BY YOUR COMMAND - Static ARCHIVE

In the dim light of the pre-dawn, something wakes me.

It's a strange sound from outside - no, from overhead. I sit up, subconsciously recognizing engine noise from a spacecraft flying low over the land. I scramble from my bed and out into the snow, ignoring the cold attacking my bare feet. The sound is fading, is merely a faint echo now, but I can see the vapour trail across the lightening sky. Someone has come to this world - but who? Human, Cylon… or other?

The vapour trail goes right over the destroyed base. A Cylon ship, scouting the damage? After 159 days, have they finally come? I rush back inside, get dressed and strap on my laser. Should I get the data recorder? No, leave it until I confirm who my visitor is.

I am out the door again just as the sun peaks over the horizon. The air is still, the vapour trail disappated. In the shadows of the buildings I make my way towards the base, never far from cover, eyes and ears straining for any movement or sound. At the last building, where decaying agricultural equipment is stored, I peer across the vast open space that lies between me and Cylon stronghold. There's no cover; anyone or anything would pick me out instantly against the packed snow, so I will wait here to see whatever I will see.

Cold. There's ice forming on my beard, and despite the gloves I found, I have to pull my hands back into the sleeves of my coat. Not the best stance if I have to suddenly reach for my gun, but numb hands would be even more useless. I rock back and forth on my feet, keeping the blood flowing to my toes.

Come on, whoever you are. Show yourself.

Finally, some movement catches my eye. A lone figure thrashes through the snow. I forget the cold, squint and lean forward a little, trying to see what kind of lifeform it might be. It's not silver, not metalic, so therefore not Cylon, I note with some relief. And it moves too fluidly, isn't the least bit robotic.

While most of the base was underground, there were three levels towering over the landscape. The force of the explosion caused them to collapse, and it was only through blind luck that I ended up near a door to the outside. This door still stands open, and the figure heads right towards it. Now the sun is hitting the snow, and the glare is blinding me. I can't make out any other details about my visitor.

I think he/she/it went inside, but they won't get too far. Maybe I should take this opportunity to skirt around the base, get a look at the ship. Have to move anyway, or I'm going to freeze to death. So, here goes -

I guess I've never had to run in this cold weather, for I only cover half the open ground before my throat and lungs are burning and I have stop and drop to my knees, gasping. Then I remember: in extreme cold, your body may not be able to warm the air you suck in fast enough. And I am out of shape, there's no denying that. Well, this is great. I'm a big, wheezing target, right out in the open.

Finally, my breathing recovers, and I brush tears from my eyes before they freeze on my face, and squint once again at the open door. The figure has come out again, stands staring at me.

I fumble for my gun, but …

… even from this distance, I recognize the parka.

And the boots.

But that's just not possible. My mind won't accept the information my eyes are providing. After 159 (or more) days, they would be beyond this star-system. The figure takes some hesitant steps towards me, then abruptly picks up the pace, and as he comes closer I see the insignia of the Galactica, but I'm strangely paralyzed by it. What if I'm halucinating? That would be too cruel… I close my eyes, not wanting to look.

The figure drops down before me, and I feel a gloved hand pushing my hair back from my face.

"Apollo?" I hear a trembling voice say. "Oh my god, Apollo!"

This voice has called to me in my dreams. I open my eyes, catch just a glimpse of the face before it's blurred by new tears.

***

Our reunion in the snow is short-lived because of the cold. I can't speak, am struck dumb by shock and emotion, so just get to my feet and pull him along after me, hurrying towards the warmth of my small dwelling. Inside, I immediately stoke the fire, and when I turn back to him, he's already slipped off his parka and gloves, stands in his Galactica uniform. I shrug out of my coat, still staring awestruck at this face I never expected to see again.

But then he closes the distance between us, puts his arms around me and I know I'm not dreaming. I'm crying - we both are. I feel his fingers in my hair, gently caressing my neck, while his other hand slips under my heavy, untucked tunic, running up my back. I pull back so I can see him, and the hand that's been caressing my neck now touches my face, playing a little with my beard. I kiss his palm, am lost in his intensely blue eyes. His troubled, intensely blue, eyes. The joy of our miraculous meeting is not complete.

