Life Center Blues. Chapter 1-One of Those Days. It was a long day. Too long a day, and it was only a few centars since he woke up. Starbuck sighed and passed the scanner along another pipe. One down, a dozen more to go. The day had started out so well. No patrols clouded the horizons, and he was on his way to the Rising Star to spend a day of pyramid, ambrosia and rest. So he had to borrow a few cubits from Apollo. So the captain wasn't exactly aware of it. That's what friends are for, isn't it? And surely it didn't justify a hastily changed assignment to check out solium leaks aboard one of the more crowded civilian ships. The good captain seemed all too happy to marry his unwanted assignment to Starbuck. Oh, well, Starbuck thought, at least I know he's not off having fun. No, that would be too much to expect from Apollo. Too much spontaneity a day gave him a headache, probably. Starbuck finished inspecting the results on his scanner. No carbon leaks here. This section of the ship was, technically at the very least, suitable for humans to live in. He gathered his things and prepared to move on to the next section. Jumping down from the scaffolding outlining the hull, he moved out the door. A few words to the Council Security person in charge of keeping the inhabitants out of the area, and the people were flowing back in to their abandoned quarters. Starbuck glanced at his chronometer. 15:00. He still had one more small section to cover, before he was free to go back to the Galactica to try and indulge himself in big tankard of grog. Maybe with a nice little game of pyramid, just to help him relax. Maybe Cassie has no dinner plans... The thud sound of a body slamming against his startled him, and he looked up to see that he had practically walked into an old man, who was making his way into the cleared area. "Oh, sorry," he said, trying to bypass the person and move on. "No, no! It was my fault, I should have watched where I was going," the man hastily apologized. "Uh, sire..." "Lieutenant," Starbuck corrected. "Lieutenant. Is everything okay in there?" the man gestured at the area that Starbuck had just emerged from. "Oh, yes. We had some notifications of possible carbon leaks, but it's not in there. Nothing to worry about," Starbuck reassured him. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." "Certainly, certainly. Wouldn't want to hold you up. You're a busy man, after all. Warriors are always busy, running around, fixing things." A sudden attack of coughing wrecked the man's body. "Are you all right?" Starbuck asked him. "Maybe you should have a doctor take a look at you?" "Oh, no, I'm fine. Just the old lungs not working as they ought to. An old war injury, you see. I was standing on the battlements of the garrison in Amyclae one day when the tin-cans came. A shrapnel was stuck in my side, caused some damage..." he trailed off. "But I'm keeping you here when you undoubtedly have better, more important things to do. Off you go, then, lad." The old man waved him off, then disappeared among the crowd again. Starbuck shrugged. The garrison in Amyclae was in ruins for the last 100 yahrens. Being an off-the-map outpost, nobody bothered to reclaim it when the Cylons left. Heck, they probably reached the same conclusion as we did, Starbuck figured. Amyclae was worthless. A barren chunk of rock hanging in space. The Caprican and Arean governments quarreled over it daily. Neither one, however, ever bothered to send a troop to rebuild the garrison. Starbuck still remembered one time when Core Command entertained the idea of sending one of the battlestars to Amyclae, just to see that there was no "permanent damage to Colonial property." Commander Adama had firmly announced that his ship wasn't going anywhere near the god-forsaken rock, especially when the sole purpose of the visit would be reassuring Core Command that the ruins were still, indeed, ruins. He searched the crowd briefly for a glimpse of the man, but he was gone. Just another raving lunatic. The kind of which the fleet had too many off. Old man and women who clearly remembered battles fought yahrens and yahrens ago. But then, Starbuck thought, on a ship were almost everyone had a battle story or a dozen to tell, the battle of Amyclae was a refreshing change of pace. At the very least, it didn't include any concussions for me, Starbuck reasoned, as he waded his way across the hallway. He was right about one thing, though, I have better, more important things to do. Like finishing this carbon leak checks and getting the frak out of here! As things turned out, it was well over 3 more centars before Starbuck finally found himself climbing back into his Viper. He sank down in the familiar seat and rested his head against the headrest wearily. He had a pounding headache, which wasn't boding too well for any chances of relaxation, and he was feeling like he'd just spend the last 6 centars in a cockpit. Slowly, he went through the motions of firing up