Chapter Five

Sometimes things just went from bad to worse. Starbuck had been considering that he should probably try to get away from the track and sneak back into barracks as he lifted his bruised and half-frozen carcass from the ground. That was when Officer Keane had shown up.

Now, he was being marched up the steps of the Argus Building on a direct path to his flight leader's door. After all, it was the second time in so many days that he had landed in the brig, and, as such, protocol required that he be released into the custody of his squadron leader.

Apollo was going to kill him.

Keane came to an abrupt stop in front of Apollo and Quinn's room. He rapped sharply on the door as he sneered at the cadet who was pulling himself erect as they awaited an answer.

The door opened a crack and a weary Quinn peered out. "It's for you," he muttered to Apollo, as he swung the door wide open to reveal Keane and Starbuck. He shook his head briefly at Starbuck and then returned to his bunk.

Apollo sat up sighing. Again? What the frack was Starbuck trying to do? Lords, he'd have to loan him out to Sergeant Lennick again to dismantle Starfighters piece by piece and inventory the parts. Or maybe he would send Starbuck to the store room to reorganize all the parts that had found their way into various bins and storage containers because no one had bothered to put them back where they belonged in the first place. Yeah, Starbuck would really hate that. "Officer Keane," Apollo nodded at the man as he pulled on his pants and stepped into the corridor. It was fracking cold.

"Cadet Apollo. Cadet Starbuck was discovered out after curfew. I'm sure you understand the ramifications of this. Sergeant Brand asked that I stress the seriousness of the situation."

Apollo nodded curtly. "Thank you, Officer Keane. I'm well aware of that. Where is Sergeant Brand? I would have thought he would have delivered the cadet himself." Apollo asked. It was damn unusual that Brand wouldn't take the opportunity to gloat. Especially after actually catching Starbuck. Apparently, his friend was getting sloppy.

"Same place we all should be, Cadet Apollo, in bed." Keane replied as he nodded and turned sharply. "Relinquishing custody," he snapped as he left.

Apollo faced Starbuck, who, to his credit, was maintaining a strict military position and keeping his mouth shut. He obviously had a good idea just how irate the flight leader was feeling just now. Hades, he had to be up in a few centars to prepare for the survival training. He had been hoping for a decent night's sleep before leading his squadron through the maneuvers that he and Imara had planned. Apollo found himself actually circling his friend in a tack that was reminiscent of Diallo. He snorted at the thought of imitating the Colonel and then faced the wayward cadet again as Keane disappeared down the stairs, far from earshot.

"Just what the frack do you think you're doing? You know that if you get hauled to the brig again that they'll ground you!" He squinted in the dim light taking in the grime on Starbuck's face and the state of his filthy uniform. "What the frack happened to you anyway?" His voice lowered as he studied his unshakable friend.

"Brand." Starbuck replied as he met Apollo's searching gaze. The Phoenix leader didn't seem to know whether to be angry or concerned. "A 5K run and then fifty push-ups. With his boot on my back," he finished quietly.

"You seem to be exceptionally good at pissing the man off, Starbuck." Apollo commented as he considered the information. The run and the push-ups were apropos. The boot on the back, however . . . He had heard that Brand could take things a bit too far sometimes. "Are you okay?"

Starbuck nodded as he again considered telling Apollo everything he knew. Hades, just to have someone to share the burden of the information with would be a relief. Maybe Apollo would listen to him. Actually hear him out and agree that he wasn't way off base with his conclusions. After all, Apollo knew him well enough that . . .

"Look, I still have to be up at 0430 to get the final arrangements made for the mission. Some of us take our responsibilities seriously, Starbuck." Apollo told him, noting for a micron the strange look that passed over his friend's face. "We'll talk disciplinary duties in the morning." He looked meaningfully at his chronometer. "Later in the morning, after I sort out the rest of my duties."

Then again, maybe Apollo didn't know him as well as he had assumed. Starbuck nodded, dropping his gaze to his boots. His feet were throbbing. Fracking combat boots.

