I remember not knowing
what would happen
when he stopped. Life
or death was all I thought was
at stake. Who could have imagined
this.
Frances Driscoll, "Common Expression" from The Rape Poems
"We're leaving."
Dietra blinked as Apollo strode briskly past their small group without stopping. "Sir?"
"We're leaving! Get your gear and come on!" he barked, never looking back.
Flight Sgt. Cholla gaped as the captain slammed one hand against the door controls and stalked out into the ever-present rain without bothering to pull on his weather gear. The Malandri doorman never budged from his chair.
He looked back at the lieutenant. She shoved his pack into his hands and he caught it reflexively.
"But, we've been sitting here for two full planetary days!" he protested.
"And now we're leaving. You heard the Skipper, Chol. Come on," Dietra said impatiently. She hefted her own pack and Apollo's and chivvied the other pilot ahead of her out the door.
Apollo stopped at the corner of the building and waited. He leaned back against the smooth wall and turned his face to the sky. The rain had lightened to a fine drizzle over the last couple of days. He found himself almost wishing for the driving torrent they'd had to walk through on their way to the trade commission offices on the first day. Apollo glanced back and grimaced slightly when he saw Dietra. He took his pack with a muttered, "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," she said. She studied him carefully. "Apollo, are you alright?"
He took a deep breath. "I'm good, Dee... No, belay that. I'm angry as all Hades," he spat and started for the Malandri trade commission's small private space port at a brisk pace. Cholla and Dietra hurried along behind him.
"But what about the trade negotiations, Captain?" Cholla huffed out. He wasn't out of shape, but after two yahrens of working out in only the Galactica's standard artificial gravity he was finding it difficult to make the adjustment to trudging about in the slightly higher gravity planet-side, especially in this humidity.
In the back of his mind, Apollo noted the strain in his own muscles as well as a certain tightness in his chest and made a mental note to discuss it with the sergeant in charge of the Warriors' physical training. Maybe they could adjust the artificial gravity and environment levels in the gymnasium, run it on a random sequence during training periods... It bore discussing. Among other things... He choked off that train of thought and realized that he'd waited a beat too long to answer Cholla's question.
He coughed out a rough laugh. "There were no negotiations, Sergeant Cholla. There were never going to be."
They rounded another corner and the space port gatehouse came into view.
Dietra jogged a couple of steps to come abreast with Apollo. "Sir, you were in that conference room for almost forty-eight centars."
"Oh, yes. I'm well aware of that," he said bitterly. "They told me within the first couple of centars that they weren't interested in trading with us."
The space port gates stayed closed when they approached. Apollo ground out a particularly filthy curse in Primary Virgon and pounded roughly enough on the gatehouse door to shake the glass in the window next to it.
"If you already knew..."
"I was waiting for the Malandri to grant us permission to leave," Apollo snapped out. "It took a while."
The Malandri gatekeeper opened the window and stared blankly at the three Warriors.
"If you want us to leave, you'll have to open the gate," Apollo snapped at her - him - it. Whatever.
The Malandri's blue lips smirked at him. "As you wish, Captain Apollo," it chirped sweetly.
Apollo turned away abruptly as the gate slid open.
"Oh, Captain."
He turned back to the gatekeeper and waited impatiently.
"There was a failure in the force fields that keep the mud clear from the landing pads on the end of the field where your shuttle is located. They aren't always reliable during the wet season. We haven't had a chance to clear it."
"Oh, I'll just bet. How long ago did that happen?"
"Just after your arrival, I'm afraid."
Apollo closed his eyes and prayed for patience. "Would you happen to have someone who could help us clear the pad now?"
He glanced significantly at the two Malandri mechanics who lounged under a shelter on the other side of the gate playing something similar to dice.
"I'm sorry, Captain. Today is Trangal Hul. It's a workers' holiday. I'm afraid we're a bit understaffed," the gatekeeper said cheerfully. "If you'll look in the shed just inside the gate, however, you'll find the appropriate tools."
The window slid shut decisively. Across the entrance, one of the mechanics jeered at his opponent and scooped up the dice while the other groaned.
Dietra stared at the closed window in disbelief.
