There were many faces to Commander Mark Dayton that Starbuck had seen since first meeting the man. Fiercely devoted to his Earth friends, Dayton had also adopted an intimate circle of Colonials that he likewise took under his wing in an almost paternal role. Starbuck had certainly experienced that himself, occasionally wondering how they had fallen into the often confrontational relationship that Apollo and Luana had both remarked made them seem more like father and son, than merely friends or fellow officers. Ama had once mentioned that their similarities in nature had made it a natural fit, and that since they'd both been bereft of family for deca-yahrens, that they had unofficially adopted one another after their life or death introduction on Torg's asteroid base . . . which of course sounded like emotional claptrap to him.

Right now, Dayton was pure commanding officer, his scathing gaze raking over Starbuck with enough voltons to incinerate a lesser man. With a hiss, the door slid shut behind Ryan, Baker and Porter, leaving the two officers alone. Instinctively, Starbuck stood alert, like a shiny new cadet on inspection, facing the Academy Commander, about to turn him into raw protein.

"You owe me an explanation, Captain," Dayton told him quietly, taking a seat on the edge of his desk, and folding his arms over his chest. "Not only did you fail in your duty, leaving me to find another pilot to get back here, but you ran off half-cocked like some pimply-faced teenager having a temper tantrum."

"Ironic," Starbuck returned after a few microns. After finally talking to Chameleon about his memories of his mother's last night, that outburst on the Galactica in front of Dayton and Apollo now seemed so distant and inconsequential. Especially since the catalyst for his outburst was the very reason he was here now. Reaching into his flight jacket, he pulled out a data pad. He tossed it at Dayton, smiling slightly as the man started, before clumsily catching it. Apparently, he was unaccustomed to his subordinate officers pelting him with electronic felgercarb. "And here I was going to demand an explanation from you."

"What's this?" Dayton murmured, activating the handheld device and glancing at it. His brows were furrowed as he looked it over, then they shot up in surprise as he realized what it was. "Where did you get this?" his voice going from frosty to ice planet. Then, just as abruptly: "Malus."

"What did you expect? Generally, I can't turn around without bumping into him," Starbuck returned. "I asked him how it was going, and he told me. As far as Malus is concerned, what crosses your desk, crosses mine, Dayton."

"This was classified," Dayton returned, his voice brittle, dropping the data pad on his desk. "That . . . transistorised hat-rack . . . I'll . . ."

"So demote him to Cylon, second-class, Commander," Starbuck retorted. "I am the strike captain. That was good enough for Mal."

"Don't take that tone with me, Captain. I'm still your superior officer," Dayton snapped, rising from the desk to stand before the younger man.

"And you didn't think this was worth mentioning to your command staff, Commander?" Starbuck shot back. "You told Commander Adama that the Clavis was functional!"

"And it is," Dayton replied. "We transited, as predicted."

"Really?" Starbuck drawled. "Then why did Malus conclude that there was only a thirty-seven percent probability that it would get us back to the Fleet again?"

"Let me remind you of our objective, Captain. We're assigned to locating the Ravager, and blowing her to hell. Our priority is making sure there's an Earth for the Fleet to find, when they get there."

"And, of course, to you it doesn't much matter if we can get back or not," Starbuck charged him. "That sort of triviality would really only interest the Colonial contingent of this crew!"

"That's a load of . . .!"

With fury in his eyes, Dayton grabbed the warrior with both fists by his tunic. However, knowing his commander, Starbuck was ready for it. He slammed his own arms upwards between Dayton's then outwards, freeing himself from Dayton's grip, before giving the man a powerful shove, separating them.

Dayton stumbled backwards, hesitating as he sized up Starbuck.

"You don't want to take me on, Old Man." Starbuck promised, his body tense and ready for anything in the face of Dayton's betrayal. "I'll take you apart, and deal with the consequences later."

In that moment, Dayton believed him. He blew out a forceful breath, gruffly running a hand over his face, as he took another step back. "Shit . . . I don't want to fight you, kid. There's too much water under the bridge for that."