"Dismissed." Apollo added formally, dying to get back to his bunk. He'd be glad when the maneuvers were over. This extra training mission was taking up an ungodly amount of his spare time. Must be nice to have the time to traipse around the grounds with Imara. Lords, how did Imara find the time? He stepped back inside his room and softly closed his door, hearing a subdued "yes, sir" as it clicked shut. He paused for a long moment and then opened it again.

Starbuck was gone.

FLASHBACK

Apollo closed his door again. He chewed his lip as he thought back over the last few centons. He was sure he had missed . . . something.

It was one of those things about Starbuck, sometimes you really had to read between the lines like you were doing one of those cryptic word-puzzles. Starbuck, on the surface, seemed to be a straight-ahead, you-get-what-you-see kind of guy. But, like most other people, once you got to know him, there was a lot more to him. For some reason though, that often surprised people, Apollo included. Starbuck almost seemed to encourage the superficial persona he projected. Apollo wondered if it was a way to keep others at a comfortable distance.

The Phoenix leader sighed as he climbed back into his bunk. Yeah, he had missed something. That look that flickered across his friend's face when he had blurted out something about responsibility. That was when Starbuck had shut down on him. Apollo had gone from asking him if he was okay to berating him for screwing up.

He flopped his head back on the pillow. The rigors of command. Sometimes it was difficult to be both friend and squadron leader. He wasn't sure how to separate the two. It was something he should talk to his father about. If anyone should have some advice to offer on separating leadership and friendship, Commander Adama should.

As usual, Adama was far away. Probably half way across the solar-system. That was one of the problems with having a father in the military, he was seldom around to ask those pertinent questions of when you needed to.

Lords, was that the kind of father he wanted to be? Not that Adama wasn't a great man . . . and father, he supposed, not really having anything to compare it to, but did he want his family growing up planetside while he was off cruising the galaxy?

He vividly recalled the pride he had felt when other children had told him how amazing it must have been to have a father who was a distinguished leader of men in the Colonial Service. Conversely, he still recalled the envy he felt when friends told him they had gone to a triad game, or hiking, or fishing, or any other number of father-son events that he had largely missed out on.

But . . . at least he had a family. He thought back to just a few sectars ago, when he had finally realized that Starbuck had been orphaned. Again, he had just thought that he knew everything about Starbuck, so when he had become the Phoenix squadron leader at the beginning of his final yahren at the Academy, he hadn't delved into Starbuck's records. One needed to be either squadron leader or second-in-command to have access to the files, and he had simply passed over Starbuck's file, aware that there were other cadets transferred into Phoenix that he didn't know at all. It was those files that he was reading, not the friends' that he already knew from the previous yahren.

He pulled his blanket up around himself again as he thought back to the Harvest Festival. He had just approved leaves for a third of his squadron. It was one of the duties he had always enjoyed, as posted leaves were a happy occasion. And being with your family during Harvest Fest was a time honoured tradition for Capricans.

With that in mind, he had automatically given leaves to the Capricans, knowing that there would be other holidays that would hold more importance to other peoples. So, when Starbuck had shown up wearing that annoyed mien, Apollo hadn't been expecting it. Funny, it seemed almost like yesterday . . .

"Apollo!" Starbuck was taking the steps two at a time as he saw his squadron leader ahead of him.

Apollo looked down the stairwell and saw the cadet bounding up behind him and waited patiently at the top. He had just finished posting the latest leaves for the long secton-end for Harvest Festival. He knew Starbuck's name was on the list, but oddly enough, the cadet didn't look too happy about it.

"Is it too late to change my leave?" Starbuck asked him.

"Change your leave? Why?" Apollo asked bewildered.

"Uh . . . well, there's a big card game this secton-end that I wanted to be in on. I wasn't planning on getting time off now. My leave isn't supposed to come up for a couple sectars."

"Well, I gave leave to mainly Capricans since it's Harvest Fest." Apollo explained.

"Hades, it's also Autumnal Equinox on Scorpio and Cornu Corpiae on Virgon. Couldn't you give leave to Dorado or Rhea?"

"Are you serious?" Apollo asked, a little astounded. Lords, Starbuck was usually first in line to get out of the Academy for a secton-end.