"Now I get why they didn't let us bring our weapons," Chol muttered. "I think the captain would be happy to shoot them."
"No kidding," she answered. "I'm tempted myself."
The two warriors loped through the gate to catch up with Apollo, who was standing in front of the open shed. He glanced back at them, eyes bright with temper, and shoved a pair of long-handled manual shovels into their hands.
"Come on," he growled.
They trudged across the landing pads to the Colonial shuttle. Their pad was apparently the only one affected by the equipment failure. The chest-high embankment that had existed when they were directed to land here had collapsed when the force field failed and apparently more mud had flowed down the slope over the last couple of days. The mud was almost hip deep at the vessel's entrance.
Apollo sighed. "Chol, start clearing that hatch. Dietra, you and I will dig out the thrusters and intakes. I'm not going to worry about the rest of it. I don't care if we scatter mud from here to their imperial gardens."
He gave the shovel an irritable shake and waded into the deeper end of the slimy, stinking muck without waiting for a response.
***************
Dietra glanced up from the controls as Apollo stomped the worst of the mud off of his boots at the shuttle entrance. He allowed the hatch to close and slammed the manual lock into place with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Cholla held out Apollo's sidearm and holster as he made his way to the front; the captain hesitated for a split-micron and then took them with a stiff-lipped nod. He stopped and strapped the holster on before continuing forward.
"You know, there are clean jumpsuits in the storage compartment," Dietra said as Apollo lowered himself heavily into the pilot's chair next to her.
Apollo looked at her for a moment, only noticing the buff-colored flight-tech's jumpsuits that she and Chol were wearing now that she mentioned it. He glanced down at his own mud and rain soaked uniform and grunted.
"I'm good. I'll change later," he said quietly as he started the pre-flight sequence.
Dietra raised an eyebrow. "You sure, sir? It'll be at least a couple of centars before we can meet up with the Galactica. That uniform can't be comfortable."
"I said, I'm good," he answered sharply.
Dietra glanced over at him just in time to catch the tell-tale tremor as his hand moved from one control to the next. She quickly powered down the thrusters on her side of the control panel and dropped her hands into her lap. Apollo's head shot up as the indicators across the board went dark.
"Now, talk to me, Captain," she challenged with her customary bluntness. "Are you good to fly?"
Apollo sighed and looked her in the eye. "I'm good, lieutenant. I'd tell you if I wasn't."
Dietra studied her commanding officer closely. There was a pinched look around his eyes that she wasn't accustomed to seeing there and a certain pallor around his stiff mouth.
"I'm tired and frustrated, Dee. That's all. I just want to put this stinking planet behind us, alright?"
"Did they offer you anything to eat in there, Apollo?"
He snorted softly. "Why? Did the refreshment cart come while I was away?"
"No, but we had the packs and the ration bars with us in the lobby. Do you mean to tell me you didn't have anything to eat the whole time you were in there?"
He shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"Hey, Chol!" Dietra called, never taking her eyes off of Apollo. "You're due for a shuttlecraft flight eval, right?"
"No, ma'am," Cholla protested from the passenger compartment. "Took one last secton."
"Your scores were borderline," she said. "Come take another."
"Borderline!?"
Apollo opened his mouth to argue, but Dietra laid a hand softly on his arm.
"You look like all Hades, Skipper. Why don't you sit this one out and let Cholla get his eval out of the way before he looses his wings, eh?"
Apollo looked away and stared at the patterns of the water running down the shuttle's clear tylinium forward shell. The rain had picked up again and he could hear the gentle susuration as it pelted against the little spacecraft. He sighed again, suddenly more weary than angry.
"Alright, Dietra. You win." He started to climb out of the pilot's chair, then hesitated, looking down at Dietra. "Look, Dee, I'd appreciate it if..."
Dietra grinned at him as Cholla squeezed past to take first chair. "What?" she teased softly. "If I didn't mention that the Strike Captain was tired and cranky and needed to be put down for a nap? So what's new about that?"
*****************
After the fifth time the decon chamber cycled through, the deck sergeant put in a call to the Duty Office.
Bojay looked through the viewport. Apollo was seated on the bench that ran along the back of the decontamination chamber. His elbows rested on his knees and his head was bowed. His uniform was still caked with drying mud.
