BY YOUR COMMAND - Static ARCHIVE

Boomer hovered over the computer console, a smile of triumph stealing over his face. "This is it, Giles!" He beckoned the flight sergeant over. "If we can figure out how to play this old card game, we won't be losing all our cubits to Starbuck any more!"

Giles leaned over Boomer's shoulder. "How do you pronounce that? Pi - P-I-N-O-C-H-L-E? What does that mean?"

Boomer shrugged and tapped at the keys. "Who knows? Oh, here we go - it's pronounced 'pea-knuckle'. The description of how to play it looks pretty complicated. And there are several versions. But the good thing about it is that it requires skill as well as the luck of the cards to win - and you have to play with a partner." He chuckled. "Won't that just jar Starbuck's chips! And his game face won't help him all that much - only at the beginning of the game, maybe."

"Why only at the beginning?" Giles asked curiously.

"This game has two parts," Boomer explained. "See, it says here that the first part is bidding - that's the gambling part that Starbuck's going to be good at - but the thing is that you have to bid based on what you think your partner might have. And your partner gets to bid, too."

Giles looked at the screen more closely and began to grin, gradually perceiving the ramifications. The disadvantageous ramifications for someone like Starbuck. He clapped Boomer on the back. "Boomer, you're a genius! This could teach Starbuck a lesson - and get us back some of what we've lost to him over the yahrens."

"Well, this wasn't entirely my idea," Boomer admitted reluctantly. "But I'm the one who did the research. So if it works, I'm taking the credit."

"Spill it - whose idea was it?" Giles continued to read the screen, fascinated by what he was seeing.

"Can't tell you - I made a promise. But if we're going to move with this plan, we need to see if we can get some of these cards made up." Boomer swung out of the console seat and Giles followed him down the corridor.

"It might take a while, but I'll try the Leonid Mercantile ship," Giles offered. "They print up those fancy fortune-telling cards, so why not these? But how are we going to make this Pinochle more popular than Pyramid? And teach everyone to play?"

"We'll work on that." Boomer smiled. "I think we're going to get some help, too."

Apollo's lips twitched in irritation as Starbuck laid down a Perfect Pyramid with capstone. It was all he could do not to reach across the table and slap that smug grin off his wingman's face. Better yet, punch it off. Beside him, Jolly groaned and threw down his cards.

"Not again! Frack, Starbuck, are you cheating?" the portly lieutenant demanded, only half-jokingly. "I've gotta stop or miss rations for a few days. Can't have that!"

"You wound me!" Starbuck protested his innocence with wide blue eyes and a dramatic hand over his heart. "I don't cheat! Well, hardly ever." He puffed on his fumarello.

"Your streak of luck is about a parsec wide tonight, Bucko." Boomer threw his cards on top of Jolly's. "That's it for me." Ross and Rex, two pilots from Green Squadron, exchanged glances; they had thrown in their cards long ago.

Starbuck fixed his blue gaze on Apollo. "You done for tonight too?" For some reason, Apollo felt that it was a personal challenge. Probably because he had given Starbuck a stern lecture last secton, calling him a disgrace to the squadron. He had deserved it, too; Apollo had found him wandering the corridors, inebriated and singing a bawdy song after returning from the Rising Star. Good thing Boxey hadn't heard him! Apollo didn't even want to recall what had happened after that.

Apollo shrugged. "Buy me another ale with your winnings, and we'll see."

Starbuck flashed a smile. "Drinks around on me, then." He rose from the table and went over to the bar to order a round.

As soon as Starbuck's back was turned, Boomer picked up the Pyramid deck and examined it closely. He shook his head. "Don't know how he does it - this deck doesn't look to be marked or anything. And we've been alternating deals, so he can't be cheating that way - at least not all the time."

"Four Perfect Pyramids in a row is just not - normal," Jolly commented.

Apollo let out a 'Hmpf!' "Have we ever known Starbuck to be normal?" He saw Giles enter the room, and waved him over to their table. At the same time he noted that Starbuck had become sidetracked with a rather pretty red-head. He rolled his eyes.

"That bad?" Giles asked in a low voice. Not that Starbuck was close enough to hear him, or paying attention to anything but the red-head's cleavage, Apollo thought with increasing rancor.

Boomer and Jolly nodded in unison. "Don't even try to play with him tonight, Giles," Boomer advised. "You'll lose at least a secton's pay. We all did."

"Thanks for the tip." Giles pulled up a chair. "I got word that our Pinochle decks are ready." He glanced at Boomer and then at Apollo. "Is Captain Apollo --?

"I know about it," Apollo acknowledged. "Boomer's given me instructions for the game - a double-deck version." And unfortunately, he had been studying the rules when he should have been catching up on his logs. It was quite interesting, this ancient and complex game; from what the computer could tell them, it had originated on Kobol, and had been brought to the Colonies in various forms. "Who else knows, Boomer?"

"Us, and Greenbean, Cassie, Athena, Dietra, Sheba - and probably Bojay. Sheba most likely told him."

Apollo nodded. "That's enough to start. But I think I should tell my father, and maybe Colonel Tigh - you never know whether a few well-placed words could help us make this Pinochle the game of choice." Green eyes sparkled with rare mischief. "This was a great idea, Boomer."

Boomer glanced at Giles. They said nothing.

Much later, in Apollo's quarters, Starbuck assessed the cards in his hand and discarded three. Apollo dealt him three more, his green eyes watching intently. He thinks I'm cheating, Starbuck thought. They all do. He looked at the three new cards and wanted to groan with frustration. Third level, perfect, purple even - frack! There was no way Apollo could beat that. Apollo laid down a perfect third-level orange pyramid, smiling.

"Can you beat that. Bucko?"

Starbuck made a decision and threw his cards facedown. "Nope, I can't." He pushed his cubits toward Apollo and began to sweep up the cards.

Apollo's hand closed about his wrist with lightening swiftness. Starbuck shivered in the forsaken depths of his soul, as he always did when Apollo touched him unexpectedly. He assumed his best 'innocence-offended' attitude.

"What's your problem, buddy? You don't trust me either? You just won, for Sagan's sake!"

"Did I?" Apollo's whispered query was soft as leporid fur. He forcibly lifted Starbuck's hand from the cards, startling him with his casual display of strength. Of course, Starbuck wasn't exactly resisting; he knew it was too late for that.

Apollo turned up Starbuck's cards one by one, his lips thinning as he saw evidence of the lie. He raised his eyes and Starbuck winced when he saw the censure and uncertainty there.

"Why, Starbuck?" Apollo asked. "Why?"

Starbuck shrugged, trying to activate his cocky grin. "I wanted to thank you for taking care of me that night last secton, but - well, I just couldn't stop winning. I was trying to win over on the Rising Star, but I thought I'd let you get even back here."

Apollo sighed. "Just tell me one thing - truthfully. Are these cards marked or otherwise tampered with?"

There were times, many times, that telling the truth was anathema to Starbuck. It was just plain uncomfortable, like dress boots that were too tight. Like itching in a place you couldn't scratch in public. He fidgeted, stretched and cracked his knuckles.

"I got these cards new yesterday - "

"Starbuck!" Apollo snapped. "The truth!"

"No."

"No what?" his Captain and best friend demanded.

"No, these cards are not marked or otherwise tampered with, to my knowledge," Starbuck replied grudgingly. "I wish they were! I can't lose with these damned things!" He raked a hand through cubit-gold hair. "Do you have any idea how suspicious this looks? I'm good - but not that good! No one's going to want to play with me after this! I'll have no cubits for - "

"For what? Seducing women?"

Starbuck frowned. "I don't need cubits for that. Nice to have, but not necessary. I need cubits for good ambrosa, mushies for Boxey, fumarellos and stakes for - "

"Speaking of Boxey, keep your voice down."