"Sure." Starbuck shrugged. "Hey, Rhea could even catch a flip home in time to partake in the big family dinner. Roasted meleagris and fresh harvest vegetables. A far cry from what the mess will be putting together, I'll bet."

"So, you're saying, if I give you leave, you're intending to stay here anyway? At least if I give Rhea leave, she'll go home to see her family."

"Right. The more cadets you get rid of, the less mouths for the Academy to feed. It's all about economics really. You should have learned that by now in leadership training, Apollo." Starbuck continued.

"What about Dorado?" Apollo asked after a pause to consider Starbuck's statement. He decided to ignore it.

"Well, his sister will be in Saturna for the Harvest Fest. Again, a short flip . . . " Starbuck shrugged.

"One less mouth for the academy to feed." Apollo concluded.

"Right."

"Just how much are you intending to eat at the Harvest Festival Dinner, Starbuck?" Apollo asked with a grin. "Since it's all about economics."

"Hades, that's when the game is. Just give me a fumarello and a case of ale and I'll be fine." Starbuck grinned.

"What about your family?" Apollo asked, leaning against the wall. This would probably take a while.

"My family?" Starbuck narrowed his eyes searchingly.

"Yeah. Your family."

Starbuck smiled. "Good point. What about your family? Hades, they live close by, don't they? Why aren't you taking leave now?"

"Because I'm not due. You, however, are." Apollo pointed out.

"A centon ago you told me it was about sending Capricans on leave during Harvest Fest. Now you're saying it's all about the rotation of leaves?" Starbuck replied. "C'mon, you're Caprican and your family is here in Caprica City. Aren't they? Why don't you rotate your astrum out of here for some leave?"

"Because it's not my turn. You didn't answer my . . . "

Starbuck cut him off. "Then there's the new kids in the squadron. Lords, Junius and Tani are so homesick you'd think this was their first yahren, not their second. Why don't you send them?"

Apollo held his hand up to stop the endless stream of meaningless conversation coming out of his friend's mouth.

"What?" Starbuck asked.

"Why don't you want leave, Starbuck? Cut the felgercarb and tell me straight."

Starbuck looked at him with surprise. How did Apollo know he was feeding him a line of mong that would have made an agro community envious? Hades, frazzling them with felgercarb had worked on just about everyone else he had ever known.

His shoulders drooped fractionally as he considered what to try next. Apollo looked like he was quite willing to lean up against that wall until he told him the truth. Frack, he hated talking about being orphaned. That bloody pitying look that people gave him was enough to make him toss his mushies. And then they wanted the details.

Apollo raised his eyebrows slightly, just to remind Starbuck that he was waiting. As nice as it was that the cadet wanted Rhea, Dorado, Junius, Tani or even the Phoenix leader to have leave instead, it just didn't make sense. Ten to one, as Starbuck often said, the cadet was up to something.

Starbuck sighed and shook his head slightly. "Fine. Harvest Festival is a family celebration and I don't have any family. I'd rather be here playing cards. Okay?"

"Why didn't you just say so to begin with?" Apollo asked with a shrug.

Starbuck studied Apollo for a moment. "I prefer to maintain an aura of mystique." He answered with a rueful grin. No pitiful glance. No prying. How about that.

"Well, for future reference, telling it to me straight doesn't take as long. Economics is relevant in time as well as cubits, Starbuck." Apollo told him.

"I'll try to remember that." Starbuck replied. "Does that mean my leave is cancelled?"

"It does." Apollo nodded. "If that's the way you want it."

"It is." Starbuck nodded briefly and headed down the stairs. He looked back and paused, "Apollo! Thanks."

"You're welcome." He replied as he met his eyes. Starbuck smiled briefly before heading back downstairs. Yeah, sometimes it was all about what wasn't said, instead of what was.

RETURN TO PRESENT

A hand shook him roughly. Starbuck just barely lifted his face from the pillow, blearily blinking. "What?" he mumbled sleepily. He peered at his . . . wrist. Where the frack was his chronometer?

"Survival training mission." Dorado replied. "Remember?"