"I didn't know what else to do, sir," the sergeant said. "He's been in there for more than half a centar."
"Did you try waking him up?" the lieutenant asked sarcastically.
"Crewman Tobias and I both tried to get his attention through the intercom. The captain hasn't responded," the man said stiffly. "Neither of us has clearance to override the chamber cycle. Sir."
Bojay blew out a rough breath. "Fine. I'll take care of it."
The deck sergeant turned and left. Tobias followed quickly. Bojay glanced around at a couple of unnamed loiterers who were hanging around the decon chambers with apparently frak-all to do.
"You people got nothing better to do than stand around and gawk at a senior officer?" he barked. The loiterers scattered and Bojay sighed. He overrode the chamber mid-cycle and pulled the door open.
"Apollo."
The man just sat there. Bojay sighed again and stepped into the small chamber. He reached out to shake the captain's shoulder and Apollo's arm shot up in a block that knocked Bojay's hand back against the side wall of the decon chamber.
"Whoa, there, Captain."
The green eyes that met Bojay's were glazed and just a little wild. Apollo blinked at him.
"Boj?"
He sounded confused.
"Yeah. You doing alright?"
Apollo sat up straighter and scrubbed his face with an unsteady hand. "I must have dozed off for a centon," he muttered.
Bojay leaned against the open door. "More like half a centar."
"Half a centar? Lords, I'm supposed to report to Command." Apollo surged to his feet and winced. He swayed for a moment in place and Bojay reached out and caught his arm.
"Dizzy?"
Apollo shook his head. "Just stiff and sore. Teach me to fall asleep sitting up," he grinned weakly.
"Uh-huh." Bojay waited for him to steady and released his arm. He glanced around. "Let's get you out of here, Apollo."
"What?"
"You're spooking the deckhands, Captain," Bojay said firmly. "Let's go."
"Frak." Apollo seemed to shake himself out of the mood he'd been in. "Alright."
Bojay glanced at Apollo from the corner of his eye. "You sure you shouldn't be headed for Life Center?"
"No," Apollo said firmly. "Really, Boj, I'm good. Just worn out from being planet-side."
"Well, you'd better get your space legs back under you, quick. The colonel's gonna be chewing the bulkheads looking for you."
Apollo shook his head. "I've still got a little time. I transmitted my preliminary report en route and sent Dietra and Cholla up ahead so I'd have time to shower and change into a clean uniform."
"No time for a shower now, but you might be able to manage the uniform." Bojay paused at the door to Blue Squadron's ready room but Apollo kept walking. "Hey! Don't you have a spare in your locker?" he asked.
Apollo glanced back at him then continued towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. "I think I'd rather go to my quarters." The elevator doors opened and Apollo stepped inside without a backward glance.
Bojay shook his head.
"Oh, sure," he muttered to himself. "Why change here when you can go all the way home and be really late?"
At least Apollo had been looking and sounding more like himself by the time he'd gotten to the elevators. Bojay glanced at his chronometer. Blue was scheduled to take over the Duty Office in two more centars. Maybe he'd have a little chat with the man's wingman.
*****************
Apollo had to admit, the fresh uniform made a world of difference. He'd been pressed for time, but had managed to change and run over his face and neck, at least, with a damp cloth before sprinting for the Command Center. Colonel Tigh was a bit impatient with him when he exited the elevator, but Apollo knew he'd been cutting it close.
He stifled a groan as he settled back into one of the chairs in the Commander's briefing room. The thick red upholstery felt good after far too many centars spent in the shuttle and in the uncomfortable Malandri seating. He ignored the twinges in his shoulder and lower back and waited for Adama and Tigh to join him.
He was a little surprised to see the Command Council representative, Siress Tinia, entering with them, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. The Council was always interested in the results of the trade missions and Tinia was better suited than most to sit in on the debriefings. She gave him a polite smile as she sat gracefully in one of the seats opposite him.
"Good day, Captain. I hear you've had, well, not exactly a pleasant trip..." she said in a rueful tone.
The comment surprised a small laugh out of him.
"Not exactly pleasant, no, Siress," he said with a polite nod.