"Oh, right." Starbuck had almost forgotten that the boy was sleeping in the small back room. "Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened - you'd think I would have learned back at the Academy that I can't mix ale and ambrosa." Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say, Bucko. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he sensed the micron when Apollo's brain finished processing his words. He swallowed. What the frack was he going to say now? 'Well, at least this time I only threw up on you?'

"Is that what you did?" Apollo's tone was mild. "You weren't sick last time - must be getting old."

Whoa! Starbuck almost reeled at his friend's not-so-subtle retaliation. That was a barb worthy of Athena; Apollo wasn't ordinarily so mean-spirited. Bad-tempered and fussy at times, but not vindictive. Starbuck wished that he could think of a perky comeback that would successfully diffuse this whole issue. But his mind was blank - no, that was another lie. It was filled with things that he couldn't bear to remember. Images that made him uneasy, off-balance….aroused.

"Yeah, that must be it," he said finally. "How about if we forget about the past four centars? I'll just give you back whatever cubits you had before that, and we'll pretend that I never won all those hands."

Apollo shook his head, his resolve apparent in the firm set of his jaw. "Absolutely not! You can't just - just erase everything that doesn't suit you, Starbuck! Win or lose - it happened! There is no going back!"

The vehemence in those last words was alarming - mostly because Starbuck was familiar with Apollo's temper, and thought he'd figured out the buttons on its control panel. He had just accidentally pressed a bad combination. Starbuck's hands shook ever so slightly as he gathered up the cards and put them in the inside pocket of his jacket. There may be no going back, he thought, but there is such a thing as regret. And for some favored few, a second chance at life. He stood, and headed toward the door.

"All right, Apollo, whatever you want. I'll keep your cubits, then. Maybe my luck will run out soon."

"Maybe. But you shouldn't say that, Bucko." Apollo sounded tired. He glanced at his chrono. "See you for patrol in - six centars."

Apollo stared at the door after Starbuck closed it behind him. He didn't know why he was so angry, but he was. It was that comment Starbuck had made about mixing ale and ambrosa - and what had happened back at the Academy. It had been like a kick in the gut. Apollo had never been certain - until just a few centons ago - whether Starbuck had even remembered what had happened that one night. They had both been drunk after a party in the student domiciles during their last yahren at the Academy. Starbuck had started out drinking ale, then someone had broken out ambrosa - many bottles of it. Boisterously inebriated, Starbuck had been telling Apollo some story or other, and had ended up in Apollo's room - a single, thanks to his parents - where they drank more ambrosa that Starbuck had liberated from the party. They talked and drank, and Starbuck had eventually attempted to return to the room he shared with Boomer. He hadn't even made it to the door before they decided he needed to take a nap and sober up first. And then, somehow, Starbuck and Apollo were on Apollo's bed, lying on their sides, entwined and writhing against each other in a needful frenzy. Apollo wasn't too clear on the details, since he had had his share of ambrosa, but he'd never forget the heat of Starbuck's breath against the side of his neck or the soft, strangled moans that sounded in Starbuck's throat as he'd struggled to free both of them from their restrictive clothing. He had only partially succeeded when he'd given up with a soft murmur of 'Oh, frack!' - and then hauled Apollo's hips against his, grinding in an erotic rhythm that astounded the virginal cadet that Apollo had been.

Apollo had clutched his friend closer, and exploded in his pants. Starbuck, who had managed to get himself out of his pants, had erupted onto Apollo's tunic with a wordless cry of relief. Apollo didn't recall any more than that. When he awoke centars later, Starbuck had been gone - as was the soiled tunic, and they had never mentioned the incident. Until now. And Starbuck had just made it clear that it was something that never ought to have happened, something repulsive, some aberration that he should have avoided.

Surprising, how that made him feel not only angry, but embarrassed and - sad. Like something cherished had been taken away. He hadn't realized that his memory of that strange, vapor-like incident was such a fond one. A guilty one - yes, he knew that. One that he took out often and admired like a precious gem in the privacy of his quarters, while he polished the hard column of his cock with his own hands.

Starbuck wandered the corridors rather aimlessly for several centons after leaving Apollo's quarters. He considered going to his own bed in the bachelor officer's quarters - for about a micron. His other options were Cassie's quarters or - what was that redhead's name? He wouldn't have to perform for Cassie - she would have accepted his need to just sleep. She was used to that, and she never asked him questions he couldn't answer. With the redhead, he'd have to perform to uphold his vaunted reputation. He just didn't know if he could do that any more.

After a quick turboshower, he found himself headed toward the Viper launch bay. Maybe he was getting old. He had to be about thirty or thirty-one yahrens old - who knew exactly since he was an orphan? His friends - no the whole population of the damned fleet - would be shocked if they knew how long it had been since he'd actually - actually what? Had sex with a woman? No, he'd had more than enough of that. Completed intercourse with a woman? Starbuck cringed internally. He'd never wanted to hurt a woman's feelings exactly - that had never been the aim of his 'love 'em and leave 'em' lifestyle. Well, maybe at first, after he'd finally broken free of Siress Natanya. But after that initial violent backlash, he'd always made a point of making no promises. It wasn't his fault that so many women didn't believe him. He liked most women, really he did. He felt comfortable with women; he knew how to please them and he enjoyed making them feel good. He just didn't love them, and never could.

His Viper sat there waiting for him like an old and trusted friend. He reached up and gave it a pat before automatically beginning an inspection. In the cockpit of a Viper, he needed no excuses, no prevarication, no charm. Just skill and brass. And the voice of his Captain over the comlink didn't hurt either.

But for right now, he would take the cold comfort and relative privacy of his Viper's cockpit. He settled himself into the familiar seat and imagined Apollo's voice the way it sounded when they were on a long patrol in the middle of nowhere. Out of range of the Galactica's com devices, Apollo's 'Captain' facade grew thin as a vapor-trail at times, and Starbuck caught precious glimpses of the man himself, unadorned by rank, responsibility, or yahrens of family privilege. As he had at the Academy, Apollo shared memories, doubts, history lessons, and vague philosophies that he tested on Starbuck because he knew that his wingman would always question him or present an opposing view. Sometimes they'd even discussed women - in a general sense. Starbuck recalled the last of those conversations vividly.

"Hey, Bucko." Apollo's voice sounded metallic over the comlink in the sealed cockpit. "Tell me, why do women love you so much?"

Starbuck had laughed. "I'm handsome, sexy, and charming, of course."

"Yes, I know," Apollo agreed irritably. "I mean besides that."

"Well…I'm a blond."

"Besides that!" Apollo snapped. "I'm trying -"

"I have a larger than average cock?"

"Starbuck! For Sagan's sake!" Apollo sounded mortally offended.

Starbuck cackled silently, thrilled to get his Captain so riled. Apollo's puritanical ways were so very annoying; always had been. In the dark cold of space, he smiled. "Well, I've heard from reliable sources that you do, too, and you're handsome enough in a - a brunette sort of way."

Silence. A long silence. Was Apollo wondering who that source might have been? Was he blushing like a school-girl caught in the woods with her panties down?

"I thought you liked brunettes."

Starbuck was momentarily confused; it wasn't the response he'd expected. But he had long been a master of extemporaneous come-backs.

"I do - on Second and Fifthdays. But this is a Fourthday."

"I see." A brief pause. "So, tell me why women love you." Once Apollo got stubborn about something, he was like a bad-tempered daggit with a pant-leg.

"They don't." Starbuck had said, but that had sounded so pathetic that he'd added, "They just use my body." Well, that was partially true - and sounded even more pathetic. It had once been absolutely true.

"Yeah, right, Bucko. And you beg them to do it."

"I would if I had to. Fortunately, I don't." He would never beg a woman for anything, ever again.

"You have all the luck - so, if you had to beg, what would you say?"

"You aren't planning on begging some woman for sex, Pol, are you?" Starbuck had demanded. "Don't you dare! Any woman who wouldn't want you should probably be locked up in the Moonbeam section of the prison barge ."

There was another long silence.