But the surprise is. He keeps shaking his head, struggling for words.

"You're alive," he finally says, stating the obvious.

"How did you get here?" I ask.

"My Viper."

"Is the Fleet that close?"

"It's not too far."

I pull him close again, wanting only his arms around me. I'm rescued - I'm saved! Soon, I will be home.

***

He's exhausted, sleeps soundly in my bed. He wanted to talk, managed to assure me that my family was okay, but fatigue was taking over and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

I sit beside him on the bed, watching him sleep. My hand lightly strokes his hair. I have to keep touching him to convince myself he's actually here. He sighes in his sleep, shifts so that his arm now rests against my thigh. I lie down too and close my eyes, listening to his soft breathing. It lulls me, and I drift…

***

"Apollo?" Gently he shakes me awake.

He's standing over me. How long have I been asleep?

"Where's your, uh, latrine?" he asks.

I can't resist smiling.

"Get your coat on," I say.

"Oh," he replies. "Great."

At the window, I direct him to a small shed a short distance away. I watch him trot across the packed snow, and he is very quickly back again, teeth chattering.

"Not the best place to be dropping your pants," he comments. "Lord, it's cold."

"There's some warm water over the fire," I say, and he dutifully washes his hands. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

So many questions clamouring for answers inside my brain. But at the same time I am content just having Starbuck here with me. The shock of his appearance still hasn't quite worn off, and, from the way he watches me, it's the same for him.

Luckily, I have some stew on hand that I'd just made the day before. It heats quickly over the fire, and I fill two bowls and take them to the table. Starbuck greedily digs in, eyes firmly on his food, like he's avoiding me. We eat in total silence, then with a sigh he leans back in his chair and regards me seriously.

"So, what happened to you?" he asks, in a not altogether friendly tone.

I tell him, detail the whole mission from my perspective. The more I talk, the angrier he seems to get; his face flushes and he glares down at his fingers.

"The lying bastard," he mutters when I finish.

"Who? Bojay?"

"Who else." He glances at me, hesitating, then continues. "Bojay said you nearly got them all killed two times, first at the computer core when you ignored his warnings, and then when you brushed him off him trying to find the turbolift. You tried to take the team down a wrong passage, according to him, but luckily he realized it in time, convinced everybody you were wrong."

"That's not what happened at all," I reply. "I got lost, but I didn't take anybody with me."

"He also said that he was supposed to carry the data recorder, but you didn't trust him with it and took it away. That, I have to say, made a bit of sense to me, Apollo, because whoever had the mapper was supposed to also carry the recorder. That was the one person we figured would definitely find their way out."

What is this, an interrogation?

"Well, that part is true," I admit. "I didn't trust him with it, not after what Cain did to us at Gomoray. I did have it. What are you trying to tell me, Starbuck?"

"Just trying to figure out what's the truth, that' s all," Starbuck replies. "I finally have the chance to get some answers. Everything Bojay reported to the Commander was designed to torpedo you. Oh, he phrased it all very sympathetically, emphasizing the confusion down there, but still, he put the blame for everything that went wrong right on you."

His anger isn't just directed at Bojay. It's directed at me, too.

"What about the others on my team?" I ask. "Did they just go along with him?"

"Well, two of them were from the Pegasus, so they'd agree with Bojay no matter what he said. Giles got knocked on the head by some debris, and doesn't really remember anything about the mission. And Joab got shot, died before we got home."

Starbuck gets up from the table and walks to my window, looking out at the lengthening shadows. He hunches his shoulders and folds his arms across his chest. I don't know what's going on here, why he's treating me like a hostile witness. He seems to doubt every answer I give him.

"Why are you here, Starbuck?" I ask.

He sighs heavily. "To tell you the absolute truth, Apollo, I'm not here for you," he answers without turning around. "I did think you were dead, got pretty used to the idea, actually."

I swallow. His tone, cold as the air outside, scares me.

"Is everything all right with the Fleet?"

"Hell, no." He faces me now. "I'm sure everybody thinks I've run away, but I haven't. I do have a plan, and I'm going back. I'm here to find that data-recorder and make everything all right again. Redeem myself, I suppose."