"Right. What time is it?" He rolled his neck wincing as stiff muscles reminded him that Brand had been dancing on his neck and back the night before . . . No, it was earlier that morning. Frack, no wonder morning and mourning were so damn similar. What a despicable time of day.

"0530. We have to be at the shuttle at 0600. You better get moving if you're gonna get to the mess hall." Dorado told him as he pulled on his flight jacket.

"I'll be right there." Starbuck replied. The one good thing about being face down in the frozen mud not that many centars ago, was he had taken a turbo wash when he had arrived back in the barracks.

"I'll see you there. I want an option for second helpings if we're going to be hiking through the woods all day long." Dorado told him, rubbing his belly.

"You're a slave to your stomach, Dorado." Starbuck muttered as he sat up on his bunk. He rubbed his neck, trying to ease the knot that was threatening to jerk his right shoulder up to a new anatomical location just under his ear.

"You okay?" Dorado asked as he considered his squadron mate. "You look like you've gone a round with Ortega again. Or maybe Imara is just more than you can handle?" he grinned lecherously. "Hey, if you need any help with her . . . "

Starbuck simply glared at him in response.

"No? Well, if you change your mind . . . " Dorado grinned ear to ear and then ducked suddenly when a crusty boot flew directly at his head. " . . . you'll know where to find me."

Starbuck grimaced as he stood up, listening to Dorado's laughter as he left the bunkroom. The other cadets were in various degrees of readiness. How he wished he could be one of the blessed few that were still asleep, secure in the knowledge that their survival mission was not until the following secton.

He wandered into the turbo wash in search of his elusive chrono, stretching out sore and stiff muscles in his back and neck. Sure enough, it was there. Covered in mud, but working all the same. Despite the grime, it keeps the time. He smiled as he thought about submitting it to the Chronex Corporation as a possible logo. A nice, fat royalty credit might be able to save his astrum from a lifetime of 0530 mornings. He sighed heavily. A bit late for that now, Bucko.

He quickly got dressed and pulled out his boots. The old, comfortable ones. Not the ones that would continue to aggravate the huge blister on his right foot and the raw, sticky area on his left. He examined his heels, one foot folded across his knee, wondering if he had time to drop by the infirmary before he went to the mess. Probably not. Not like a regeneration treatment would do anything in five centons anyway. With the relatively new technology, it would likely take centars.

"Starbuck!" Apollo called out as he wandered into the room. His eyes immediately took in the cadet's feet as he strode over to his bunk. "What in Hades were you wearing?" He winced involuntarily and started searching for a medical kit.

"New boots." Starbuck remarked briefly.

"Ever hear of breaking them in?" Apollo retorted, shaking his head as he sat down beside the cadet and opened the kit.

"There's a concept." Starbuck returned sarcastically, watching Apollo suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"We're going to be hiking all day. We'd better patch up your feet or you'll be in sad shape by the end of the day."

"Couldn't you just . . . excuse me? On medical grounds?" Starbuck smiled faintly. He gazed longingly at his pillow.

"No." Apollo pulled out some gauze and pored an acrid smelling liquid on it. "Here," he handed it to Starbuck. "Clean them."

"You want me to do it?" Starbuck asked as if the very idea was ludicrous.

"I'm your squadron leader, not your mother." Apollo replied, and then nearly bit his lip clean through when he realized the implication of his words.

Starbuck, however, snorted in reply. "Thankfully. Wouldn't want to inherit that thing with your hair." He took the pads from Apollo, cautiously smelling them and wrinkling up his nose.

"What thing?" Apollo asked as he watched Starbuck tentatively apply gauze to foot.

"Frack! What is that? It stings like Hades!" Starbuck asked, dropping the gauze on his bunk as if it was a venomous serpent.

"Oh, the mighty warrior." Apollo teased him, grabbing him by the ankle and retrieving the abandoned gauze. "What thing with my hair?" He thoroughly cleaned the excoriated flesh.

"Ouch! You're worse than Brand." Starbuck accused him, regaining possession of his foot. "You know. You're the one looking in the mirror every day."

Apollo raised his eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about." He pointed to Starbuck's other foot. "We're going to have to remove that blister. Otherwise it'll just rub itself raw and then burst. Might as well take care of it now." He pulled a sharp blade out of the medical kit and removed it from its sterile packaging.