Starbuck faltered, shaking his head at him in confusion. "Water? What the frack are you talking about, Dayton?"

Dayton sniffed in sudden amusement, turning to pour them both a drink from the flask that Baker had left opened on his desk. "It means we've been through too much, Demitasse." He turned around, offering Starbuck a glass of Ryan's asteroid whiskey. "Take it. It'll put hair on your chest."

Starbuck tightened his fingers around the glass that was pressed insistently into his hand, feeling a little off balance at the abrupt change in the man that was known for his "short fuse", as his friends called it. After all, a few sectars ago, the two of them would have already come to blows by now. "Come again?"

"Just an old saying," Dayton added. "I suppose right now that as far as you're concerned, I must look like some selfish Earthman who just wants to get home, damn the consequences."

Starbuck nodded slowly. It had taken him right back to the time when Dayton had first joined the Fleet. He was sure then that the Earthman had intentionally put the Galactica and her crew at risk of being blown to Hades hole, deciding he didn't necessarily want this particular branch of humanity arriving at Earth with the Cylons on their tails. Then, just in time, John from the Ship of Lights had intervened.

"My own fault, I suppose, for not discussing it with you and Apollo . . . and for assuming that your lap-Cyborg would actually leave you out of the loop on this," Dayton considered. "I've given this a lot of thought, Starbuck." He walked around his desk and settled back into his chair, motioning for the young warrior to do the same. "Sit down. We obviously need to talk about this."

Instead, Starbuck moved forward, perching on the edge of the desk where Dayton had been a few moments before. It gave him a slight advantage, as he looked down at his CO.

Dayton smiled slightly, then shrugged. "Suit yourself."

From Dayton's eyes, he could see that the other understood and appreciated his thinking. "I usually do," Starbuck agreed, nodding at the man. "Go ahead. Talk."

"Look, kid, what I said in that command meeting, I meant. After all that we've been through since we got out of Torg's hellhole, I really believe that the Fleet is meant to go to Earth. Believe me, I've done a one-eighty. There just has to be some kind of . . . greater purpose to all of this. Maybe it sounds a little idealistic, but I have faith that it's all going to work out. That Malus will find a way to get us back, if we're meant to get back. Provided I don't decide to use his head for a lava lamp, that is."

Starbuck groaned aloud, ignoring the quip, unable to believe his ears. "Oh, frack, Dayton . . ." he murmured. "You want me to put an entire crew of Colonial Warriors in jeopardy based on . . . faith? What happens if the Clavis doesn't even get us to Earth? What if it leaves us somewhere else entirely? Sagan's sake, what if we end up in some other completely different dimension again? Where there's an entire planet of Baltars!" He shuddered, realizing he sounded slightly hysterical, but the sudden image was almost too much to bear. He took a sip of his drink, feeling the toxic whiskey burn a fiery path down his throat. It stole his breath for a moment, and probably instantly incinerated about a million brain cells, but at least the infinite Baltars went up in smoke with them.

"A planet of Baltars, huh?" Dayton smirked. "I think you might be getting just a little carried away here, Starbuck. The ole conscience is going to drive you crazy, if you don't let this one go, kid."

Starbuck took another slug of whiskey. Dayton had been surprisingly conciliatory when he'd admitted a few days before that he had not prevented Baltar from going back to Morlais with Eirys, and that he couldn't in all good conscience just shoot the couple, after all they'd been through together to liberate the Angylions.

"Malus has every reason to believe we'll arrive in Earth's star system," Dayton added optimistically. "He hasn't been wrong, yet."

"Seventy-four point six percent probability," Starbuck returned. "Those are great odds for a card game, Dayton, but it's a little different when we're talking about lives."