"Redeem yourself? What do you mean?"

His eyes narrow. "You know exactly what I mean. You could have warned me about Sheba before we came on this mission. You have no idea what I've been through over these last months."

Oh.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know I should have told you."

"Oh, you're sorry. Well that makes everything all right. That makes up for 5 months of harassment and threats, of being ostracized and ridiculed!"

Any remaining joy has fled. His anger rises, he can't help it. How many times must he have cursed me silently, alone on the Galactica? "Even if I had told you, those things might have still happened, Starbuck."

"No, they wouldn't have. You know why?"

I shake my head.

"Because," he snarls, "I would've taken care of both of them. I would've made sure they kept quiet! Instead, I was caught by surprise. I lost everything, Apollo! Respect, my career, friends…" He pauses, struggles for a moment. "And you."

I have no response. My fears have been realized. Ignorance was better. At least, in ignorance, I had some hope.

"And then there's Troy," Starbuck continues, determined to make me hear everything. "He's not in school anymore, hides out in Athena's quarters, by himself. Apollo, you should have said something if only to protect him!"

Those few words have painted a complete picture for me. I see my son, alone, hating his father and everyone around him. With nowhere to run. Tears flood my eyes

"That's just the personal stuff, Apollo, a drop in the proverbial bucket," he says harshly. "Why do you think the Fleet's so close? This sector is one big series of traps, and we've sprung every single one. I believed Bojay when he said he had the recorder, but I figured he dropped it somewhere and blamed you, either because it was easy, or because he wanted to fuck things up in the Fleet even more. So I'm here to find it. We need it."

"Well," I reply shakily. "I have it. And I will happily give it to you."

"Well, good," is all he says.

***

The evening passes in an atmosphere of controlled hostility. What should be a time of joy is instead one of recriminations and tears. My homecoming, I'm realizing, will not be the least bit happy.

That's if there is anything to return to.

For the Fleet sits motionless in an ion field four parsecs away, doing desperate repairs. Supplies are dwindling, the enemy is everywhere, even within.

The Pegasus pilots staged their mutiny, three months ago. They're gone, leaving the troops and command in chaos. No one died, only because our side refused to fire on them. But Starbuck believes they've been captured. It would explain why the Cylons are able to find the Fleet so easily.

"The only thing that keeps me sane," Starbuck says, "is the thought of Bojay being tortured. No matter what he might tell the Cylons, I hope he's suffering, and that he will be for a long, long time."

My Starbuck has fled, leaving a bitter shell of a man here on a fool's errand. I have done this to him. If I hadn't kissed him that day, some part of him would survive. His rage paralyses me. No words I speak will be enough to placate him. His love turns to hate.

His tells me of his Viper being sabotaged. On a routine patrol, his life support malfunctioned. If he'd been further away, he would have died, but managed to land before losing consciousness. No perpetrator was caught, but Tigh implemented strict security protocols around who had access to the launch bays. Guards were posted, entry restricted, the maintenance crew were all investigated, and every time they touched a ship, they had to log exactly when and what they did.

"Which just endeared me to the maintenance crew," Starbuck says.

He tells me of my father, stripping him of his squadron leader status.

"Not a reflection on my abilities, of course. Just because nobody would do what I said."

Boomer was made Captain, and had to distance himself from both Starbuck and my memory. Starbuck understands, doesn't blame him, says that Boomer has restored a sort of order. Everyone respects him.

"I don't know why I stay there," Starbuck says. "I've thought about dying hundreds of times, but I can't do it. Even the Cylons can't seem to shoot me, so I figured I was being spared for some reason. And I decided that reason was to come back here and get that goddamn recorder. It's all I've thought about for weeks, and finally, I just slipped away. I doubt anybody would have stopped me, if they'd known. Probably would have said 'good riddance'."

I don't understand why they all turned on him so quickly.

I don't understand why they would start believing Bojay -

Oh, I'm forgetting. Sheba. It was her, I'm sure.

"Sheba," Starbuck says quietly, seemingly reading my thoughts, "had quite a hold over the crew, you know. When she said that she saw you and me, that's all it took, Apollo. She hated being lied to, especially since she'd been so up front with you. I think that's what she was the angriest about."