Starbuck stood up immediately. "Uh, I think it will be fine. It's feeling a lot better already."

"I know what I'm doing, Starbuck. Sagan's sake, it's just a blister, not a laser wound." Apollo grinned at the anxiety on his friend's face.

"All the same . . . "

"Would you rather I do it now, or in the middle of maneuvers?" Apollo asked him.

Starbuck sighed as he watched the Phoenix leader. When Apollo got that determined look on his face, there wasn't much point in arguing with him. Especially, if you wanted to make it to the mess for breakfast before leaving on the mission. He reluctantly sat down on his bunk again putting his foot somewhat near Apollo.

Apollo grabbed some more gauze and cleaned the blistered heel. "This shouldn't hurt . . . much." Apollo grinned at the pained look his friend gave him as he prepared himself for the blade to penetrate his skin. "So, what's this about my hair?" He lowered blade to blister.

"You have lovely hair, Apollo." Starbuck replied dramatically with a forced grin as the blade cut into his flesh. Actually, it didn't hurt at all. He tried to relax as he watched the minor surgery.

"Lovely hair? Really?" Apollo asked with a smirk, as he cut away the dead skin. Serous fluid ran over the ankle.

"Yeah, all shiny and . . . brown." Starbuck elaborated with a rueful grin. "With wings." He made a flipping motion in the air with his hands.

"Wings?" Apollo looked at him. So this was the thing about his hair. He apparently had wings.

"Flaps?" Starbuck shrugged. Wings, flaps, it didn't matter. A decent haircut should take care of it. Off the Academy grounds.

Apollo considered his friend tolerantly and rolled his eyes. Well, at least that was out of the way. Now, the reason he came to see Starbuck before the mission . . .

"Hey, about last night . . . I got the idea you wanted to . . . I don't know . . . maybe talk about something. Did you?" He again cleaned the area with a gauze pad and reached back into the medical kit for some epithelial patches.

Starbuck's mind raced as he yet again wondered what to say to Apollo. Now, especially in sight of the fact that Imara wanted nothing to do with him, how could he explain without making himself sound petty and bitter? He suspected that Apollo had already seen Imara that morning, since they were organizing the mission together. He looked up to see Apollo studying him intently.

"Is it about Imara?" Apollo asked.

"What did she say?" Starbuck asked bluntly.

"Nothing. She just seemed . . . distracted." Apollo replied as he pressed an epithelial patch to Starbuck's heel. She had actually seemed tired, distracted and angry. All three symptoms seemed to be consistent with a diagnosis of being stricken by Starbuck, in some way, shape or form. Apollo knew he had to tread carefully here. After all, he considered both of them friends.

Starbuck sighed as he rested his other foot on the bed and watched Apollo apply a second patch. "She doesn't want to see me again."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Apollo asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to hear the lurid details.

Starbuck paused as he pulled on socks and boots. He looked around to see various cadets vaguely paying attention to them as they tried to doze off again. Funny, he had this strange feeling he was forgetting something. He looked at his chrono. Lords, he better get moving if he was going to get some food before they left.

"Maybe later. There is something I wanted to talk to you about, but it's . . . "

A scream filled the air, coming from the turbo wash, and effectively cutting off Starbuck's words. Apollo abruptly jumped up, rushing into the steam filled room. A small crowd had gathered already, most of them chuckling in amusement as they turned towards the Phoenix leader.

"Where is he? Where the frackin' Hades Hole is he?" Ortega screeched as he pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers and shoved past Apollo. He stormed into the bunkroom. "STARBUCK! I'm going to frackin' kill you for this!"

Apollo covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his mirth as he followed Ortega back into the bunkroom. He had almost forgotten that Ortega had reported seeing Starbuck and Imara together to some officer or another. It had been the stimulus that had set the chain of events in motion, at least the way Starbuck told the story. Ortega charged through the quarters with his towel around his waist and his hair the most startling shade of purple that the squadron leader had ever seen.

Starbuck, coincidentally, had clearly left the premises, his revenge executed.