"Let's face it, Bucko, women don't find me very attractive - unless they're after the prestige of being sealed to the Commander's son. Or maybe someone responsible to take care of them."

It had been Starbuck's turn to be silent for once. Apollo had as much as admitted that Serina hadn't really loved him. Starbuck had guessed that Serina had been looking for a strong protector for herself and her son, but he had seen that there was at least some true affection for Apollo there as well. Or had he? Had he just hoped that that was the case because Apollo deserved it?

"Now, now, Pol," he had chided, trying to lighten the mood. "Repeat after me: I am a handsome, sexy, responsible male. No, no - leave off that last part. Otherwise you'll only get the whiney types who want to cry on your shoulder, and depend on you to get them out of trouble."

"That's what I have you for, Starbuck." Apollo's tone was slightly acerbic.

"But I don't try to trap you into sealing, do I? And hey, I rarely whine!"

That particular conversation had ended when a few Cylon Raiders had appeared on their scanners. Starbuck scarcely remembered flaming the Raiders, but he recalled every word of the exchange. It had only been a secton or so before that ignominious night when he'd spewed his guts up in the corridor outside Apollo's quarters. And still, he hadn't found out which woman his Captain was going to beg sex from. All of his usual contacts had just stared at him blankly and told him that the Strike Captain hadn't been seeing anyone since his wife's death. Please, Lords, not Sheba - don't let it be Sheba! He had decided that it didn't really matter who it was; he was going to hate her and that was that. If it were Sheba - or any other woman who flew a Viper - he was just going to hate her worse.

He couldn't go on like this, he really couldn't. An image of some faceless, despised woman came to him, one whose hands stroked over a brown flight jacket, then lower, freeing a gracefully rigid cock from its confines. Lips moved, opened to take in the broad tip. Gods, what he wouldn't give to - mentally, he gave the horrid woman an unmannerly shove. Velvet, salty velvet. His mouth opened wider and engulfed hot flesh, and he looked up into brilliant green eyes…. Something was going to snap. Right now, that something might be the fastener on his uniform pants. He pried his fly open and heaved a sigh of relief. It was really too bad of him to sit here in his Viper, masturbating. And the fantasies he indulged in were absolutely inexcusable - worthy of court martial, he supposed. It didn't matter; he had learned at an early age that his dreams were the only things that couldn't be taken away from him, and his imagination had grown bold and shameless.

The bustle of activity as the flight crews filtered in woke Starbuck from his sleep. Frack, he'd done it again! Stretching uncomfortably, he pulled himself out of the cockpit and swung down the mounting platform, passing a puzzled Jenny. Lords of Kobol, he hoped there weren't any traces of what he'd done, or remaining scent that his flight crew would detect.

"I'll be back in a micron," he assured Jenny. "Got here early and took a nap."

He made a quick stop at the turboflush, rinsed his mouth and face, grabbed some rations from general mess, and headed back to the launch bay. Unfortunately, he ran into Apollo on the turbo lift. Those jade-green eyes bored into him, as if they saw all of his many iniquities.

"Rough sleep-cycle, Lieutenant?" Apollo raised a dark brow. "Or weren't you sleeping?"

"Restless, Captain." Starbuck flashed his typical impudent grin. As was usual lately, Apollo seemed vaguely annoyed.

"The redhead?" Apollo queried as they reached the flight level.

Ordinarily, Starbuck would have made some suggestive comment, fully open to interpretation. He didn't have the heart for it. His unfulfilled dreams were too raw. "No," he said shortly. "Believe it or not, I slept alone."

"Just not in your quarters." It was a statement of fact. Apollo pivoted toward his Viper. "We'll talk, Bucko."

Starbuck knew that tone. He groaned inwardly; at least Apollo had called him Bucko and not Lieutenant.

Centons later, it seemed, they were launched, and the sheer exhilaration of speed and open space purged some of the heaviness from his heart. Luckily, they had a vanguard probe patrol, so the likelihood of encountering Cylons was slim. Starbuck didn't mind an occasional patrol without tinheads; he didn't need the excitement all that much right now. What he needed was some time to make a difficult decision - whether or not to resign as Apollo's wingman.

Just thinking about it sent a scream of denial raging through him. It wasn't just that Apollo was a good pilot; Boomer and Jolly were damn good pilots, and Starbuck felt honored to fly with them. It wasn't just that he was used to being Apollo's wingman. It wasn't just that he could almost anticipate Apollo's every move. It wasn't just that they were the Fleet's best Lead and Wingman, although they were the best, and Starbuck reveled in it. It was why they were the best. That was the problem, the why.

At least, it was a problem for Starbuck. And had been for yahrens now. It was like one of Boxey's toys - an ugly thing on a spring that popped out of its box at the slightest provocation. It was getting more and more impossible to cram the grotesque thing back where it belonged.

"Hey, Bucko." Apollo hailed him on their private channel.

"Hey yourself. Not much out here."

"Suits me. We need to talk."

"If we don't, we might fall asleep."

"You mean you might fall asleep," Apollo countered. "What is it, Starbuck? Something's got you bothered."

"Whatever makes you say that? Am I losing my charm?"

A metallic bark of laughter. "Well, if you are, it's not rubbing off on me, Bucko. I almost had a fight with Boxey's teacher last secton - she more or less voiced her opinion that a single Warrior couldn't be a fit parent."

"Oh Lords! Were you able to stop the bleeding after giving her the sharp side of your tongue?" Starbuck struggled to keep his tone light; his immediate instinct was to leap to Apollo's defense.

"Barely. But you know I worry about whether I'm doing enough for Boxey. Athena mothers him as much as she can, but - "

"Don't give me that felgercarb about a child needing a mother again!" This was one of Starbuck's few true hot-buttons. "Is Boxey's teacher suggesting that you should get sealed again so that he can have a mother? I'll bet she's willing to sacrifice herself for that honorable purpose!"

"Stop spitting on the controls, Starbuck," Apollo chided. "I'm not willing to sacrifice myself on that altar, no matter how nice it would be for Boxey to have a mother. As you've so often reminded me, there are hundreds of orphans in the fleet who would be happy to have just one parent."

"Oh, so you used my arguments against Boxey's teacher?" Starbuck couldn't help preening a little.

"I borrowed them, yes. Hope you don't mind. I didn't specifically use you as an example, however."

"Whyever not? I'm a hot pilot, an officer, a Colonial Warrior decorated with the Gold Cluster!"

"Gee, I don't know - could it be because your vices are the stuff of legend? Which brings me back to what I wanted to talk about - your vices."

"Oh - which vice would you like to start with? My drinking? Gambling? Womanizing?" Starbuck wasn't sure where Apollo was going with this. Obviously he wasn't going to be chastised in any official capacity, although he knew from experience that Apollo wouldn't hesitate to do that if he felt it necessary.

"Well, let's start with the drinking. Except for a few times at the Academy, I haven't really seen you drunk, Bucko. I've seen you drink - and I know that you've smuggled ambrosa and muscadel onto the troop decks from gods know where - but you don't drink to excess. You may act like you've had too much to drink, but that's one of your tricks. A few sectons ago - now that wasn't acting."

"I'm sorry, Apollo - do you think I really planned on spewing up my guts in front of my commanding officer?" Starbuck demanded.

"No, I don't think you did - and that worries me. I know you, Bucko - and I know that you like to be in control of yourself, and anyone around you whom you can influence to your advantage. I want to know why you got drunk in the first place."

"I was bored. I was off duty for over forty consecutive centars."

"Right." Apollo obviously wasn't buying that explanation. "Let's move on to vice number two, then, shall we? You've been so incredibly lucky lately that no one really wants to play Pyramid with you. So much so that Boomer's gone and dug up the rules for some card game called Pinochle rumored to have originated on Kobol. We'll get to that later. Now, I know that you aren't cheating - except in reverse. For Sagan's sake, Starbuck - you were trying to lose last night!"

"I was trying to let you win back enough so you could afford to eat something other than general rations for the next secton!" Starbuck reasoned. "Where's the problem in that?"