He doesn't say 'I told you so', even though I'm sure he wants to. "Your father called me upstairs," Starbuck continues, "and I had to tell him the truth about you and me."

"What did he say?"

"Not a whole lot. Just that he wished he'd heard it from you. Then he went on about the lack of communication between senior staff and that he expected to be kept better informed. He clung to protocol. I don't think he really knew what to say."

I can only apologize, over and over, which merely antagonizes him more. But I can't completely believe his story about coming here for the data-recorder. He is running away, his final stop this place where his life began to unravel. Starbuck doesn't actually say this, but it lurks behind his words, in the absolute desperation of his current existence. Far more desperate than mine.

"Tell me about the mutiny," I say.

***

Starbuck's voice:

Two days after the mission, the Fleet was attacked. We figured out that, really, we'd only managed to draw attention to ourselves, but at least the Cylon force was a small one, more like they were just scoping us out. By then, Sheba had started to talk, started questioning the leadership like Bojay was. She predicted - accurately, it turned out - an increase in Cylon raids on us. She fed the fears of the self-righteous, blaming these new dangers on our supposed corruption. She said that's why the mission failed, because of the private activities of the two men leading it. The very gods were condemning us.

The Council got wind of this. I don't know what they said to your father, Apollo, but that's when he called me upstairs and forced me to confess. But you know what those councillors were like, and you know some of them had it in for your father, so he was fighting for his political life and control of the Fleet. They actively pushed him to promote Bojay, to put the military leadership back on supposedly solid moral ground. They probably wanted to throw me in the Brig, too, but the Commander wouldn't allow that. In a way, though, I would have preferred it…

Anyway, Bojay was taken into the confidence of the enemy Councillors, and was told that they supported him and were working to move him up to senior staff. As soon as they did that, he considered himself to be untouchable, swaggered around the troop decks giving orders like he already was in charge.

You have to understand the vacuum left by your death, Apollo. Everybody was looking for new leader, desperate to be told what to do. And when Sheba started talking about you and me, they gravitated to her. When she supported Bojay, so did everyone else. It's hard to explain - there was so much going on, and I can't read minds, but I know those Pegasus bastards were applying some pressure to the juniors. And they invoked the name of Cain all the time, saying he'd never have allowed this to happen, never would have allowed such degenerate behaviour amongst his senior officers.

But then your father acted against the Council and Bojay. He promoted Boomer, with no warning. Not even to Boomer, I don't think. It scared the shit out of him, but Boomer rose to the occasion. I went to him and told him not to actively do anything for me. Concentrate on the others, I'd manage to take care of myself, somehow. Bojay, of course, was furious. And the Council was furious, but the Commander was asserting his independence, determined not to be dictated to. But, I do think he chose the wrong guy for promotion. Don't get me wrong, Boomer's been incredible in holding it all together, but I think your father should have picked Sheba. I think he could have gotten through to her, and the troops would have listened to her. And the Council would have been satisfied, too.

Instead, things very quickly went all to hell. The general population was scared to death, and with good reason. What would they do if their armed forces disintegrated, here in the middle of enemy territory? The Council took advantage of the confusion to make new power alliances with different captains, and troops, too. They forced your father off the Council. And in the middle of all this the Pegasus crew planned their mutiny.

Here Starbuck pauses, suddenly reluctant to continue. He runs his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, having an internal debate. Finally, he takes a deep breath and goes on in a monotone:

The day they did it, they took a hostage. Just one, but it was all they needed.

They took Troy, Apollo. They knew your father wouldn't fire on them while they held his grandson. And, maybe in some twisted way they thought they were doing the kid a favour, because they told him all kinds of terrible things about you and me. Athena and your father had tried to protect him. He knew what was going on, to a certain extent. He knew why he was being picked on, but I don't think he had quite accepted what was being said. Sheba said she didn't sanction this action. Her last message to the Fleet said that she was horrified by what her crew had done, but wasn't enough to make her stop it, so maybe her apology isn't worth anything.