the Viper and getting clearance for launch. The vastness of space, diminished as it was when flying inside the fleet, averted his attention from his numerous aches to the control panel, and he'd managed to ignore the sick feeling until he reached the Galactica. Taking off his helmet, he was fairly sure that his head was going to explode. With a grunt, he rose to climb out of the fighter. Jenny, his crew chief met him beside the Viper. "Apollo wants to see you as soon as you got back. Debriefing," she informed him after she relieved him of his helmet. "You look like Hades." Starbuck groaned. "I feel worse." "Poor thing," she patted his shoulder. "Now, go tell Apollo some nonsense about the leaks-there weren't any, right?" Starbuck shook his head. "I could have told you that. It doesn't add up for a leak to appear in the upper quadrants of a ship. Oh, well. Go see him, then go to bed and get some sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning." "Sleep?" Starbuck looked at her in surprise. "It's only, uh," he glanced at his chronometer, "2000 centars. It's too early." "Oh, then I suppose you'd rather be my dinner date?" she grinned at him. The very thought of food turned his stomached, and he groaned miserably. "I'll pass. Suddenly, my bunk seems just like heaven." He started walking towards the lifts. "Don't forget to see Apollo first!" Jenny called after him, then turned her attention back to the awaiting Viper. Apollo looked up from his work centons later to see Starbuck trudging his way to the small office. His lieutenant looked awful. Well, not that he expected anyone to look cheerful after a day of leak inspections, but Starbuck was carrying it to extremes. "Did you have a bad day, or are you just happy to see me?" he asked. Starbuck made a face at him. "I'm not feeling too hot. Let's cut the felger, 'kay?" Apollo nodded. "Okay, let's have it. Any leaks?" "Nope." "Any other malfunctions?" "Nope. Goose-chase, all the way through." "Oh. Well, okay then. Good thing it was just a false alarm. That ship is jammed packed with people. I'll pass it on to Tigh and we'll send a tech crew to check things out. Now, tell me, are you okay?" Starbuck slumped down on the chair across from Apollo. "I don't know. I was fine this morning, at then somewhere along the day, I started feeling lousy. I just want to crawl into bed and go to sleep. Unless, you got any other fun assignment for me?" Apollo smiled. "No. Hey, listen, I'm sorry I dumped the leaks assignment on you this morning, but I had to save my cubits from a sorry demise." "Yeah, yeah. I'll get you back for that, don't worry. How did you find out, anyway?" "I have my ways, lieutenant." Apollo grinned mischievously. "Anyway, I'm having dinner with Sheba in a few centons, so I'll walk you to the barracks." He looked Starbuck over, and winced when the other man's raised eyebrows dropped as he stifled a cough. "Want me to get Cassie for you?" "No! I'll be fine. She has a late shift today, I can get her myself if I could possibly feel any worse." He rose to his feet. "Now, let's go. Wouldn't want you to be late for your hot date..." "It's not a 'hot date'!" "Uh-huh..." Sleep have become somewhat of a precious commodity on the Galactica. With the Cylon threat still all too real, the patrols were still as frequent as they were when the Exodus had begun. The pilots were constantly either taking off, in space, or landing. And when they weren't doing either one, they were usually engaged in the million and one little details that surrounded flying a Viper. Studying coordinates, vectors and star-charts; pitching in with the maintenance of the fleet, and helping their tech crews keep the Viper in top notch. Between the extended duty periods and the few centars they could spend unwinding enough to be able to fall asleep at all, they were all getting too little sleep. The ultimate result of all that was, that every pilot considered his bunk to be the safest haven in the whole entire universe. A man's bunk was his castle, after all. But when Starbuck made his way to the squadron's barracks after parting with Apollo, none of that passed through his mind. He was feeling sick to the bone. His head ached, his stomach lurched and his world span. He wanted to drop to someplace with soft blankets. Any place at all. Walking out of her quarters, Cassiopeia stumbled across a very ill-looking warrior, leaning against the wall. She tapped his shoulder carefully. "Starbuck?" "Huh? What? Oh, Cassie, it's you..." he mumbled. "I was just looking for you. I'm not feeling so well..." "I noticed." She put her arm around his shoulder to steady him. "What happened?" "Carbon leaks...Amyclae...old man...Apollo ...blankets..." he said sluggishly, his eyes half closed. "I-" "You're coming with me, honey. We're gonna put you someplace where you can't fall off and figure this out. You probably just caught some virus somewhere." "Oh. I can walk by myself, Cassie..." he said blearily. "No, you