**Author's Note: For those not familiar with Greek mythology, the god Apollo seduced Cassandra with the promise that he would give her the gift of prophecy. However, Cassandra spurned him once she became a prophetess. In return, Apollo cursed her: she would always be able to predict the future, but no one would ever believe her.

Set during Lee's cross-examination of Roslin during Baltar's trial in Season Three (Crossroads: Part I).

The lines of dialogue are not mine—they belong to Michael Taylor, who wrote this particular episode.**

"Madame President, are you taking Chamalla at this time?"

You stare across the space at me and I suddenly feel a million miles from you, although you are only a few feet away. I want to throw myself at you, to bridge the gap and bring you back to me, back to safety. I can't breathe; I feel my heart stop and my throat go dry. This ache in my chest is not from the cancer, but from loving you too much. Loving you too much and being blinded by that love, letting you get too close—close enough to wound me, to strip away my defenses, leaving me bare and vulnerable before the rest of humanity.

I think back to the moment I first laid eyes on you—strong, beautiful, golden, my perfect Apollo. Yes, my Apollo. You were my savior, my sun-god in living, breathing flesh. I suppose it's my fault for putting you on that pedestal, for creating this perfect image of you in my head, naively thinking that what I saw and what I wanted to see were the same thing. You fell, like all humans do, and the impact shook the foundations of my world.

But the blame isn't entirely mine—you did the same to me. You saw me as the mother goddess, you found me blameless and perfect, and you created your own shrine for me as well. Your belief in me did not last as long—after the Olympic Carrier, I saw the disappointment in your face, the utter devastation at discovering that your beloved Roslin was nothing more than human. But you didn't let me go. No, you were willing to betray your father, your uniform, everything you ever knew when Tigh came to arrest me.

I remember it so vividly, as if it were still playing out in front of me—the gun pointed at Tigh's head, and my beautiful Apollo, so fervent, so determined to do the right thing. You would have died for me, if I had asked you to. I remember the fear, the absolute gut-wrenching terror that I felt at the thought of losing you. Without you to believe in me, how could I possibly survive?

I know that I disappointed you yet again by backing down. But I simply couldn't risk losing you. I caved at the first test of loyalty, and somewhere in your heart, you never quite forgave me. Still you stood by me. Those long nights in the brig—simply the sound of your breathing was enough to bring me comfort. Now every breath you take is a testament to my own folly, to my own foolish hope that you would stay with me, no matter what. But I have fallen too far, I have made too many wrong turns for your righteous devotion, and now you feed me to the wolves of my own creation.

I want to tell you all of this, but I can't find the words. All I can do is look at you and love you, despite the pain.

I can hear myself saying, "Captain Apollo, you remember that? I always thought it had such a nice ring to it…."

I see the prick of remorse in your eyes. But you've come too far to back down now. You are your father's son, and you will see this through til the bloody end. Your father has compassion—you have not learned that yet, you young impetuous child.

Your high treason against my heart has been fully committed, you walk away. I will not let this go. You have lost faith in me, and I cannot let you go without sharing some of my pain. You'll win this one, but I will strike a blow at your heart, too. You will learn what it means to betray your goddess.

"Mr. Adama, aren't you going to ask me why?"

You don't want to know. I can see it in your eyes—you know, but you don't want to hear it. Hearing it makes it real, and you don't want this to be real. Oh, my dear, sweet, foolish boy, it is very real. Even as I stare calmly at you, using every ounce of self control I have to keep from absolutely screeching with hurt and rage, the cancer is creeping through my body once more. You loved me when I was dying, but when I became whole, you saw me as something less.

"Go ahead, ask me why. Finish what you started." I will not tell you outright. I will make you ask me the question; you will force me to reveal my secret. You have wounded me beyond repair, now it is time for the final blow—and you, my love, must be the one to kill me. You will look upon my face—notice how the years of caring for thousands of souls, the months of fear and agony and sickness have ravaged the face you once worshiped—and you will know that you have won. You have won, and in return you have lost your greatest attribute—your faith.

"Why are you taking the Chamalla again, Madame President?" I hear the tears in your voice, the fear and the knowing and the hoping it isn't so. But we can't turn back now. Finish what you started, you sweet boy with your good intentions and cruel hands.

"I am taking Chamalla again because my cancer has returned," I state calmly. I never waver from your gaze. This is your doing, you must accept full responsibility for it. I see the hurt in your face, the disbelief, like a child who plucks the wings off a butterfly and then is shocked to find it can no longer fly. My Apollo, my savior and my damnation. I will never recover from this one. And I don't want to. I want to take away your goddess, to take away that spark of hope you saw in me. I want you to regret hurting me, to rush over here and cling to my knees and tell me that you love me, that you believe in me like you did so long ago.

But we've both gone too far. I see the fear in your eyes, and for a moment I am overcome with love for you again. The sorrow in your face tells me that you loved me—you still do. But you simply didn't love me enough. I should have known, and I think that I did, that I chose to ignore the warning voice in my head, the gentle tugging of my mind as it tried to hold back my wayward heart. A part of me knew, from the moment I met you, for your name told me everything I needed to know of my fate: You will be burned. This is what happens when you love the sun.