His father and Tigh settled themselves into seats closer to the head of the long briefing table. Tinia glanced up and thanked the yeoman who was distributing cups of the strong black Ellidian herbal tea they'd gained on a previous trade mission. Apollo had headed up that mission, as well. It had been much more pleasant, he recalled. The Ellidians were a truly gracious people and had treated their guests with gentle kindness.
The smell of the tea made his stomach churn. He moved the cup a little away from him to escape the steam. A small crescent-shaped film of condensation obscured the grain of the polished wood where the cup had stood. It looked a bit like the misty film that had partially obscured the skylight in the Malandri conference room. Apollo drew a finger through it, then dashed it away with the heel of his hand. He looked up to see Tinia's wide, dark eyes regarding him thoughtfully.
Tigh slid a data pad down the table to Apollo as the yeoman returned with a plate holding the post-Destruction version of a Caprican savory meat and vegetable pie that his mother had always insisted on baking herself despite the fact that their housekeeper had done most of the day-to-day cooking for the busy family. Apollo and Athena had spent school lunch hours carefully dissecting the pies to determine what vegetables their mother was trying to trick them into before eating them. Sometimes she'd put in raisins as well and he'd always traded chores to Athena for her share of those. He'd liked the raisin ones. He doubted that he would recognise any of the vegetables baked into this one.
He looked up at his father. "Are we settling in for the long haul, sir?"
Adama smiled briefly. "Dietra indicated that it had been a while since you were able to eat anything, Apollo. Since it's close to the mid-day meal, I thought we should have something brought in."
"She did, did she?" he said flatly. A flare of slightly irrational anger spiked through the dull haze of Apollo's thoughts and he clung to it like a lifeline. Anger was good. He could work with anger. Anger had gotten him and his team off of Malea and anger would get him through this debriefing.
Anything was better than the drifting fog he'd been walking in since returning to the Galactica.
Tigh's dry voice brought him out of his thoughts. "You have a transcript of Lieutenant Dietra and Flight Sergeant Cholla's debriefing report, Captain."
"Yes, thank you, sir," he answered automatically. He picked up a stylus and used it to scroll quickly through the brief reports to see what else Dietra or Cholla might have indicated while the colonel continued.
"We received your preliminary report, Apollo, and your team's reports tend to concur," Tigh began. The colonel stopped and shook his head. "What a mess."
"That's a word for it," Apollo said grimly.
"We do have a few questions about what went on while you were separated from the rest of your team, Captain," Tigh said.
"I detailed that in my report, sir."
"Detailed? Apollo, you accounted for a forty-eight centar period in three sentences."
Apollo shrugged. "Not that much happened, sir. I went into the conference room with one of the trade officials and his assistants. They seemed to know a bit more about our history than they'd previously indicated and were very uncomplimentary about it. When I tried to break off the negotiations and leave, they insisted that I would have to wait there for clearance for my team to leave the planet. As I said, they seemed determined to make me wait around. A lot. It was all very deliberately petty and insulting."
He stabbed at the pastry in front of him with his fork and ate a bite since it seemed to be expected of him. It tasted like mud. He swallowed against the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat and forced down another bite.
"You don't mention any particular Malandri names," Tigh commented.
"I spoke to several different... Malandri representatives during the course of our stay." He stumbled a bit over the words but caught himself quickly and bulled through the rest. "They didn't bother to introduce themselves. They did, however, have a lot to say about homeless beggars wandering up with their hands out."
"Oh, dear," Siress Tinia murmured.
"They don't have much concept of charity, Siress. As far as they're concerned, misfortune happens to the weak and the weak deserve what they get," Apollo said bitterly. "They wanted nothing we had to offer in trade and were utterly contemptuous of any attempt to negotiate on an equal level.
"The truth is, sir, I'm not sure I was the best choice for this mission."
"Why not, Apollo?" Adama leaned forward, his expression intent with just a touch of paternal concern in his dark eyes.
"The Malandri didn't much like me, sir," he admitted reluctantly. "It was mutual." He allowed himself a humorless smile. "They felt I lacked the proper attitude of humility."
************
The briefing broke up a few centons later. Apollo stopped in the Command Center long enough to make arrangements for Athena to pick Boxey up from instructional period, to give him a chance to sleep until evening.