can't." "Can too." With a sigh of resignation, she removed her hand. The sooner she got him to the Life Station, the better. "Very well, hotshot. Try." It took Starbuck exactly five hesitant steps to realize the truth of her words. "Okay, I can't." He smiled sheepishly. "It's just that frakking dizziness..." "Sure it is, dear," Cassiopeia agreed. This was going to be a very interesting shift, it appeared to be. If Starbuck was coming down with something, somebody else must have caught it too. If she knew her fiancee as well as she thought she did, it would probably be Apollo, too. The whole ship would be swarming with ill warriors in no time at all. Better get the vaccination tubes out now, while they still had the chance. The sight of Sheba's smile as she saw him pass the doors to the eatery and advance towards her warmed Apollo's heart. He hastened his pace to reach her faster, pushing his way through the crowded room. The eatery wasn't this big the last time he was here, was it? He finally reached her, and after they shared a kiss, he settled down next to her. "You're late," she told him. "I know," Apollo sighed. "Sire Domra intercepted me on the way. Wanted to know something about my father's schedule. He beat around the bush for a centar before he finally cut to it. It appears that my father has been neglecting the Quorum for a while, and they make a bit fuss over it. Anyhow, all his yapping gave me a fierce headache. Feed me!" Sheba giggled at him. "Well, luckily for you, I took the liberty of ordering for both of us. How does a big bowl of noodles sound to you?" "Noodles? Aw, Sheba! That's not very romantic, is it?" "Apollo," she beckoned him to lean closer, and whispered to him, "we're in the frakking eatery. This is hardly a place for romance..." "Can't blame a guy for trying." He grinned at her. Sheba rolled her eyes. "I think you've been working too hard, too long. And way too close to Starbuck. I'll tell you what, though, we have dinner, and then, you and I are going to take a little stroll to the celestial dome, and I'll see what I can do about that headache." Just then, their meals arrived, and Apollo's attention was distracted by the smell of the steaming food. Sheba coughed diplomatically to remind him of her existence. "Apollo?" He raised his eyes from his plate of noodles. "Oh, sure. Whatever." His attention remained mostly on the food. With a mischievous grin, Sheba leaned back in her chair. "And then the red cow crossed the street and launched the viper..." she said to Apollo in a casual tone. "Huh?" he raised confused eyes to her. "Just checking," she smiled sweetly before digging in at her food. Passing her scanner over Starbuck's chest for the umpteenth time, Cassiopeia rechecked the results. "Congratulations, baby. You've got yourself a nice little virus to keep you company." Looking across her shoulder, she spotted a med-tech standing by a communications panel. "Marisa, please notify Colonel Tigh to start sending in the men for vaccination. It appears that we might have a case of Caprican Influenza." "Wait, wait, Cassie," Starbuck would have tugged at her sleeve, if he had the power to raise his hand. "If that's a Caprican Influenza, shouldn't I be immuned to it already? I am Caprican." "I see you're feeling better." "I don't!" Starbuck practically whined. "I just want to know what is it I've got." Cassiopeia smiled gently, and perched on the edge of the pod which Starbuck was lying on. "Well, it's called Caprican Influenza, because it strikes mostly Capricans. There have been a fairly large number of cases diagnosed in non-Caprican, but the substantial majority of it is on Capricans." She grinned. "Must be something in the water. Don't worry, though, I'm immuned, so we'll just get you settled here, and I can keep an eye on you until you get well." Starbuck gave her a shade of his trademark smile. "Well, it's not a week on the Rising Star..." "But it beats nothing," she completed, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead. "You're feverish. Let's get you someplace warm, we need to get some liquids into you." Apollo stood at the feet of the console on the Celestial Dome, Sheba in his arms. Looking around him, he saw nothing but stars. If he looked back, he knew he'd see behind him the lights of 220 ships, carrying the remains of mankind. But before him spread a sea of stars and space, just waiting to be explored, calling to him. And in his arms, he held the woman he loved. Another unknown territory to explore. Knowing Sheba, he smiled, she wouldn't let him do any exploring on his own, and he looked forward to it. But they had decided to take things slowly, at a pace both were sure they could handle. So there they were, after a meal together, standing in Apollo's favorite spot on the Galactica, watching the magnificent view around them. To all intents and purposes, Apollo reasoned with himself, he should be happy, content and focused on Sheba. But he wasn't. He wasn't