"There isn't one - that's the problem," Apollo said dryly. "And now on to your third main vice - womanizing." A sigh sounded over the comlink. "I don't know exactly how to put this, Bucko, and I'm not sure why I was the one treated to this little rumor. And I don't think it falls within the province of 'military intelligence', but -"

"Stop orbiting the planet, Pol." Starbuck wasn't sure what Apollo was trying to say, but he wanted it over with so that he could do some talking of his own.

"You asked for it, then. I heard that you've been - uh, suffering from - uh, dead stick syndrome," Apollo blurted.

Starbuck's mouth dropped open. "Dead stick syndrome?"

"You know - like, no turbo power? Look, I'm sorry - I'm just letting you know, as a friend, you seem to be wearing a little thin in the vice department, and -"

"Dead stick syndrome," Starbuck repeated flatly. "Lovely. And who did that fascinating tidbit come from?"

"Well, Athena told me that -"

"I'll have you know that I never - NEVER - did more than kiss and possibly grope your sister!" Starbuck exploded. "She is in no position to - to evaluate the condition of my - my stick!"

Apollo's chuckles across the comlink sounded like the cackle of a demented avian. "Hey, calm down. As a matter of fact, she admitted that. Seems like she and Cassie were talking - female stuff, and the topic came up."

"Right. The topic of my 'stick' just happened to find its way into conversation. You know, that just makes me -"

"Speechless?" Apollo suggested drolly.

"Oh no - not speechless! I'm going to have a lot to say! Tell me, Pol, in all the time you've known me, have I ever - EVER - discussed a woman's performance with a name attached to it? Have I ever said 'You know, guys, Wendra is frigid, and on top of that she won't suck your prick no matter how much ambrosa you pour down her throat?' I know I tell stories about my escapades, and sometimes they're pretty graphic, but have you ever heard me say anything derogatory about the women I've slept with?"

"No," Apollo admitted soothingly. "Except maybe to complain when you're on their supply acquisitions list."

"All right, that's true. But since my first sexual experience at the age of twelve, I have never, EVER left a bed-mate unsatisfied. I've done things - well, I'm ranting." Starbuck blew out a furious breath. "It just burns my tail, Pol, that after all my efforts to make them feel - well, special, that one of my lovers would say something like that about me."

"It wasn't just one, according to Cassie - at least, that's what I heard from Athena." Apollo sounded sympathetic in a way that made Starbuck want to slam his fist into the control panel of his Viper. "You know, there are medications for certain conditions like - "

"I do not have any such condition!" Starbuck gritted.

"Then tell me what's going on, buddy," Apollo persisted. "Maybe let's start with why you drank so much a few sectons ago."

"Well, Pol, if you want the truth, I'm thinking of resigning as your wingman."

Apollo was so stunned that he couldn't even respond to let Starbuck know that he'd heard him. Of all the things he had imagined, that had never crossed his mind.

"You there, Pol?"

"I'm here," Apollo took a deep breath. "I hope you're joking."

"No, I'm not. I've been thinking about it ever since - that whole thing with Count Iblis and all. It's - I can't discuss all the reasons right now, okay?"

Apollo wondered suddenly what had happened to Starbuck when he'd been essentially 'dead'. He had wondered before, but he just hadn't wanted to talk about it - and neither had Starbuck. An awful, horrifying thought occurred to him - a chilling possibility that would explain why Starbuck had been acting 'different', why he'd want to resign, everything. He had to ask. He had no choice.

"Bucko? You didn't - you didn't do something - irrevocable to get me back, did you? You didn't gamble with Iblis, or the Beings of Light, did you?"

"How stupid do you think I am, Pol?" Starbuck asked hotly. "What - do you think I'd sell my soul for you? I might have thought of that - if I had a soul that was worth damning to Hades."

Apollo's relief was so vast that he almost forgot to be angry that Starbuck thought so little of himself, that he had survived as an orphan at the cost of his self-esteem. "Thank the Lords you showed some good sense for once."

"Good sense had nothing to do with it, trust me. It was completely out of my hands."

Trust me. Apollo knew Starbuck well enough to be suspicious of that phrase. It echoed in his dreams and nightmares alike. "And you don't believe any of that felgercarb about me being - holy or anything, right?"

Starbuck snorted. "Not likely. I've seen you at - less than your best, shall we say?"

"Likewise, Bucko." Apollo couldn't shake his worries about Starbuck, his odd - relatively good - behavior lately, or his own private misgivings. He took a calculated risk. "Hells, before yesterday, I wasn't sure you'd even remembered what happened that one time when we were blasted after that party - much less that it kept you from mixing ale and ambrosa all this time. Must have been traumatizing for you."

The silence in the void of space was frightening. Then, finally, Starbuck's reply.

"Me? I wasn't the one who was a virgin at the time." Starbuck's tone was teasing only on the surface. Apollo had become accustomed to listening to Starbuck on several frequencies. He ignored the frequency that said: 'I don't want to talk about this', and tuned to the one that asked: 'Are you angry with me over that?'

"Oh, and I was so naïve that I was shocked to the core." 'No, I'm not angry, except that you avoided me the next morning,' Apollo broadcast back on his own set of frequencies. "I was a bit annoyed about losing the tunic though - it was one of my favorites."

"Oh - I had it cleaned for you, but didn't think you'd want it back. Good thing I missed your boots when I was sick - it's hard to get new ones." There it was again, the Starbuck lack of self-esteem, on a constant, almost inaudible ultrasonic frequency. It shrieked through Apollo's head like a red alert klaxon.

"Tell you what, Bucko - it'd be damn hard to get used to a new wingman. You're the best - and the best friend I ever had. You know that. Don't leave me."

A wing-beat of silence. "Do I get to be best man at your sealing?" Starbuck asked. "Or are you going to wait until I'm lost on some planetoid or captured by Cylons to get sealed?" 'Like the last time'.

Apollo laughed mirthlessly. "Sorry you missed out on being best man when I sealed with Serina. I wasn't in my right mind, thinking you were gone." He and Serina had decided to get sealed primarily for Boxey's sake, and Apollo had thought that by doing so he would somehow discharge his duty to his family, but he had been rushed into the ceremony in a weak moment. He had thought that Starbuck was dead, and it hadn't really mattered much when Serina had asked for an immediate wedding. What difference did a few cycles make when he was looking at a whole future without Starbuck?

"Oh? I get it - Starbuck's dead, time to get sealed. Makes sense to me. This time it'll be: Oh, I died and was resurrected, time to get sealed? For Sagan's sake, Apollo, I'm begging you - don't seal with Sheba. She doesn't really love you. Serina was a good person, Apollo, but I'm - I'm not sure that Sheba is. And she isn't in love with you. I wouldn't lie to you about that, I swear it!" 'She doesn't love you like I do'.

Apollo listened to his best friend carefully; he hadn't always been good at listening, but he was improving. Amazing what dying can do for you.

"Serina wasn't in love with me, either, Bucko, and the feeling was mutual. I truly cared for her, loved her even, and I love Boxey, but I won't make that mistake again. Especially not with Sheba. You have my word." He paused for dramatic effect; he'd had an excellent teacher. "You aren't running a book on that, are you? Me and Sheba getting sealed?"

Starbuck's whoop of laughter made Apollo feel as though a sun had burst inside him.

"No, but I considered it after you came back to life and locked lips with her."

"Displacement."

"Huh?"

"Oh, did I write your papers back in Psychology class?"

"No - I think Boomer wrote them, except for the final on the psychology of card games. He owed me."

"For what?"

"I got him a date with a cutie from Piscon."

"I see - so, you never did tell me how to beg someone to use your body."

"That again! Well, first you make sure that whoever you're begging A) doesn't have a need for spare body parts, and B) doesn't believe in human consumption. There are some species, I've heard, that tend to suck the life out of their mates after the sex act is completed. Personally, I'd prefer a mate who does that during the sex act."