Tonight he would pick up his son, treat Boxey to dinner in the Officers' Mess - always a winner with the boy - and get a good night's sleep.
Tomorrow everything could return to normal.
As soon as he hit his own quarters, he went straight to the head and tossed up what little he'd eaten.
************
Boomer looked up briefly from the monitor set into the top of the Duty Office desk when Apollo walked in. He looked again.
"Hi, Apollo. New look?"
Apollo grinned at him and ran a self-conscious hand over his hair. He'd been getting double-takes all morning, but no one had dared say anything until now.
He shrugged.
"It was time for a change," he said.
Boomer leaned back and studied his friend for a moment before nodding.
"Well, it looks good. Different, but good."
He only wished he could say the same for the rest of the man. Four days back and Apollo looked as tired and drawn now as he had when he first returned from Malea and despite his apparent good humor at the moment, it looked like those frown lines between his eyes were on their way to becoming permanent.
Apollo chuckled ruefully.
"It's taking some getting used to," he admitted.
"So, what does Starbuck think?"
Apollo stiffened a bit and a flash of irritation crossed his features.
"I wouldn't know. The lieutenant doesn't sign off on my visits to the ship's barber," he said with some asperity.
"No," Boomer said. "But he generally has an opinion about most things."
"One which I'm sure he'll be sharing with me soon," Apollo muttered.
"He hasn't already? I know he was heading over to your place last night..." He trailed off at the look on Apollo's face. "Oh, come on, Apollo. I know you guys have been trying to keep it low key, but..."
"And since when is my private life the subject of ship's gossip?" Apollo interrupted sharply.
"Gossip? Apollo..."
The captain waved a hand dismissively.
"Never mind, Boomer. I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little irritable today." He settled into his chair and pulled out a data pad. "You remember I said I was going to get with Ondrus and revamp the squadrons' fitness regimen?"
"Yeah, I was curious about that. Something happen to make you nervous back there?"
Boomer was surprised to see the pad in Apollo's hand shake slightly.
"Nervous? No... well, a little," Apollo conceded. "The gravity was heavier than we were used to. All three of us were puffing like ancient steam engines. It did occur to me that if the Malandri had been, um, hostile... We'd have been at a real disadvantage."
"Yeah, I can see that," Boomer nodded. He watched Apollo for a moment longer and his concern ratcheted up a level. "Y'know, Apollo, Bojay mentioned something to Starbuck and me at shift change a few days ago. Nothing official," he said when the captain's head shot up. "Just a friendly conversation. Said you took a little nap in the decon chamber?"
"I was tired," Apollo said with exaggerated patience. "I fell asleep waiting for the cycle to end."
"Apollo, you and I both know those chambers don't automatically repeat. You have to program them for it. What's up, my friend?"
Apollo snorted and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "It's... It's kind of embarrassing, Boomer," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Silly."
"Alright."
Boomer cocked his head in a prompting manner and Apollo sighed.
"You know about the mud?"
Boomer grinned lightly. "Yeah, Dietra said that little daggit-queen of a harbormaster made you dig the shuttle out yourselves."
"Yeah," Apollo said, coloring slightly. He shook his head and grimaced. "I was covered in the stuff. You know how I am about that kind of thing, Boomer."
"Yeah, yeah, I do," Boomer teased.
"Anyway, when the first cycle ended... it just didn't seem like enough."
He glanced up and caught Boomer's mildly disbelieving expression.
"There was a lot of mud, Boomer," he protested. "It stank. That means bacteria. There was no telling what was in it."
"Uh-huh." Boomer shook his head and chuckled. "So, you set the chamber to a repeat cycle, but you were over-tired and..."
"Fell asleep," Apollo finished for him. He sighed. "Bojay woke me up, but I was still pretty groggy. Not exactly my most dignified centar."
"Oh, well, you're never dignified," Boomer responded, relaxing a bit. "So I wouldn't worry about that."
"Thanks," Apollo said dryly. "Anyway, back to business. I've got a new training roster worked out. I'd appreciate it if you'd post it."
Boomer took the data pad and glanced over it. "This is in addition to their regular duties? That's not gonna make a lot of people happy."