happy, he was far from content, and the only thing he seemed to be able to focus on was the dull ache in the back of his head. An ache that the dim throbbing of the engines below them only served to worsen. "Sheba," he started, "would you mind if we took this someplace else?" She grinned. "Why, Apollo, I had no idea that you..." She turned to look at him. "...looked this bad in green." "Green?" he stared at her. "You look green, Apollo. And very decidedly miserable. Maybe it was something we ate?" "No," Apollo started to shake his head, and immediately proceeded to regret it. "You're not sick. I, on the other hand, feel like a basestar landed on me." Sheba shrugged. "I don't think it's anything serious, but, just to be on the safe side, why don't we pay Cassie a visit? She's working late, you know and-" "Cassie!" Apollo exclaimed. "That's it! I'll kill him, I swear I will!" Sheba stared at him as if he lost his mind. She wasn't a certified med-tech, but she'd seen her fair share of sick people, and none of the illnesses she'd seen included death threats. But then, she didn't really see too many Capricans sick, and it was Apollo, after all. Maybe the stress was getting to him. "Kill whom?" She asked, while putting her ear-protectors back in place, and helping the still-muttering Apollo open the hatch. "Starbuck!" he called over the noise of the engines. Sheba shook her head. Great. Just great. Normally, Apollo was just about all she could handle. But a sick Apollo, and one that blamed Starbuck for his miseries, at that...Sheba pushed the thought firmly away. If playing nursemaid was what it took, than a nursemaid she will be. Settled in a soft, cushioned Life Center pod, his head resting on a puffed pillow, a thick blanket covering his shoulders and Cassiopeia showering him with attention, Starbuck was feeling much better, indeed. Granted, he could do without the IV flowing liquids into his arm, but as Cassie had reasoned, he needed liquids, lots of them, and one man could only drink so much. The quietness of the Life Center was doing wonders for his headache, he could feel the tension ebbing away from his sour muscles, life was beginning to brighten just a bit. Starbuck closed his eyes and savored the peace and quiet of the Life Center chamber. "You!!" The blissful stillness was shattered to pieces. Apollo barged through the doors, Sheba hurrying behind him. "You!!" He came to a halt before Starbuck's pod, staring angrily at the lieutenant. "You!" He called again, this time adding a pointed finger at Starbuck. "This is your fault! All I ever get from you is grief!" Starbuck debated whether to open his eyes and set Apollo straight, but quickly decided against it. Apollo couldn't just stand there and yell at him much longer if he got no response, could he? Starbuck didn't really feel up to arguing with a pissed captain at his present condition. He wasn't feeling that much better. "Ah, so you've finally arrived," he heard Cassiopeia's sweet voice. "I've been expecting you." She had been preparing the next life pod, changing the sheets and fluffing the pillows. According to her calculation, it wouldn't take too long for Apollo to arrive. She was sure that they'd caught Starbuck's virus early enough to prevent it from turning to a full-scale disease, but she was just as sure that Apollo would get infected with it. Where there was one, there was bound to be the other, and the virus with him. So when Apollo barged into the Life Center, Cassiopeia wasn't at all surprised. She smiled knowingly at Sheba, and gestured at the pod. Sheba nodded her understanding, and they closed in on Apollo, who was still glaring at Starbuck. "Apollo, I'm sure that yelling at Starbuck right now isn't helping much," she said. "I take it that you're coming down with something, too?" Apollo turned around to face her. Behind him, Starbuck emitted a relieved breath, and opened one eye a crack. "Yeah, I'm coming down with something! And it's all-" "I know, I know. His fault," Cassie shook her head. "Why don't you go change into this," she handed him the standard-issued Life Center pajamas, "and we'll see what it is you've got?" "I'm not wearing this!" Apollo looked at the pajamas as if Cassie was offering him a Council Security uniform. "And, besides, I can't stay here. I, uh, have no-one to take care of Boxey." His argument might have worked, if it wasn't for the cough that shook Apollo's body as soon as he was done talking. "So much for that," Sheba concluded. "I'll get someone to look after Boxey. And as far as wearing these goes-It's either that, or I'm putting you in that bed in your uniform and boots. You choose." Apollo looked around him. Cassiopeia was trying to hide her amusement, Starbuck, who'd decided to go back to trying to sleep, wouldn't be much of a help, and Sheba...Apollo smelled defeat in the air. "Fine." He snatched the garment from Cassie's hand and glared at Sheba. "Where can I change?" "Right here. Sheba and I will let you