"And what were the odds that you would even escape the Colonies, after the Cylons gave 'em a nuclear enema, huh? Or that you'd survive Carillon? Or get off Planet 'P' alive? I could go on, kid, but what I really want you to think about is how likely is it that Earth will survive if we don't do something about that Cylon Base Ship? Huh?" Dayton countered, setting his glass down on the desk. "I'm talking about seven billion human lives. Apart from our little ragtag Fleet, Earth is the last known bastion of humanity in the universe, son. Look, for you, home is an ash heap a zillion light-years behind us. For me, it's still a going concern, and I want to keep it that way." He took a sip. "Believe me, I understand that it's difficult to think of them in terms of your brethren. But one thing that I've truly realized since joining this Fleet is that we're all really in this together. Earth just doesn't realize it yet."

Starbuck absorbed that for a moment. Admittedly, he tended to think of Earth more in terms of a destination than another branch of humanity. After all, to him it had been folklore . . . when he'd been aware of it at all. It had never held any actual reality for him, until he'd met Dayton.

"We're warriors, Starbuck. Soldiers. Our raison d'être is taking risks. We gave the powers that be a blank cheque when we signed up, payable in blood, if needs be. I can never forget that. We're here to make this ugly ole universe a safer place for the civilians. For our children. For their children." Dayton winced slightly, realizing his tactlessness. "Sorry . . . but that's what we do."

Starbuck waved a hand as nonchalantly as he could manage, considering all he and Lu had been through recently. "Never mind that. Why didn't you tell Commander Adama in the meeting?" Starbuck asked.

"And force him to sign off on a mission that might very well mean he'd never see his son again?" Dayton asked. "I have too much respect for him as a father and a man to do that. He'll figure it out eventually, when he finally gets through Malus' report. He'll realize the risks we took. Hell, I know he lost one son at that so-called Peace Conference. And every time Apollo goes out, I'll bet it kicks him in the gut all over again. I don't want to throw gas on that fire. At least this way he won't be carrying any guilt around with him over it. It'll all be on my head, and as commanding officer of the Endeavour, that's exactly where it belongs."

Starbuck nodded, gazing into the amber depths of his whiskey for a moment. Dayton was right. It was their job to take those kinds of risks. However, as third in command of the Covert Operations Ship, he should have known about it. So should have Apollo.

"From this ship's inception, and the time you were given command, " Starbuck began, setting his glass down on the desk, "we decided that the command structure would be such that you, Apollo and I would be involved in the big decisions together, Dayton. This isn't the Pegasus. It's not a one man show." Dayton frowned. While having Starbuck and Apollo to back him up at the outset was a nice security blanket, there were times when it would definitely cramp the Earthman's style, especially considering his streak of independence. "I know you think that you're taking some kind of additional burden on yourself by making this decision alone, but frankly, that's a load of felgercarb, Old Man."

"Hey, now . . ." Dayton began to protest.

Starbuck raised a hand to curtail the words, and then leaned over, picking up Dayton's glass and pressing it into the commander's hand. "Have a drink and listen, Dayton. It's my turn now."

Dayton sighed, loudly.

"I know you have your own way of doing things. And to a certain extent I understand where this is coming from. You're used to bearing the burden of command alone, and your executive officer and strike captain are young enough to be your grandchildren . . ."

"Ow! Now that just hurts!" Dayton objected with a pained look.

". . .but you have to understand that our Nation has been at war for a thousand yahrens. I wasn't raised wondering what I would do when I grew up. I knew," Starbuck explained. "All twelve Colonies had a regularized six sectar long military training period that was mandatory after graduating public school. A huge percentage of those conscripted went on afterwards to extend that term into a career, just like I did. I've seen some of your Earth movies, and it's hard to wrap my brain around a society whose youth spends all their time thinking about fast cars, goofing off, drinking and partying. Where responsibility is a burden to be deferred as long as possible, not an inevitability."

"Oh, man, I just knew that making you watch Animal House was a mistake. . ." Dayton sighed.