They held on to Troy for close to 9 centars. We don't know where. I don't think Troy knows, either. They didn't physically hurt him, but he was a mess after. Still is, Apollo. He can't talk about it, just starts shaking. Nobody can get a word out of him.

Anyway, Sheba, Bojay and the rest of their band took off in a carrier loaded with our dwindling rations, heading back towards Cain's last known position. There was nothing anybody could do because they still had Troy. They jettisoned him in a lifepod when they got to the edge of the Galactica's scanner range. We're lucky to have found him before the Cylons.

After that, your father just - just felt he couldn't continue, I guess. He stepped down as Commander and turned everything over to Tigh. Tigh's still in charge, and nobody's really sure what your father's doing. He's still on the Galactica, but we don't see him all that often.

The only good thing that came of all this is that what those Pegasus bastards did to Troy snapped everybody out of whatever hateful, combative spell they'd been under. Even the ones that despised us the most, Apollo, realized that no child deserved that. It pulled us back from the brink of total chaos. But, things aren't anywhere near normal, yet, and I don't know if they ever will be. Unfortunately - or maybe I should say 'fortunately' - we haven't had a lot of time to think about it. The Cylons have been all over us, along every heading we've tried, so we've been forced back this way. In five months we've gone a whole 4 parsecs from here, when we should have been through this system.

***

He tells me all this with no passion in his voice, just weary defeat.

"And what about you?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Nothing much to talk about. Everybody leaves me alone now, which in some ways is just as bad. I'm a ghost on that ship, I fly my patrols, respond to the alarms, but otherwise, I'm by myself. I'm Jolly's wingman. He's the only one who'd agree to it."

Starbuck pauses, gives me a searching look.

"You know what the worst part was?" he asks. "I wasn't even allowed to grieve for you. That was taken away from me too. There came a point where I can even remember thinking I was glad you were gone, that it was better this way. And I hated myself for thinking that. It was a betrayal of everything we had, but I guess betrayal was kind of going around, so I shouldn't be surprised that it got me too."

"Why are you here, Starbuck? It's not for any data-recorder. I don't believe that."

He doesn't answer for a moment, looks down at the floor.

"I don't know," he says, for the first time showing some emotion other than anger as tears fill his eyes. "Maybe I just had to get away for a while, and this place called me. I never felt right about not trying to find you, even though I knew you were probably buried in the wreckage somewhere. I don't know what I was hoping for. I'm just a deserter, I guess, no better than our brothers and sister from the Pegasus."

Confused, delusional, lonely - it sickens me, what we as human beings can do to each other.

"There's no hope up there," he whispers, staring off at nothing. "We're just waiting for it all to be over…"

***

It's too much for me. Without a word I get my coat and gloves, and slip out into the night. He doesn't stop me, doesn't even look up. For all he cares, I could go lie in the snow and let the cold take me in a gentle, hypothermic sleep. Maybe that would be the best thing, for how can I even contemplate going back? They hate me. They won't be glad to see me at all.

But I want to go. Despite everything Starbuck has told me, despite his anger and hostility, I want to go back and try to make things right. Like him, I feel I've stayed alive for a reason. Redemption is also my goal.

The night sky is clear, filled with millions of stars and a wan half-moon. Somewhere above the southern horizon, the Fleet is hanging in space struggling to survive. This sector has been more unkind than I could have imagined.

Will my father welcome me? Does he still love me? Or have I brought him only disappointment and pain… I have tried to be a good son. I really have, but I know I fucked up badly, let my emotions cloud my judgement. How many people have died because of me?

Troy I have to push completely from my mind. I can't bear to think about him, I can't deal it that right now. The horror of him floating alone and afraid in a lifepod so far from home - oh my god, it'll make me shut down. I will just sit in the snow and slowly freeze to death.

I shiver, pull my coat closer around me. The snow has a silvery glow from the reflected starlight. I've walked as far as the ruined temple, the main hall filled with undulating drifts as winter comes to worship. I can't see the statue, it's buried under a blanket of white, but I know it's there, ready to hear me.

I work my way to the front and dig until I can see the face. Moisture has frozen in the blank eyes, leaving thin rims of ice that glimmer in the light so that the statue looks as if it's weeping frozen tears.