have some privacy. Just leave your uniform on that chair and get to bed. We'll be back in a few centons." "Uh, what are you going to do with my uniform?" he asked. "Burn them, of course." Sheba smiled sweetly at him and disappeared behind the curtain. Apollo looked at the garment in his hand. Might as well wear it, no telling when they'll be back, and what Sheba would do if she found he wasn't wearing it yet. A life pod didn't seem as comfortable with a full uniform on. Slowly, he took off his uniform and pressure suit and pulled on the pajamas. Having deposited his clothes and boots on the chair by the pod, he climbed into it and pulled the covers over his shoulders. In the silence, when there was nothing to distract him but the soft breathing of his best friend, his aching systems were making themselves very noticeable. Apollo groaned in abject misery. "This isn't fair!" "Sure it is." He heard the familiar voice and turned his head to see Starbuck leaning on his elbow, looking at him. "Serves you right, too." "Me? What did I do?" Apollo demanded. "Hmm. How about, "Starbuck, I think you'd be that much more useful doing something else. Say, oh, checking for carbon leaks on the Roscius. What goes around comes around, buddy." "If the very thought of moving wasn't making me dizzy, I'd get up and punch you." Apollo said dryly. "I'm your captain, it's my job to give you assignments." "But it's not your job to give me your assignments." Apollo looked over in amazement. "Like you haven't stranded me with yours every now and then?" "That's different!" Starbuck sank down against the pillows. "I don't believe this," Apollo mumbled. "How is it different, do tell?" Starbuck grunted. "It just is. Now shut up, I'm sick." "Sick," Apollo muttered, quietly. "I'll show him sick. After I get my hands on him....if I can ever get out of this bed. He's sick. Heh. He didn't see nothing yet!" Cassiopeia and Sheba peeked through the curtain to see both men safely in bed. Starbuck seemed to be asleep, but Apollo was wide awake, and the looks he was giving the ceiling alternated between complete anguish and utter annoyance. Cassiopeia took a deep breath, and signaling Sheba to be ready to come to her defense, walked inside the chamber. "Well, I see you're settled in. Why don't we figure out what is it you got, then?" she said, putting on her professional smile. "Whatever he's got, only worse." "How'd you know that?" Sheba inquired. "Starbuck always gets me into whatever scheme he's involved in; and usually he gets out unscathed, while I get the brunt of the backfire. Why, do you think, should this time be any different?" The expression on Apollo's face could only be described as a pout, and Sheba bit her lower lip to smother her smile. "Well, maybe because he's lying in the next pod with an IV hooked to his arm?" Cassie offered. Apollo frowned at her. Why were everyone ruining his arguments? Whatever happened to respect to superior officers? Nobody has no discipline today! First his cubits were at risk, then Starbuck gave him this obnoxious virus, and now Cassie was suggesting that it wasn't the usual scheme of things! The nerve! "Apollo?" Sheba repeated herself. "Apollo!" He looked her, not really able to frown at her, too. "Cassie is asking you something. Don't be rude." Oh, great, Apollo groaned silently. Et tu, Sheba? Sighing, Cassie shook her head. If Apollo was going to be this difficult, this was going to be a long secton! And Starbuck wasn't even awake. "Apollo," she asked, "what exactly do you feel?" "How exactly do I feel?" he said. "Well, let me see..." In her position near the pod, Sheba winced. They were in for it. "I feel like a battlestar flew towards me at light speed, ran circles around me, herded me towards really hard rock, landed on me, smashed me to the surface of the rock, and then jumped up and down on my head, just for fun. That's how I feel. Anything else you need?" "No, not really," Cassie said nonchalantly while passing her scanner over his body. "I know all I wanted to know." She checked out the results on the scanner. "Tell me, Apollo, how can it be, that from all the warriors on this, rather large, mind you, battlestar, you were the only one who managed to catch Starbuck's virus?" "He's doing it on purpose," he informed her, utterly serious. "He thinks I'm trying to get him killed, one way or the other, and this is his demented way of getting back at me." "He's very dedicated, I see," Sheba commented. Cassiopeia glared at her. "Don't encourage him!" "Like he needs encouraging," Sheba retorted. "I'm simply humoring a hapless man." Great, Apollo thought. First I'm sick, then I'm hapless. Just dandy! What's next? Hopeless and helpless? "Anyway," Cassiopeia turned back to Apollo, after sending a meaningful stare at Sheba. "You're going to stay here for the next secton or so. It's the Caprican Influenza, and while we have most of the other crew members vaccinated, we ought to keep you two here." Oh, yeah. Definitely