"I'm not trying to make them happy, Boomer," Apollo said sharply. "Our warriors are doing more and more planet-side and we need to be prepared for it. We can't always rely on pulse cannons and hand lasers. Post it, make sure the other squadron leaders see it. It starts at the beginning of next secton."
*******************
The sharp edge of the table bit into his hip and Apollo sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.
Rough, hard, alien hands pushed at his shoulders, forcing him over and down as he bucked and strained against them, his hips hitting the edge of the table with enough force to bruise the already abused flesh...
"Apollo!"
His eyes focused on the woman next to him and suddenly his surroundings snapped into place. The noise in the crowded Rejuvenation Center was overwhelming and his knees went weak for a micron. His pulse was racing. He sprawled into the chair beside his sister in a controlled fall, somehow managing to keep his grip on the two bottled drinks from the dispenser.
Athena grinned at him when he slid her drink over to her. "You look like you haven't slept for a secton, brother. Wonder what's kept you up these last few nights?" she teased.
Words had apparently deserted him, so he settled for a dark glower instead and Athena laughed at him.
"I know far more about what goes on than you might think, brother mine," she whispered as she leaned toward him conspiratorially. "Especially with regard to a certain lieutenant."
"I have no idea what you mean." Apollo felt the blush heating his face and blessed his darker complexion. Not that it helped with his sister; she was laughing harder now.
He craned his neck to see around the group at the next table and caught sight of his son. Boxey and two other boys were gathered in one corner engrossed with some game spread out on the floor between them.
"Who've we got this time?" he asked.
"Um, that's Milo and Beli, I think," Athena said. "Beli's mother is already here, we're just waiting for Milo's dad."
"I thought he didn't like Milo?" Apollo shied away from his son's actual words about the other boy. Surely hatred was too strong an emotion for a seven-yahren-old.
"That was last secton. Now they're friends. Oh, and don't ask about Dillon," Athena warned. "They had a huge fight while you were gone. They're 'worst enemies' now. Boxey's words."
Apollo shook his head and stretched his arms out across the table to ease the tightness in his shoulders. He yawned as some of the tension released.
"I think I need keep a scorecard."
Athena chuckled as her eyes strayed back to her brother. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about -- Apollo!"
He looked up at her scandalized tone. "What?"
She reached forward and tugged his uniform sleeve down over the marks on his left wrist.
He felt sick. The bruises on both wrists were already starting to fade; it wouldn't be long before they were hardly noticeable, but that wrist had chafed deeply on one side and a long scab had formed over the last few days. Until now, he'd managed to keep the marks covered. Still, he didn't think she'd seen more than the scab, at least he hoped she hadn't.
"'Thena," he managed in a strangled whisper.
"Ah-ah." She wagged a finger at him. "This is already far more than I really want to know, Pol. What you two get up to in private is your own business."
"N-no, Athena --"
She leaned over again and cut him off. "Although, you do know, they make them with padding, don't you? Or so I've been told."
She pulled away and picked up her drink again while Apollo tried to draw a breath into suddenly paralysed lungs.
"Oh, Apollo! You should see your face!" she choked out.
His lungs started working again and Apollo took a deep breath. He leaned over and whispered angrily, "For your information, Athena, I scraped it pulling mud out of one of the shuttlecraft engine intakes a few days ago. We had to dig the damn thing out and I got careless. That's all!"
"Oh, come on, Apollo, I was just teasing you. I know you wouldn't. And even if you would, I know for a fact Starbuck won't - at least not to leave marks like that."
He tossed himself back in his seat and irritably devoted himself to his drink.
"Oh, lighten up, Pol," she said cheerfully. "Look, here's Starbuck. You can have this seat, Bucko, I've got to be going... somewhere. Busy, busy."
Both men watched as she bustled out the door.
"What was that?" Starbuck asked, gesturing after Athena with his thumb.
Apollo shook his head.
"I don't know. I don't think I want to know, either," he said firmly. He glanced around, but Boxey and his buddies were still playing. Of all the times for Starbuck to decide to hit the Rejuvenation Center... and of course, Athena had bailed on him. He checked the door for anyone who might be Milo's father. He wasn't even sure what the man looked like.