"I'd beg for that," Apollo said, considering. "I'd definitely beg for that."

"This is an awful lot of cards to hold at one time," Greenbean complained.

"Starbuck's going to have a hard time keeping track of all these - and it'll be almost impossible for him to cheat," Athena said gleefully. She held her twenty cards in both hands. "Now, explain how this meld thing works again."

"Please - this bidding and melding is so confusing!" Cassie was sitting across from Athena, with Boomer beside her. "Can we write this down?"

"Yeah, let's write it on the table," Jolly agreed. "Ace, ten, king, queen, jack - that's the order of the cards highest to lowest, right?"

"Right." Giles looked over Jolly's shoulder. "It would help if you organized your cards by suits - like colors in Pyramid."

"But they're all red or black!" Jolly whined.

"Look at the shapes, buddy," Boomer suggested. "Look who's come to join us! Hey, Captain, get an ale and come over here so we can teach you this Pinochle game."

Apollo soon sat between Jolly and Athena, looking at his sister's hand. Boomer thought that Apollo seemed rather frighteningly pleasant. Almost happy. Uh-oh, what was up now?

"How was your patrol?" he asked his Captain gingerly.

"Great," Apollo smiled, taking the cards from Athena and reorganizing them precisely. "No Cylons, just a gorgeous view of space in front of us!"

"And what about behind?" Boomer teased.

"Behind? We were on vanguard patrol. Oh, I get it - Starbuck is always behind me. Very funny."

Cassie smiled. "Some of us think that view is gorgeous."

"Which one?" Giles joined in the banter. "The view of Starbuck, or of the Captain's behind?"

Athena rolled her eyes. "Personally, I'm sick of the first, and had too many yahrens of looking at the other while I was growing up."

"Where is Starbuck anyway?" Apollo asked, too casually, to Boomer's mind.

"Here and gone, Skipper," Jolly replied to the question. "Soon as you came off duty, he breezed in here, told a few jokes, downed an ale, and off he went."

"He did seem to be in an awfully good mood - even for Starbuck," Boomer commented. "I didn't really notice it until today, but he's been in a kind of funk for the past few sectars."

"Off to look for a date, no doubt," Athena said acidly. "A happy Starbuck is a horny Starbuck." She glanced at Cassie.

This byplay didn't go unnoticed by Boomer; he shrugged it off, since both Athena and Cassie had once been in love with Starbuck. For all he knew, Cassie was still in love with him, but understood now that he would never be hers - at least not exclusively. The thing that puzzled Boomer was the way Apollo's chin jerked up at his sister's comment. And then he saw that muscle in his Captain's jaw twitch. Uh-oh! Boomer knew from long, hard experience that Apollo was close to losing his temper. He just wasn't sure who the Captain had in his targets.

The practice pinochle session broke up after several centars and numerous glasses of ale. Apollo felt fairly confident that he understood the game, and he actually was beginning to enjoy it; once the cards were dealt, it was a game of intense strategy. And that suited Apollo just fine.

"Cassie, could I have a private word with you?" He asked politely, but with enough hint of command to make her feel as though she couldn't refuse.

"Sure, Apollo. How can I help you?"

"Not here, Cassie - the OC is ready to close. Can you accompany me to the duty office? I have some work I need to catch up on."

The former socialator walked beside him, asking polite questions about Boxey and his upcoming novayahren celebration. Apollo actually liked Cassie, despite the fact that he resented the time Starbuck spent with her. It was no secret that Starbuck had been spending many sleep-cycles in her quarters over the past few sectars. According to Athena, however, Starbuck had already dashed her hopes of sealing, and he and Cassie were merely friends.

Once in the duty office, Apollo closed the door and offered Cassie a seat. He sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. To his surprise, the lovely blonde woman laughed.

"No need to try to intimidate me, Captain," she told him bluntly. "And the answer is no."

"No?" Apollo raised a dark brow. "What was the question? I can think of several questions I might ask, to which the answer would be no - but I haven't asked any of them yet."

Cassie frowned. "Maybe you do have a chance in politics after all. Forgive me, but I'm usually approached for favors that I no longer dispense. And for that, my answer is no."

"Let me put your mind at ease, then. I want to talk to you about my friend and wingman, Lieutenant Starbuck." He held up a hand. "Please, hear me out. I'm only concerned for his welfare - I've known him since we attended the Caprican Military Academy together."

"I see. Still, I'll have to reserve the right to withhold answers if I see fit.' Cassie crossed her shapely legs. She was undoubtedly one of the most attractive women in the fleet, but Apollo had always felt a protectiveness toward her that precluded any sexual interest.

"Fair enough. Athena told me that she'd heard rumors that - um, Starbuck's been losing his solenite charge. And that you confirmed it."

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite that way," Cassie said uncomfortably.

"How would you put it, then?" Apollo demanded. "And are you speaking from personal experience - or are these more 'rumors'?" Cassie's eyes began to flash angrily, and Apollo decided on a vector change. "Look, I don't mean to make you feel bad about your relationship with Starbuck - he didn't deserve a woman as sweet as you are. Actually, except for you, his taste in women is downright appalling - and that includes my sister."

"Really? I like your sister," Cassie asserted.

"So do I - but think about it - Athena and Starbuck? Athena likes to get her own way, and Starbuck isn't very good at obeying orders. While they were dating I always got awful images of whips, chains and manacles and - " Apollo shuddered. He had even had a mythological dream in which Starbuck became Prometheus, the heroic benefactor of humankind who was chained to a mountain rock, with Athena as the eagle tearing out his liver. Quite disturbing.

"I think I understand what you mean," Cassie smiled. "Athena needs a more - tame male than Starbuck could ever be." She paused. "I'm not sure if I should answer your question except in a medical sense. Starbuck has no medical problem that I'm aware of."

"That's a relief," Apollo said with sarcasm. Then he tried the earnest approach. "Cassie, I want Starbuck to be happy! He hasn't been his usual self lately. I'm worried about him."

Cassie cocked her head to the side, studying him curiously. "You - you think Starbuck is unhappy because of lack of sex?"

"Not really. It's a combination of things. Maybe more of a symptom of something that's bothering him. Something that puts a damper on -"

"That's not it, Apollo," Cassie said firmly. "He's interested in sex, most definitely interested. He's just not following through because the partners he chooses aren't really what he wants."

"You mean the solenite charge is there, but no one's hitting the 'fire' button?"

"Exactly," Cassie nodded. "He loses interest before he gets to that. But he's never a disappointment, even so."

"Uh, he did say that never left a woman unsatisfied." Apollo looked at a row of rivets on the floor. "Um, this is getting uncomfortable, Cassie."

The former socialator's eyes widened. "He told you that?"

"Only because he was so angry that 'his women' were talking about his failings. He didn't think it was fair of them to complain - and under the circumstances, I'd have to say he's right. He doesn't discuss his conquests in detail, and I think he deserves the same respect."

Cassie rose from the duty office chair. "I totally agree with you, Captain. I'm sorry that Athena was unable to keep her mouth shut. I did have a reason for discussing the issue with her, but perhaps I should have just come directly to you. You are Starbuck's best friend, and I think it's up to you to find out what's bothering him, and help him resolve the issue."

"Me? What the frack am I going to -"

"Use your imagination." Cassie brushed past him. "You could start by suggesting that he avoid dating women just to prove something to himself, or to the rest of the fleet."

"Then what?" Apollo could sense that Cassie wanted to say more, and that she was exasperated with him for some reason, but he couldn't quite make out why.

"After that, Captain, you're on your own."

