo said, rising and encouraging Starbuck to do
	the same.  Taking his hand, he walked towards the door.  "Thank you,
	Doctor," he said over his shoulder as they exited. "Let's go home,
	Bucko."

	"Home," the man beside him echoed.

	"You with me, Bucko?" Apollo asked, surprised.

	"Always try to be," Starbuck answered hesitantly.  "Sometimes, I just
	can't."

	"I'm so glad you told me.  I needed to know that - needed to know you're
	trying."

	"I am, 'Pollo.  I want to be with you.  Don't like making you sad."  They
	both knew he was drifting away again.  Faintly, he said, "Sorry."

	Apollo smiled sadly.  "It's all right, Bucko.  I'll be here whenever
	you're able." He knew the other man didn't fully understand, but he
	squeezed his hand to reassure him of his presence and smiled a little
	more broadly when the squeeze was returned.

	***

	Apollo smiled sadly.  "It's all right, Bucko.  I'll be here whenever
	you're able." He knew the other man didn't fully understand, but he
	squeezed his hand to reassure him of his presence and smiled a little
	more broadly when the squeeze was returned.

	***

	Apollo glanced over at the bed when a motion caught his peripheral
	vision.  Starbuck was fully awake, he saw.  He was looking around, not
	just staring at nothing, or keeping his eyes closed.  Apollo smiled.
	He'd hoped to share some of this time on Earth with him. 'Maybe this time
	he'll stay alert,' he thought, then chastised himself.  Since he'd first
	come around, a yahren - year - before, after two years of catatonia, he'd
	drifted in and out of full awareness.  Apollo tried to repress the hope
	that this time would be different, so that he wouldn't be crushed when it
	wasn't, when he watched Starbuck retreat.  He turned towards the bed.
	"Good morning."

	"Is it morning?" Starbuck asked, turning towards him.

	"Morning on Earth," Apollo confirmed.

	"*On* Earth?" Starbuck queried.  "I remember you said we'd reached Earth,
	but haven't we been on the Galactica?"

	"We have until now.  We're on a diplomatic mission to finalize our
	arrangements here."  Apollo hoped that wouldn't overwhelm Starbuck.

	"You mean you are," Starbuck corrected, sitting up.  He fought down all
	the frightening scenarios that made him retreat.  Apollo wanted him, kept
	him nearby, even when he was totally unresponsive.  That made him work
	harder to stay alert and aware.  "You brought me with you?"

	"Of course.  I take you everywhere I can. This is part mission, part
	furlon - they call it 'vacation' or 'holiday' for civilians, 'R and R'
	for the military."

	Starbuck noticed Apollo wasn't in uniform, not even the blue Command
	uniform he remembered him wearing most recently.  "Are you a civilian
	now?" he asked.

	Apollo laughed.  "Sort of.  Most of the governments on Earth are
	civilian, and uniforms aren't always respected, so we decided that our
	representatives shouldn't wear them."

	"Do I wear clothes?" Starbuck asked, one of his worst fears coming to the
	fore.

	Apollo looked at his friend closely, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.
	"Of course.  If you're more comfortable in your uniform, you can wear
	that.  But I brought along civvies for you, too." He answered carefully,
	trying to keep his voice neutral.

	Starbuck relaxed his tense body.  "I like civvies," he said agreeably.
	"Should I get dressed?"

	Apollo nodded.  "Whenever you're ready to get up. Turbowash is in here,"
	he gestured over his shoulder.  "They call it a 'bathroom' or a 'head'.
	Breakfast is in half an hour.  If you're not ready, they serve all day in
	the grill and there's room service."

	Starbuck put up a hand.  "I need a dictionary," he said.  "I've heard you
	talk to the Earth people sometimes, but it didn't sink in.  Is
	'breakfast' food?"  Apollo nodded.  "And 'half an ... hour?' Is that
	soon?"

	"It's less than a centar."

	"Good.  I'm hungry.  I always feel hungry when I wake up - really wake
	up, I mean."

	"Maybe I don't feed you enough," Apollo replied with a frown.

	"You worry too much.  I heard Salik tell you I was in good physical
	shape.  And he doesn't give compliments, you know that."
	
	Apollo smiled and shook his head.  "You do hear everything, don't you?"

	Starbuck grinned back at him.  "Old habits die hard, I guess, even when
	I'm on autopilot."  He turned serious.  "Lately, I think I'm usually
	almost there even when I can't quite ..." he gestured vaguely with his
	hand. "Can't quite break through."  He slid to the edge of the bed and
	something caught his eye.  "Hey!  Is this a real window?"

	"Yup.  This is Earth."

	Starbuck scrambled over to it.  "Earth's a water world?" he asked looking
	back at Apollo in confusion.

	Apollo laughed.  "I should have told you more.  We're with a bunch of
	earth delegations on a cruise.  A cruise is ..."

	"A trip by boat over water." Starbuck finished for him.  "When did we
	land?  How did we get aboard?"  Apollo opened his mouth to reply;
	apparently this wasn't overwhelming Starbuck - or his curiosity had
	overcome his fears. Starbuck stopped him from speaking.  "Wait!  I really
	am hungry.  Let me get washed and dressed and tell me over ... breakfast,
	you said?"