"Don't cry," I whisper to it. "Everything will be all right."

But, as I kneel there, my gloved hand on this fallen god's cheek, I realize that this abandoned god is indeed crying.

He cries for me. As I crouch down staring at this passive face, it occurs to me that maybe I'm not going home. My heart starts thumping in alarm as my mind struggles to make the connections:

Starbuck didn't expect to find me. He came in a ship not designed to carry passengers.

Oh my god, this can't be!

But I know it's true. Unless there's been a change in design, unless those ships have been made bigger and their lifesupport upgraded, he can't take me that far. Only over very short hauls can Vipers carry two people. And, in the small cargo space behind his seat, he'd have stowed supplies - food, water - so there's no room for a passenger anyway. To go 4 parsecs on maximum burn would take at least 5 days, and that's going in a straight line without stopping, which I'm sure we wouldn't be able to do.

Fuel. Does he even have the fuel? Did he really intend to go back?

Oh my lord, maybe we're both trapped here. Starbuck, what have you done?

***

He's standing in the window when I return. Inside, I hand him the data recorder that I've retrieved from its hiding place. He accepts it wordlessly, watches me slip out of my coat.

"You better rest," I say. "You've got a long haul ahead of you. If you are indeed going back."

He looks down at the recorder, turns it over in his hands, inspecting it until he's satisfied it's undamaged.

"I am going back. I always planned to."

"You have the fuel?"

He nods. "Yeah. I towed it with me. Left it in orbit."

It's all 'I': 'I' am going back. 'I' have enough fuel. I turn away and kneel down to busy myself with the fire, feeling suddenly too weak in the knees to stand. My hands are shaking, so I just fold my arms across my chest and stare into the flames.

In my mind I'm shouting: What was the point of all this, if I don't get to go home? Why bring Starbuck to me, if all that's going to happen is angry words and a second abandonment here? Was what we did truly so evil that I have to be punished this harshly?

The fates - the gods - keep up their smug silence. I'll get no help from them.

"Apollo," Starbuck says.

"What?"

"I didn't expect to find you."

"I know."

"But, I was thinking that you could take the ship and go home, and I'll stay here."

Confirmation. Room for one only.

I shake my head. "No. I don't know the way."

He lowers himself to the floor beside me.

"Then I'll come back for you," he says.

"Don't make me any promises," I reply sharply.

He winces.

"What you can do for me," I say, looking him right in the eye, "is shoot me before you go."

He says nothing, but puts his arms around me and pulls me to him, so that I'm cradled against his chest. I don't want to be held, I want to be angry, to rage against the fates and their continuing desire to fuck me over. But I can't pull away. His embrace tightens as the first sobs escape me, but there is no comfort in being in his arms this time.

***

The sorrow of our immanent parting infuses every touch. We kiss tenderly - almost cautiously, afraid to become too involved. He runs his fingers over my now smooth face, the beard a casualty of our lovemaking. He wanted his old Apollo, just for a little while.

His tongue slips gently between my lips, and his hand slides down my chest to touch my growing erection. Then he rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. He always liked having me on top, liked being pushed down into the bed by my weight. He wraps his legs around my waist, pulling me close. The past is too readily called up, the familiarity of all these sensations edges the pleasure with sharp pain. I'm temporarily overcome by future loneliness, and my vision blurs, but then his hands pull me down against him, and I nestle into his neck, letting him hold me.

"Apollo?"

"Hmm?"

"I do love you. In spite of everything I've said and thought, I -"

"Quiet," I say. "No more talking."

I don't want to hear it.

Instead I kiss him hungrily, determined to feel desire and nothing else. He moans as I thrust against him, and his hands move down my back to my ass, gently probing. My beautiful Starbuck, your touch is just as I remember, just as I have dreamed about on many a lonely night. Only you were never this sad. But then, neither was I.

My tongue traces designs down his body. Our bodies are all shifting light and shadow, caught in the glow of flickering flames. He watches me, wanting to remember every detail of this night: how I look, how I move. I kiss the head of his penis, and pause to absorb the taste of him. He spreads his legs wide, silently begging me to touch him more.