Apollo decided to have a cup of tea or two after tucking Boxey into bed. The stuff was expensive, and he wouldn't have had any except that Starbuck had given him a large tin of the dark, shriveled leaves for his last Novayahren Day. Starbuck always gave people perfect gifts; by some divination, he knew what people wanted that they wouldn't or couldn't get for themselves. It was humbling. From long association and friendship, Apollo had come to know that Starbuck's signature attitude - clever, manipulative, fun-loving, suave, shallow, and selfish - was a mask, or possibly a complete set of body-armor. There were certain things that he'd just never asked Starbuck, because he'd been taught to respect the privacy of others. But Boxey had no such qualms. Come to think of it, it was probably genetic. Boxey, of course, invaded everyone's privacy with the total innocence of childhood.

It had been before they'd encountered Iblis, maybe several sectons before, when Starbuck and Boomer had been in Apollo's quarters, playing Canto with Boxey. It was a board game - one that Athena had fashioned from memory - that required the players to sing songs about various topics. Boomer was good at it, and Starbuck wasn't bad either, if he remembered not to use any songs of questionable taste. Apollo found it painful to play; nearly every song he recalled he had learned from his mother. Often, he could picture exactly where he'd first heard his mother sing a particular song, and he could hear it in her lovely contralto voice. So it was that he missed the beginning of the discussion that followed Boomer's rendition of "The Gifting Song". Apparently Starbuck had announced that he loathed the song, and Boxey had argued that it was a perfectly good song.

"It is if you give gifts for the right reasons," Starbuck had said, and Apollo's ears had pricked up at the slight hint of pain. "And if you give freely." Apollo knew that, as an orphan, Starbuck hadn't received many gifts.

Boxey, the persistent little demon, jumped right on that. "What's a wrong reason for giving gifts, Uncle Starbuck?"

"Well, if you expect something in return for the gift, then it's wrong."

"Like when I gave Dillon my tank of insta-prawns in return for his thyst crystal?"

"No, Boxey, that's an exchange, like trading. That's all right."

As always, Apollo was astonished at Starbuck's patience with his son. Not that he'd ever thought that Starbuck would be rude to Boxey, but the consideration and sensitivity he displayed when dealing with the child was just so - so what? Sweet? No, Starbuck and sweet just didn't seem to go together, unless the sweet was a decadently rich food that you'd regret eating the next day.

"How 'bout when Dad says I can have mushies if I'll do my homework right after? Is that a wrong gift?"

Starbuck had looked over at Apollo and laughed.

"No, that's called bribery!" Boomer explained with a chuckle.

"So did someone give you a wrong gift once, Uncle Starbuck?" Boxey asked, never losing his focus. Apollo wasn't sure whether his son had inherited that trait from Serina, or learned it from him.

"Many times, Boxey," Starbuck replied eventually. "People expect orphans to be grateful for whatever is given to them."

Apollo had put an end to that line of questioning. "Enough, Boxey. You don't want to make your Uncle Starbuck think about sad things, do you?"

"No, of course not!" Boxey had asserted, leaning over to hug Starbuck's leg. "You're not an orphan anymore, Uncle Starbuck. You have us!"

"Thanks, kiddo." Starbuck had ruffled Boxey's hair, and then tickled him vigorously until they were all laughing.

A tapping sound at the door jarred him out of his reverie. He glanced at the wall chrono. After twenty-three hundred. Anyone on official business would have rung the chime. He opened the door.

"Starbuck! What are you doing here? I heard you took the shuttle, and I assumed - " Apollo kept his voice low, so as not to wake Boxey.

"Assumed what?" Starbuck's insouciant grin was at odds with his whisper. He too was conscious that it was Boxey's sleep-cycle. "I had a few errands to run, and time got away from me. I didn't ring the door-chime - was afraid it would be too loud."

"Thanks for that at least."

"Can I come in, Pol?" Starbuck smelled of some foresty cologne and fumarellos. His golden hair was mussed, and he wasn't in uniform; his full-sleeved tunic was open at the throat.

"I was just having some of that tea you gave me. Want some?"

Starbuck wrinkled his nose. "No, thanks. Any kaffe?"

Apollo set his automatic processor to make some. "In a centon. What brings you here at this centar, Bucko?"

Starbuck gave him an assessing look that meant he was considering an appropriate lie. Apollo felt his lips compressing in disapproval, then noted the little lift of his friend's eyebrows, and sighed. He was going to get the truth - or at least most of it.

"Well, first I was over on the Orphan Ship, reading stories to the kids." Starbuck seemed embarrassed. After all, it wasn't widely known that he spent a good deal of time with the orphans; it would have done serious damage to his reputation. Apollo had only discovered it by accident last sectar when he'd punched up Starbuck on the console as a system test, and the computer had responded with the Orphan Ship as his current location. "I was reading a story about the Giant Felixes of the Havarkan Plains - and a few of the children wanted to pretend they were giant carnivorous felixes. Is there any harm in that, Apollo? You're a father - doesn't it sound like an innocent enough thing for children to do?"

"Not - not really," Apollo responded thoughtfully. "I can't quite put a finger on why it wouldn't be perfectly acceptable to let them do that, but I haven't been a father for very long."

"Let me tell you why, then, so you'll never encounter the situation that I did." Starbuck got up to pour his own kaffe, making himself at home in Apollo's quarters as he always did. "Children are very enthusiastic about pretending, and some of them take things literally." He sipped at his kaffe in agitation. "I never said that anyone would pretend to be a prey animal, Apollo - honest! But Farett decided that little Obry was a prey animal, and bit him on the stomach!"

"Ah." Apollo nodded sagely. "I knew something just didn't seem right about pretending to be a giant felix - there have to be prey animals." It was all Apollo could do to keep the smile from his face.

"Luckily, no real damage was done," Starbuck continued, unaware of Apollo's valiant struggle, "except that Obry has a bruise and now feels picked on. You can't get much more picked on at age four than being singled out as a prey animal, Apollo. And Farett is upset because I yelled at him, and he thought he was doing a good job of being a giant felix."

Apollo slid his hand over his mouth, but it was no use. He let out a roar of laughter, which intensified in volume at Starbuck's expression of offended puzzlement. Lords of Kobol! What he wouldn't have given to see Starbuck overwhelmed by a group of over-imaginative children!

"Really, Apollo!" Starbuck sounded indignant. "Did you ever, in your childhood, feel the need to carry a pretense so far?" He shook his head. "Why am I asking you, of all people? You were perfect - I forgot."

Apollo felt sorry for Starbuck; no one would ever use the word 'perfect' to describe him. "Well, I wasn't always perfect, Starbuck. Did I ever tell you about the time in Primary School when we were supposed to be cutting leaves out of green and yellow paper, and my scissors didn't seem to be working, so I tried them out on the equintail of the girl sitting in front of me?"

"No! You didn't!" Starbuck seemed to cheer up considerably.

Apollo nodded. "Oh yes, I did. And the scissors worked on hair. I ended up holding about a third of a metron of the prettiest rose-gold hair. The teacher caught me, of course, and I was in big trouble. Poor Urpana - it took over a yahren for her to grow it back. And all because the teacher neglected to give me left-handed scissors."

It was Starbuck's turn to gape in shock. "Apollo! Is that the excuse you gave? You?"

"Not me," Apollo admitted. "I was too busy apologizing to Urpana. My mother - when the teacher reported the incident, she immediately asked about the scissors. If they had cut the paper the way they were supposed to, she reasoned, I never would have been tempted to use them on anything else. She was probably right."

Starbuck smiled wistfully. "I always loved your mother, Pol."

"Me too." What else was there to say?

Starbuck stood. "Well, back to the BOQ, I guess. Thanks for the kaffe."

Apollo grabbed his friend's sleeve and pulled him back down into the chair he had just vacated. "Oh no you don't, Bucko! You came here to talk about something other than children being bitten on the stomach by acting giant felixes. What is it?"

Starbuck's wide blue eyes took on the panic of a prey animal. "Nothing, Pol. Forget it. I - I've figured out what the problem is, and I'm all right now."

"Felgercarb," Apollo said distinctly. "Felgercarb with extra ovine guano on top, even." Apollo had picked that up from Boxey. "You want to finish that discussion we started out on patrol?"