hopeless and helpless! Whoever it is behind this, he's got a nasty sense of humor! "Did you find someone to look after Boxey for me?" Apollo asked Sheba. "Sure I did." She answered. "He's going to stay the night at your father's quarters, and after that, they'll see. They sounded quite excited about it when I called." "I get no sympathy from anyone!" Apollo complained. "Oh, yes, you do, Apollo." Cassiopeia moved over to Starbuck's pod to brush a few strands of hair from his forehead. "We told them not to plan on visits until you're not contagious," she said over her shoulder. "Nothing personal." "Right. You two will just keep us here and have your wicked ways with us!" If Starbuck wasn't fast asleep, Sheba would have sworn he was the one talking. Not that having her wicked ways with Apollo was bad, she just didn't expect this sort of statement from him. Maybe he should get sick more often. Apollo groaned loudly. "How long do you reckon this would take? I have duties, you know. I need to finish reports, and read reports, and make the new duty roster, and..." "And I'm sure someone just as capable will take over your duties for you," Sheba informed him. "You're not the only one capable of bossing the squadron around." Yes. And with you two down, the trouble frequency will be so much lower. Your replacement should have no problems," Cassie joined in. "Huh!" Apollo folded his arms across his head and looked mortally wounded. "So much for bedside manners." Cassiopeia shot his a sharp look. "Not that there's anything wrong with your manners..." he quickly retreated. Sheba stifled a giggle. Cassiopeia shook her head with a long suffering look. "They lose every shred of originality they had when they make Captain," she told Sheba wryly. Apollo made himself as small as he possibly could in his pod. Annoying the med-tech was probably not a good way to start a secton in the Life Center. But then, what was? Starbuck was in a desert. The weirdest desert he'd ever seen, because he couldn't see any sand dunes around, nor any sun, nor any of the typical characteristics of any desert he'd ever heard of, yet he was certain that a desert it was. After all, what other place could possibly be as hot? He felt himself falling, and decided that he had probably reached a spot of quicksand. The reasonable portion of his mind asked him how could there be quicksand in a desert, but Starbuck was too tired to listen to it. Some of the lessons drilled into him in Survival classes surfaced. If you've fallen into quicksand, lie as still as possible. He stilled his body, then tried to still his mind. Then, a thought occurred to him. Maybe he ought to look around and see where he was. They were bound to ask about where he was at the debriefing, right? Starbuck looked around, and saw nothing. Pitch blackness all around him. He reached up his hand to his eyes, and found out that he didn't see his own hand. A centon of concentrated thinking told him that his eyes were closed. So that's why things are so dark, he thought. Maybe I should open them. Bright light welcomed him, and he quickly shut his eyes. Bad move. He tried again, slower this time. Better. Much better. He could see the other pot, and what he assumed were Cassie, Sheba and Apollo, on and around it. They were all blurry to him, though, and he felt like he was watching through some sort of veil. What are they doing in the desert, he wondered. Now that I can see, Starbuck decided, I should probably try to find some branch to help me get out of this quicksand. Maybe Apollo would help me. Or Cassie. Yeah, Cassie would help me. He tried to roll over to his side. Even worse a move. Agonizingly, Starbuck sank back down with a groan. The sound of his voice alerted Cassiopeia, and she turned to him quickly. "Well, well, well. The sleeping beauty had decided to join us," some voice said. It was too deep to be Cassiopeia's or Sheba's. That left Apollo. Ah, the joys of old friends. "Don't mind him," Cassie's sweet voice reached his ears. He strained to focus his eyes on her. Unlike Apollo's, seeing her face was well worth the effort. A few attempts later, he managed the feat. "How do you feel?" Starbuck thought of that for a while. "My head spins," he finally said. Cassiopeia smiled. A sight that would have sent warm waves through his body, if more heat was what he needed. "To which side?" she asked. "What?" "Your head, to which side does it spin?" "Oh." It made sense to Starbuck, in some odd way, so he gave it some more thought. "Left," he said after a few centons. "Well, spin it the other way, then." He made a face at her, which made her smile widen. She brushed her fingers across his cheek. "You're still running a fever. Go back to sleep." Back to sleep? Back to that desert? Starbuck wasn't sure it was such a great idea. "But, the desert, it's really hot, Cassie..." he tried to convey his worries to her. "There's no desert, Starbuck," she assured him. "It's just the fever. Go back to