Starbuck lowered himself into the chair Athena had vacated. His eyes lingered on Apollo's hair for a centon.
"There's something I want to know, Pol," he said softly, turning to scan the crowded room.
Of course, there was. Apollo closed his eyes. Tension crawled up his back again.
"Oh? What's that?" he asked in a tone intended to deter any such questions.
Naturally, Starbuck was undeterred.
"I want to know why you've been avoiding me for the last quatron," he murmured.
"I haven't been avoiding you, Starbuck."
"Oh, really? Everywhere I go, you're not. And if you are, as soon as I get into the room, you find the exit. This is the longest conversation we've had since you got back from Malea, and I had to convince Athena to help me trap you into it," he said, his voice rising slightly toward the end.
"Athena --" Apollo twisted in the direction his sister had gone, but she'd disappeared.
"She called me on my summoner as soon as you got here and promised to keep you busy for me." Starbuck caught Apollo's left arm, unconsciously connecting with the hidden bruises as he pinned it to the table. "Now, would you tell me what is going --"
"Dad!" Boxey announced himself with a shout as he launched himself at his father.
Pain shot through Apollo's back and shoulder as the boy landed and he gasped. "Felger! Boxey! Off!"
The child dropped to his feet and backed away, eyes wide at Apollo's sharp tone. Apollo guiltily shoved the pain to one side and pulled the boy back to him with a shaky grin.
"Hey, buddy, where'd you get such sharp elbows?" he asked and tickled the boy's ribs until he curled up, giggling. "You're getting pretty big, there. With a tackle like that, we'll have to get you into a junior Triad league pretty soon, huh, kiddo?"
"Apollo..."
He looked up at Starbuck, who was watching him with blue eyes wide as Boxey's had been just a moment before and Apollo tamped down another surge of guilt.
"Starbuck--" He broke off as Boxey executed a sort of boneless slither and slid out of his arms. "Hey! Where're you going?"
"Milo's dad's here! I hafta say goodbye to Milo!" Boxey took off at a run.
Apollo glanced back at Starbuck and away. The uncomfortable tightness that had been his off and on companion over the last few days settled in his chest again. When he looked back, he was glad to see Starbuck wasn't looking at him anymore, concentrating instead on the fumarello he'd pulled from the pocket of his flight jacket.
"I'm not avoiding you, Starbuck," he repeated. "I just... I need some time to myself, alright?"
"Can I come by later?" Starbuck asked stiffly. "I'd really like to talk to you."
Bojay's description of Apollo's behavior had worried him. He'd been trying to get Apollo alone ever since, but after four days of Apollo flying evasive maneuvers every time his friend and lover came into sight, Starbuck was edging past worried and into angry. He wasn't a patient man at the best of times. He watched as Apollo fidgeted. He was looking anywhere but at Starbuck.
"Starbuck, please. I told you, not right now," Apollo said. "I need to be alone for a while. I need to think about things."
"What kind of things?" he asked, voice subdued and tight.
"Just... things. I've got a major parts and equipment inventory to organize, and I've been working with Ondrus on the new physical training regimen for the squadrons, squadron leader evaluations are coming up... things," Apollo said irritably. He wished Starbuck would just take no for an answer for once. He just needed a little time to settle back into things. He just needed a little room to breathe. Kobol, but Boxey was taking an amazingly long time to say goodbye to Milo.
They sat together in an increasingly strained silence before Starbuck stirred again.
"Speaking of Triad," he said. "We've got a game scheduled tomorrow, in case you've forgotten."
Apollo winced. He had forgotten. Gods, there was no way in Hades...
"Yeah. Look, Bucko, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it. Can you find an alternate?"
"An alternate?!"
Starbuck's sudden anger was all out of proportion to the question, but Apollo didn't allow himself to worry about it. He welcomed it and allowed his own carefully banked anger to surface. It cleared his head. An ironic voice in the back of his head commented that he seemed to thrive on anger lately.
"Yes, an alternate," he snapped back.
"Where in Hades Hole am I supposed to find an alternate this close to game time?!"
"An alternate?" a vaguely familiar voice called out from the table to their right. "You're not playing tomorrow, Captain?"