"I'm due back at the BOQ in less than a centar," Starbuck reminded him. He couldn't remember exactly why he had come here in the first place. He'd just wanted to see Apollo, to talk to him.

"Right. As if you haven't broken that rule before. You can sleep on the modular seat here if you don't want to wake the rest of the guys." He paused a micron, then returned to the subject Starbuck was avoiding. "Cassie says there's nothing medically wrong with you."

"I told you that, Pol!" Lords of Kobol, before too long, news of his inadequacies would be spread all over the Fleet!

"I'm worried about you, Bucko!" Apollo's sincere tone deflated the increasingly attractive idea of taking a swing at his friend and commanding officer.

"There's nothing you can do, Apollo," Starbuck sighed. "I've just been - out of sorts since you died in front of me. A lot's happened since then, and I didn't really have time to think about it for a while, but now I have, and - well, you're more of a philosopher than I am."

Apollo gave a little shake of his head, the way he did when something made absolutely no sense to him. "And this relates to your difficulties with women exactly how? And it has something to do with your wanting to resign as my wingman? Maybe you need to go on furlon for a while."

So, now Apollo thought he was crazy on top of everything else. Wonderful. Starbuck tried to think of a way to explain without revealing anything that would make Apollo feel uncomfortable. Where had it all started?

"I don't need a furlon," Starbuck said firmly. "I want to wait until we've found some nice, hospitable planet or planetoid for that. Preferably one with a nice beach or mountain lake, and no giant felixes or Cylons."

"When we find that kind of place, Bucko, I'm going on furlon," Apollo informed him.

"Good." Starbuck tried for a sunny smile. "You can come with me." The smile died a premature death. "Look, Pol, can we just forget all this? I'm not going to resign as your wingman. You don't need to worry about that."

"What changed your mind?" Apollo demanded. He sounded on the verge of angry, and more than a little hurt. Starbuck had never meant to hurt him.

"You did," he replied. "If you need me, I'm with you. I couldn't bear to see you die again, but I'm just arrogant enough to convince myself that I can keep you alive - at least on patrols and in dogfights. So I've resigned myself to the fact that I need to be your wingman, as long as I'm the best pilot in the Fleet." He managed to keep all raw emotion out of his voice, striving for his trademark insouciance.

"Gee, thanks. And how am I supposed to feel if you get yourself killed while protecting me?"

"Grateful," Starbuck responded immediately. "I've got to get back to the BOQ. It's late."

"I want you to stay here."

Starbuck's heart leapt into his throat. "Excuse me?"

"Stay here and tell me the rest of what you came here for, Starbuck." Apollo looked into his empty mug. "I know I haven't been as good a friend to you as I should have been lately. But I'm listening and I want to help you with whatever's bothering you."

He couldn't fracking believe it. "Only you, Apollo!" Starbuck accused, wagging his finger in his friend's face. "Only you would risk your life for a man accused of murder, and then say you hadn't been a very good friend to him!"

"What about Chameleon?" Apollo countered. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and taken steps behind your back. I know it made you angry - I've never seen you so angry more than two or three times in your life. At least, not at me."

"I know you were trying to protect me from further pain, Apollo. And I appreciate that now. I was so hoping that - well, it's over and done, and I've been to visit Chameleon a few times since then." Starbuck smiled fondly. "The man is a character, and I can't help liking him. I don’t think we could be closer even if he were my father. Pol, if we're going to keep talking, what do you say we split a bottle of ambrosa?"

"Well, we don't have patrol until cycle after tomorrow - just inventory and reports." Apollo rose and dug into the back of the cabinet under the food prep area. "I think there's still a bottle here - yes, there is. But you owe me one, Bucko." He popped the stopper, split the amber liquid between two glasses, and pushed one across the table to Starbuck.

"Why do I owe you one?" Starbuck took a long swallow - preparation for discussing something that he hadn't wanted to think about ever again. The burn of ambrosa was smooth and warm going down.

"Because the last bottle we split was mine, too," Apollo reminded him. "Two halves make up one whole. I know you were good at math at one time."

"I don't do much with fractions these days," Starbuck retorted. "Infractions are more my style."

"Let's talk about why you don't do much with women these days either." As an opening gambit, it was bold and unexpected, although the transition was clever. "Why did you break things off with Cassie, Bucko? I really thought she was the one for you."

Starbuck shook his head. He drew a circle on the table with his finger. "I thought she might be someone I could live with, and commit to. But it wouldn't have been fair to her or to me. After the incident with Ortega's murder, I realized that she didn't trust me. Being willing to forgive someone is a whole lot different from believing in them. You and Boomer believed in me; Cassie didn't."

"Boomer and I have known you a lot longer than Cassie has," Apollo pointed out gently.

"That's true, and I can compromise on many things, Pol. Just not on that." He swirled the ambrosa in his glass; it wasn't too bad for being only two yahrens old. "What do I have, Apollo, that's really mine? I have nothing: no given name, no possessions of note, no lineage. Nothing except me. I have my faults, but I would never kill a man in cold blood. How could Cassie say she loved me, and then think that I was capable of killing someone who - annoyed me?"

"Um, Ortega did a little more than just annoy you, Bucko. He could have done serious damage to you. He almost broke your ribs, for Sagan's sake!" Green eyes sparked angrily.

Starbuck's lips curved. Apollo always took his side when it mattered. "So he battered me on the Triad court - still, Cassie should have known that I wouldn't kill him for that. Bash his face in with my fists after the game - that's what I would have done, if I'd had the chance. And even if she had believed me, she didn't understand the importance of proving my innocence. She didn't understand the concept of honor, Pol."

"And she was awful quick about going back to Cain," Apollo admitted. "Okay, maybe Cassie wasn't really right for you. But you're still friends, and you're still sleeping with her. Is that wise, Bucko? I don't have anything like your experience with women, but I always felt that once you've decided that it isn't going to lead to a sealing, then it's pretty much over. Or is that too old-fashioned?"

"I'm not really 'sleeping' with her - or, I am really sleeping in her quarters at times. Just not with her, if you understand what I mean." Starbuck was feeling the buzz of the ambrosa; he hadn't eaten since before their patrol. "We're friends, Cassie and I, and she does understand some things about me that - well, let's just say that socialators and orphans aren't too far removed from each other in some ways. At least orphans who ended up in the Kobolian Ministries Fourth District Orphanage on Caprica. I told you some of what went on in the orphanage, Apollo, with our patroness, Siress Natanya."

"Not all, I take it?" Apollo's soft acceptance encouraged him to continue. The first time, back at the Academy, that Starbuck had alluded to the arrangement that Siress Natanya had had with the administration of the orphanage she sponsored, Apollo had been so appalled that he had skipped meals for a day.

"No. I'd need a lot more ambrosa than this to tell you all of it." Starbuck laughed bitterly. "You'd probably have to torture me to hear it all. And believe me, you wouldn't want to."

Apollo was too essentially good and far too naïve to hear anything but the edited version of Starbuck's experiences with Siress Natanya and her bored, wealthy friends. But even now, he immediately reached out and squeezed Starbuck's arm in a tactile show of support. He was like that, Apollo was, very comfortable about touching his friends. Casual, but warm. Starbuck had avoided touching anyone like that for a very long time. He had learned at an early age that there was rarely such a thing as casual touching.

"Does this have something to do with - your current difficulties?"

Starbuck let out a sharp laugh. "It has everything to do with it." He sighed. May as well get it over with. "Apollo, I'm tired of performing. That's all it is - fracking women. Performing, just like I used to for Siress Natanya and her friends. It isn't really fun. I'm not sure it ever was."

"You don't have to tell me this, Star," Apollo whispered brokenly. "I didn't know it was so bad. But - but why did you keep doing it if it wasn't fun?"