"We were at war, Dayton. We partied to celebrate that we were still alive. We drank to forget that yesterday's bunkmates had just been incinerated by a Cylon patrol. Our fraternities were squadrons, our fast cars were Vipers, and it wasn't about who could go faster, it was about who could outmanoeuvre the enemy in combat. Compared to your culture, we grew up fast in the Colonies. Damned fast. Some . . . faster than others. I might be a kid to you, but I've commanded patrols for yahrens. Along with Apollo, I've been assigned to every high-risk mission on the Galactica, for a reason. You might think that somehow I've scammed my way into being the Endeavour's strike captain, but I deserved that promotion. I've paid my dues to get here."

Dayton considered him for a long moment before nodding. He set his glass down on the desk and stood up. "You're right. To a certain extent, I'm used to being the lone wolf. I didn't have a lot of choice, really. But I need to make this clear; this was never about a lack of respect for you or Apollo, Starbuck."

Starbuck raised his eyebrows, sceptically.

Dayton smiled ruefully. "It was more about a pigheaded commander who lost sight of what this command structure was supposed to emulate."

"Now that I can accept." Starbuck smirked.

"One more thing," Dayton added. "'Kid' is sort of an . . .an affectionate term, at least in my books. It was never meant to undermine you."

"What about Demitasse? And Barista Boy? And Half-Caff?" Starbuck asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Dayton chuckled. "All affectionate terms, Machiato Man."

"A guy can only take so much affection, Old Man . . ." Starbuck replied, shaking his head in amusement at the other. "My skin is pretty thick, Dayton. It takes more than a few nicknames . . ." He shrugged it off.

"I know," the commander nodded. "So where does that leave us?"

"First of all, we bring in Apollo and you brief him on Malus' report. He needs to know that we might not make it back . . . that we might not even make it there. Agreed?"

"Fair enough," Dayton nodded. "Then?"

"Well, since all the arguments about our safety don't amount to much if the Cylons destroy Earth," Starbuck offered, "I suppose the objective outweighs the risks. You're right. We signed on for this. Risk is an occupational hazard." He shrugged slightly. "I suppose my . . . anger at you holding back Mal's report, made me lose sight of that."

Dayton breathed out a breath of relief. "Kid . . ." he smiled slightly as Starbuck raised his eyebrows. "Starbuck."

The strike captain shrugged. As much as he liked giving Dayton a hard time, it truly didn't matter.

"I don't know if you understand this, but . . . this chance . . . this mission . . . well, it's going to not only take me home to Earth, but it's going to give me the opportunity to potentially save my home planet from complete destruction." Dayton paused, suddenly and conspicuously quiet as he cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "That's damn powerful considering I've been away for thirty years."

"I know that, Dayton."

"No . . ." the commander shook his head. "You don't."

"Come again?"

"Look, I'm no lap-Cylon," Dayton professed, "but if it hadn't been for you . . . flying your insubordinate ass into that pirate base eight months ago, and everything you've done for us since then . . ."

Starbuck grinned, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning back slightly from where he was still perched on the desk. "I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying this . . ."

Dayton frowned at him, his generous speech instantly curtailed. "You're a pain in the ass. You know that, don't you?"

"Ah, now that's better!" Starbuck chuckled. "Abuse me all you want. It's the gratitude I can't stand."

Dayton smirked, holding out his hand.

In the Earth tradition, Starbuck gripped it.

"Get your lazy ass back to work, Captain. We have a date with a Cylon Base Ship," Dayton told him after a moment, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "And I have no desire to be late."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Captain?"

Starbuck turned back.

"Inform all gun crews, there will be a battle stations drill in five centons. All damage control and fire crews will likewise participate." Dayton snorted. "Better tell our resident Bubble-Head, too. I want him plugged into the ship's mainframe for the drills."

"Yes, Commander. Anything else?"

"Nothing that can't wait until after we get back. If we get back."

"Oh?" Starbuck asked, pausing as the door opened.

"We have a date in the gym, stripling. You're going to take me apart, remember?" Dayton grinned, the challenge shining from his grey eyes.

"Ah . . . and fortunately, you have your own top notch med tech to put you back together again," Starbuck returned wryly, as he rounded the corner into the corridor to the roar of Dayton's laughter.