The man - Karlan, that was his name, Apollo remembered - sounded oddly hopeful and Apollo's ire twisted that much higher.
"No, I'm not playing," he snapped.
He glanced back at Starbuck who was staring at him, white-lipped with anger.
Karlan and Merril. Tomorrow night's opponents. Apollo had been counting on them for an easy win when he'd seen them on the schedule. Was it only a secton ago?
Starbuck turned to the other table.
"That's right, boys," he said with venomous good cheer. "You get to win one. By default."
He tossed back his chair and stalked out of the room.
**************
Apollo waited until he was sure Boxey was down for the night before going into the small washroom in their quarters. He stripped to the waist. His eyes skittered over the scattering of small dark marks on his chest and focused lower. The bruises on his abdomen had darkened to a deep purple. He'd hoped they'd clear enough by the beginning of next secton that they wouldn't show in work-out gear, but it was going to be difficult to hide them. He'd just have to find something dark colored to wear and stay away from the communal turbowashes. The Triad uniform would have to wait another two sectons, though, at least.
Assuming Starbuck still wanted him for a partner after this afternoon. Assuming Starbuck wanted him at all after... He pushed aside the thought and twisted in front of the mirror, trying to get a look at his back.
The lower bandage was still in place, but the one on his right shoulder had been knocked loose on one edge when Boxey tackled him. A couple of reddish-brown stains showed through the gauze. Damn. That one was the hardest to reach.
He dug through the medicine cabinet for more gauze and tape and the tube of topical antibiotic. He loosened the tape around the lower wound and fingered it gently. It seemed to be healing well, at least. He added strips of tape around the edge of a gauze pad and spread it with the antibiotic ointment before carefully maneuvering it into place using the mirror as a guide.
Now, the other one. He'd need a hand mirror to get a good look at this one. He reached around with one hand and pulled on the loosened edge of the tape. The gauze stuck for a micron or two and he hissed as it pulled away. He angled the hand mirror.
This one wasn't looking so good. The whole area looked glossy and red, a little puckered around the torn skin. It was swollen, livid and hot to the touch. He tried to twist his right arm up and around and cursed at the pain that shot through his shoulder. He turned slightly to one side instead and groaned. Livid streaks traveled from the right side of the swollen patch toward his right arm and side. Frack. He was no medtech, but he knew enough about first-aid that wasn't good.
He leaned back against the sink. Despite all of his precautions, the damned thing was infected and the topical ointment just wasn't doing the job. He couldn't go to Life Center. No way would Salik let him get away without an explanation. Bile rose in his throat again and he swallowed hard. Lords, no...
If he could find a reason to travel to one of the other ships... But, no, that wouldn't work, either. The doctors at any clinic in the Fleet would want to know exactly why Strike Captain Apollo had landed on their doorstep instead of Galactica's Life Center. It wasn't like he could travel anywhere in the Fleet without being recognized, a thought that rankled at the best of times, but tonight especially.
He glanced back at the mirror and sighed. He had to do something.
He pulled on a robe and went back out into the main living area. He didn't have the comm number he needed, he'd never had reason to call before, but it was easily located in the communications directory. Her voice was sleepy when she answered and he remembered guiltily that it was well into sleep period.
"Cassiopea?"
"Who? Apollo? What time is it?" she asked groggily.
"It's late, I'm sorry." He hesitated for a centon. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder if she was alone. Was she dating anyone right now? He didn't keep up with her as much now that she and Starbuck... Now that he and Starbuck...
"Apollo? Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, sounding more alert.
He thought of the ugly red lines radiating out of the abscess on his shoulder and took a deep breath.
"Do you remember a few sectars ago, we were talking about how in your... former occupation... you were sometimes entrusted with... confidences?"
There was a long pause.
"I remember that conversation, yes. Gemonese socialators are well trained, especially those of us in the Haetara class. I told you that you could trust me with just about anything," she answered finally.
"Could you come over? Now, I mean," he said softly.
"I can be there in ten centons," she said. He heard a soft rustling from her end of the connection.
"Um, Cassie?"
The rustling stopped. "Yes?"
"You'll need to bring a medical scanner and your kit with you."
"I'll be right there."
The connection closed. He sat heavily in the chair next to the comm and waited for the door chime.