"Because it's expected," Starbuck shrugged. "Because it gets me things. Because it's a way to pass time, and gives me something to talk about on patrol. Because I'm used to it. Because it gives me a perverse sense of accomplishment to satisfy women. Because I enjoy the conquest. Because sometimes I just need to focus on something besides death. Because it's a way of being close to someone when I have no one to be close to. Because sometimes my body just needs it." Starbuck let himself spew forth all the possible reasons he could think of for ever having sex with women, ignoring the dawning expression of pity on Apollo's face. He took another swallow of ambrosa. The liquor was warming him, lulling him into a sense of comfort, here in Apollo's quarters. "Maybe 'fun' is the wrong word, Pol. Do you think sex is fun?"

At first, Starbuck thought that Apollo wasn't going to answer. If he hadn't been a little bit buzzed from the ambrosa he never would have asked, knowing, as he did, that Apollo was rather reserved when it came to discussions of sex. It was one of the reasons that Starbuck had panicked after their post-party episode, and made off with Apollo's stained tunic in the hope that he would never quite remember what had happened.

"You're right, Starbuck," Apollo said finally. "I don't think 'fun' is the right word." He sipped his ambrosa thoughtfully. "It's nice, it feels good, and sometimes you need it. It has its place in loving relationships and for procreation, but if you ask me, it's kind of overrated. Not at all the way it's described by the great poets." His mouth quirked up at one side. "Of course, maybe it's just me - maybe I don't do it right. I've only actually been with three women, Star. Tsannia, the yahren I taught at the Academy; Kithra, for a brief time when I was on the Tyche; and then Serina."

"Three." Starbuck stared at his friend. And here he'd thought that Apollo had been all hot and heavy with that little, obnoxious brunette during their last yahren at the Academy. "I've probably had a hundred times that many women, Pol. Probably more. Gods, you make me feel so - so profligate!" Her name was 'V'lennie - that was it, and she'd always had that big, dumb Virgon, Krantar, tagging after her too.

Apollo shook his head, grinning. "Profligate! You must be getting drunk, Bucko! Compared to me, most men would seem profligate, I suppose. I actually think that my father started to worry about it, when I didn't bring girls home. I think he was hoping that some of your - ah, prowess with the ladies would rub off on me. It seemed to have rubbed off on Zac instead." It was true; Apollo had always preferred to read, play Triad, or just hang out with his friends rather than make a fool of himself trying to impress the girls.

"So, do you understand why I'm not really pursuing the ladies?" Starbuck blinked to clear his vision. "There are some that I like as friends, so if they want me, I make sure I take care of them, but I'm tired of it, Pol. Siress Natanya ruined me. She taught me every move, every woman's secret that she and her friends knew. I watched, I performed like a trained daggit. I learned because I had to. If I wanted decent food, an extra blanket in winter, a chance to go skiing on Mt. Ursus, a scholarship to the Academy - if I wanted any 'luxuries', I had to perform for her and any of the friends she had with her. I was just a beautiful toy for their pleasure. I'm tired of being that, Pol! When I'm with a woman, I can't help feeling that I have to perform, prove myself to their liking."

When he looked up, his friend's clear green eyes were misted with tears. It was one of the things that put Starbuck in awe of him; Apollo was so unafraid to display softer emotions with those that he cared for. Starbuck, on the other hand, had learned early on that any sign of weakness could be used against him, by orphanage instructors, patronesses, or other children. He also knew that Apollo would never do that - use knowledge gained in confidence against him. He suddenly realized that Apollo was talking to him.

"You don't need to prove anything to anyone," Apollo was saying urgently. "You've proven all you need to prove to your squadron, your captain, and your commander. Forget the uniforms - you've proven yourself to Boomer and the guys over and over again, and to me, and Boxey, and my father. You've proven yourself to those kids on the Orphan Ship, prey animals notwithstanding. And for that matter, where would Cassie be if you hadn't helped her to get a position as a med-tech?"

Starbuck smiled - a ghost of his familiar, cocky grin. "There are those who accused me of having ulterior motives for that one."

Apollo gripped his forearm and shook it gently. "Hey, whatever motives you may have had, there was a good one, too. Compassion. You don't fool me, Bucko. I know you were the one who was feeding that stray felix that lived under the Triad Court during our second yahren at the Academy. I also know that you found it a home with your flight instructor." He paused. "Now, instead of getting maudlin in our drunken haze, let me tell you about Pinochle. I'm going to want you as my partner."

That was the last thing Starbuck expected. "What the frack is this Pinochle game that people are talking about? Does it involve gambling?"

"It does indeed," Apollo told him. "We'll have practice games in the OC tomorrow - after we're off duty. I heard that some of the Councilors - the really old ones like Sire Anton - have actually played this game before. Can you imagine?"

"Well, things come in and out of fashion, even games," Starbuck shrugged. "Pyramid is all the rage now in the chanceries - I mean, it was before the Destruction - but there were still a few places that had Wicket tables." Starbuck noticed that the ambrosa bottle was empty. "Look, Apollo, I'd better go. Thanks for letting me talk."

"Not a problem, Bucko." Apollo was feeling pretty tired himself. But he had a motive, and a very slow, reasonable plan for achieving his goal. "But if you go back to the BOQ now, you'll disturb the guys, and be penalized for being out past curfew."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"Why don't you stay here, Starbuck? You can sleep on the lovely burnt-orange modular seat, and then suffer through my attempts at making breakfast for Boxey. When have you had a more enticing offer than that?" Apollo rose and stretched, giving Starbuck an intriguing view of taut abdomen, with the finest line of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his lounging pants.

"Never," Starbuck said honestly. "I'll make breakfast if you want. Does Boxey like disc-bread with sticky syrup?"

Green eyes lit up. "Boxey and I both love disc-bread. I have plenty of mix, but I tend to burn all the discs somehow."

"It's a deal then."

Apollo was overjoyed that Starbuck had agreed to stay. He'd felt lately that he and Starbuck were growing apart, for a variety of reasons. Starbuck had been spending much of his time with Cassie, and Apollo had been caught up in his role as father to Boxey. He had also dated Sheba a few times, but there was something about her that just didn't feel - right. And it bothered him that she never quite said what she meant. Boomer had once told him that no woman ever said what she really meant, and that there was a Code somewhere that all women learned from the time they were born. Maybe Boomer was right. He suspected that Serina had known of the Code, but had gotten out of the habit of using it when she became a reporter.

Starbuck, on the other hand, almost always meant what he said. He just neglected to mention a whole freighter-load of things.

Apollo arranged the cushions on the modular-seat, then decided that Starbuck would need a real pillow. He went to retrieve one of his own, and an extra blanket. When he returned, Starbuck was sitting at the table, in the exact same position as when he'd left the room, head propped up on one hand. His eyes were closed. Apollo tossed the pillow and blanket on the modular-seat and hooked his arms under Starbuck's.

"Up you get, Bucko. Time for bed."

Starbuck mumbled something and managed to move his feet. His head fell back against Apollo's shoulder. He was a lot heavier than Boxey, but he stirred some of the same feelings. Nurturing, protectiveness, amusement, pure love. Some of the other feelings that Starbuck aroused were not so pure. Apollo maneuvered Starbuck to the modular-seat, and managed to arrange him in a more or less supine position.

Starbuck grabbed the pillow and turned his cheek into it. "Thanks, Pol," he murmured. He looked like an angel; his blond hair feathered over his face and the pillow, his features smooth and relaxed. A hint of a smile curved his lips. "Going to tuck me in?"

"Sure." Apollo draped the blanket over his mostly-sleeping friend, pulled his shoes off, and tucked the blanket around his feet. Then he made sure that the blanket covered him up to his chin. "There you go - all tucked in. I'll wake you in time to make breakfast before our duty shift." Apollo only barely refrained from giving his wingman a good-night kiss.

Apollo's bedroom seemed chilly and his sheets cold when he climbed between them. It was ironic really; just a few centars ago, he had been telling Boxey to say his prayers. All he could manage to do was curse Siress Natanya and her cruel friends on Starbuck's behalf, for tainting what should have been a pleasure and a healing release.