I will, for a little while. But what I really want is him inside me. I want him to fill me, to be as physically close as two people can be. I suck him, his hands are entangled in my hair, and his breathing comes ragged to my ears. I stop, hearing him groan in protest, move back to his mouth, letting him taste himself.

For a moment, I just stare down at him. I trace the contours of his face with my finger: around his eyes, his cheekbones and nose; his lips and back along the jawline. How could anyone be so angry about what we found in each other? I don't understand. Love is the most important thing you can give to another. It shouldn't cause such pain.

"I want you inside me," I whisper. He nods.

Now I will be played with and prepared, kissed and licked and nibbled on. Hands and mouth working together, making me feel so good that I almost forget about what will soon happen. I am almost carried away by the pleasure but reality just won't let go. A moan comes out a bit choked. A tear escapes my tightly closed eyes.

When he gently pushes into me, I want to stop. I want to freeze this moment, just stay right here forever. Or even die. He thrusts, slowly at first, then faster, and my body responds, wanting this even if my mind does not. My orgasm builds, helped by Starbuck's hand on my cock. Release comes quickly for both of us, and it's barely over when Starbuck lies down and wraps his arms around me. This is what we want more than sex, I think. Just to hold each other until it's time to go.

***

The day is appropriately overcast and dour as we trudge to Starbuck's Viper. Neither one of us has much to say. I'm fighting to keep my emotions in check, not wanting to believe that I'm about to be left again. Earlier, I had the irrational urge to sabotage Starbuck's ship, keep him here with me in permanent exile. But he has to go back. The new cargo he carries could be invaluable to our race's survival, and must outweigh anything that he or I might want. Besides the data recorder, I've given him the religious writings from the temple. Perhaps my father will be able to read them. I know we are doing the right thing here. Still, this is killing me, every step is a struggle.

I was awake before him, and thought about writing some letters to my family, but I could think of nothing to say. Starbuck will tell them all they need to know about me. There are no comforting words I can offer, no explanations that will make everything better. Whether or not they choose to understand me will be up to them. Still, I feel I should send something, so Starbuck has my uniform. They can take this gift any way they want. He doesn't know he carries it. It's wrapped up in an old satchel I found, and I asked him to just give it to my father.

At the ship, I do the visual fight check while he stows the cargo. I run my hand lovingly along the engines, chip away a bit of ice. I want to fly again, to know the freedom of the skies. Maybe someday, if I choose to believe Starbuck will return for me, I will get the chance. Check done, I go back around the ship to where Starbuck waits. His lower lip is trembling, and he won't look at me. All I can do is put my arms around him. I know it will be up to me to send him on his way.

"You've got to go," I say, forcing the words out.

He responds by hugging me tighter.

"Starbuck, please. You've got to get back to the Fleet."

Where am I finding the strength to say these words?

Finally he pulls back, trying to blink away the tears, but more just keep flooding his eyes. I kiss him, on the lips and both cheeks.

"Safe journey," I say softly.

"I'll be back," he says in a shaky voice. "You're coming home."

"Then I'll see you soon."

He removes his glove and touches my face with his bare hand. I kiss the palm. He has to go now. I can't take this any more.

"Please go."

He turns away from me, slipping off his parka. Hurriedly he climbs up into his ship and puts on his helmet. His gaze never leaves me as the canopy comes down, and for a moment he presses his hand against the glass, a final farewell gesture.

I back away and he starts the engines. The snow instantly melts behind the ship, and I am engulfed by a pocket of summer as a wave of heat hits me. I'm momentarily blinded by the turbo blast as his ship lifts. With blurred vision I follow his trail until he disappears above the clouds, my lover, my last contact with home.

***

Day 210: My wait is over. Like the spring, the Cylons have returned. When I heard the ships, I thought for one dizzying moment that Starbuck had indeed come back for me. But there's no room for disappointment or fear or regrets. My journey of penance is cast aside, for I have a new mission to carry out, guided by my sense of duty and honour, something I'd nearly forgotten. I alone will defend this settlement, will take revenge for these forgotten people, as well as for my own. And, if the fates desire it, I'll go on to greater glory, a willing servant to the cause.

END

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To I Alone, part 1

To The Way Back