	"Breakfast," Apollo confirmed.  "First meal after sleep cycle. I forgot
	you were the one who picked up languages so easily.  That'll come in
	handy." 'If you can stay with me,' he finished silently.

	***

	To the surprise of both of them, Starbuck did stay fully conscious. Only
	once did he come close to retreating.

	Since part of the mission was to learn more about Earth's cultures, they
	frequently toured land areas, and Starbuck was fascinated by the
	different geographies and architectures, as well as the food and customs.
	But it wore him out.  He tired easily if he exerted himself at all
	during the day.  In the evening, there were dinners and parties to
	attend, so an afternoon nap became part of his routine.  Apollo generally
	did paperwork or contacted the Galactica while Starbuck slept.

	One afternoon, however, one of the diplomats asked to speak to Apollo
	privately, calling while Starbuck was asleep.  Not wishing to wake him
	unnecessarily, Apollo joined the man in one of the ship's lounges.  He
	returned several hours later to find Starbuck curled in the far corner of
	the room, shaking violently, his face pale, and eyes glazed.  Apollo
	hurried over to him, and knelt down in front of him.  "Starbuck?  It's
	Apollo.  Look at me, Bucko.  Are you with me?"

	It took Starbuck several attempts before he was able to focus.  Apollo
	was about to give up and lead him back to the bed, when he managed to
	whisper, "I'm still with you.  Just barely.  I woke up and you weren't
	here. I couldn't ... didn't know how ..." he trailed off.

	"I'm so sorry, love," Apollo soothed. He caught himself too late and the
	"love" slipped out, but it didn't seem to bother Starbuck.

	"Not your fault.  I tried to go find you, but I couldn't work the latch
	on the door," Starbuck tried to explain as he calmed down.  "Then I
	started thinking maybe I wasn't supposed to leave. Then I thought maybe
	you'd left me ... for someone to take."

	"I'd never do that, Starbuck," Apollo insisted.

	"I know.  I really do.  But in my head sometimes..." Starbuck shrugged
	and sat back against the wall.  "I started to lose it.  Then I thought
	that you might come back and how disappointed you'd be if I wasn't all
	there.  You always look so hurt, like it's your fault."

	Apollo closed his eyes and turned his head so Starbuck wouldn't see his
	expression.  He hadn't realized how much Starbuck had observed even when
	he couldn't respond.

	"Don't, Apollo," Starbuck said, tentatively reaching out to turn his
	friend's face back towards him.  "It's not your fault.  It's me.  And I
	know Salik's told you that, too."  He took a deep breath as Apollo turned
	back to him.  "Anyway, I kept fighting myself to stay here.  Guess I'd
	worked myself into quite a state by the time you walked in."  He shook
	his head in dismay.  "I'm not worth the trouble I cause you."

	Apollo shook Starbuck by the shoulders.  "Stop that!  You don't cause me
	any trouble.  And look at what you did - you kept yourself here."  He
	stopped and held himself still, suddenly aware of what he'd just done.

	But Starbuck looked straight into his eyes.  "For you, Apollo.  I did it
	for you. I thought I told you, back when I thought I was dying: I love
	you.  I always have.  I'll do anything for you."

	"I remember," Apollo whispered.  "I didn't think you did though.  And I
	thought it was too late to do anything about it."

	"Sometimes," Starbuck mused, "when you think I'm not really there, you
	kiss me and call me 'love'.  Do you mean it ... the way I do?"

	Apollo blushed. "Starbuck, I've never molested you, I swear.  I do love
	you, and I could never take advantage of you because I love you."

	"I know that.  That wasn't why I asked."  Starbuck paused and gathered
	his courage.  He put his hands on Apollo's shoulders.  "I asked because,
	if you love me the way I love you..." He pulled Apollo close.  "Then
	maybe it's not too late."  He leaned forward and gave Apollo a deep kiss.

	They both knew it would take time and effort before Starbuck could truly
	let Apollo express his love physically, but they had the time and neither
	thought the effort too great.  This first time, they spent hours just
	holding each other and being close.

	"Apollo?"

	"Mmm?"

	"Are you sleeping?"

	"Not really." Apollo rolled over and pulled Starbuck close again.

	"I think we missed dinner."

	Apollo glanced at the chrono.  "Yup.  We did."

	"You're not angry?"

	"Nope.  They'll survive without my great wit and wisdom for one meal."
	
	"I won't."

	"What?"  Apollo rose up on one elbow to look at his lover.

	Starbuck's blue eyes were twinkling.  "I love you, Apollo.  But I'm
	hungry."

	"Hmm.  So much for romance," Apollo teased.  "Well there's one place that
	I think is still open.  They make a thing called 'pizza'."

	"Bread baked with cheeses and meats and vegetables, with a tomato sauce,"
	Starbuck recited.  His stomach growled its assent.

	Apollo rolled into a sitting position. "They do require fully clothed
	patrons though, so you'll have to get dressed."

	***

	They managed to sort and don their clothes and were at the pizza counter
	in record time.  "Can we still get a pizza, or is it too late?" Apollo
	asked.

	The attendant smiled warmly. "It's never too late!" he declared.  He took
	their order and went to the ovens.

	Apollo took Starbuck into his arms and melded their bodies together as he
	kissed him thoroughly.

	"You know, he's right," Starbuck said, when they separated in order to
	breathe.  "It's never too late."