sleep, I'll take good care of you." Cassie? His Cassie, taking care of him? Starbuck didn't find that idea all that great, either. Sure, she was a med-tech, and damn good at it. And she could take care of herself. But he was the warrior, he was trained for this, and Cassie wasn't. She couldn't take care of the both of them in that burning inferno! I said I'll take good care of you, honey, and I will. You don't think I'd promise something I can't do, do you?" Well, that was another matter all together, Starbuck decided. If Cassie said she could do something..... Apollo saw Starbuck's lids drop, and Cassiopeia smile fondly at him. She brushed the wayward hair away from his face, wiped the sweat from his brow, tucked the covers more comfortably around his shoulders, and finally, placed a feather light kiss on his cheek. With a pang, Apollo realized he envied his friend. Sick though he may be, his relationship with Cassie was developed enough for her to be completely comfortable taking care of him, med-tech or not. He shifted his gaze to Sheba. She was sitting in a chair beside his pod, her hands clutched together at her lap. How he longed for her to be this comfortable around him, too. But they were taking this slow, he firmly reminded himself. On her part, Sheba was watching the same scene, and reaching similar conclusions. Starbuck trusted Cassie implicitly. He was dazed and blurred, but she said it would be okay, and he believed her. And the way she so freely touched him. Sheba clutched her hands tighter. Apollo probably wasn't even aware of it, but his constantly ruffled hair was falling in part on his forehead, and it was all Sheba could do to avoid brushing it away. As close as they've gotten, Apollo would still flinch away when she spontaneously reached out to touch him. Who ever came up with the stupid idea of taking this slow? Sheba grumbled mentally. "Well, one down, one to go," Cassie's voice snatched both from their thoughts. Having assured herself that Starbuck was as comfortable as she could get him, and that he was deeply asleep, and likely to stay that way, she turned her attention to Apollo. "You need to rest, too. Think you can fall asleep on your own, or am I going to have to sedate you?" "I can manage by myself, thank you!" Apollo quickly answered. If anything, Apollo hated being sedated. It was a situation where he had no control, even on himself, and he didn't like it one bit. "Come on, Sheba, let's let the boys rest," Cassie said. "I'm sure they'll be more friendly in the morning." Sheba reluctantly got up and followed Cassie to the door leading away from the Life Center. When she arrived at it, she turned to see Apollo settle down for the night. He tossed and turned for a few centons, then his breathes regulated, became slower and softer as he fell asleep. He looked so calm in his sleep, Sheba thought. All the stress of duty and life lifted off his shoulders. If only she could stay and watch him sleep... "Shouldn't someone stay with them?" she asked Cassiopeia. "Maybe I should just stay here." Cassie shook her head, much to Sheba's disappointment. "No, it's okay. I'm working the late shift, so I'll be here for most of the sleep period, and I'm more than likely am going to get some naps on one empty pod or the other. There's no need for you to stay here, too." She saw Sheba frown, and added, "I know you're not a full Caprican, but you do have some Caprican blood, so there's no need for you to expose yourself to that virus anymore than necessary." Sheba nodded in disappointment. "You're right. But I'll be here as soon as I wake up!" "No one's stopping you, Sheba," Cassie laughed. "They're going to be a handful. I could probably use another set of hands to keep them in line. Especially after the initial fatigue wears off." "I'll see you in the morning, then." Sheba took another glance at the two sleeping Warriors, her gaze lingering on Apollo's sleeping face. After Sheba was gone, Cassie glanced around the room. Both were now asleep, faces relaxed and angelic. She shook her head with a smile. A handful, indeed. Between the two of them, the upcoming secton would be one surprise after the other, that much she was sure of. Sometimes, pilots were just like little children. "Sleep tight," she whispered, and disappeared behind the curtain separating the room from the rest of the Life Center. Chapter 2- Just a Spoonful of Sugar... The most unnerving thing about being a refugee living on a spaceship, making your way across the galaxies was, if you managed to get past the crowds, the low rations and bad food and the loss of your home and people, if you got past all those, the most unnerving thing, most people thought, was the eternal night outside your window, and the eternal day within. Each ship dealt with it according to its commander's decisions. On the Galactica, the solution was simple. The time system remained the same as it was back on Caprica, and the ship was lighted, or shaded, accordingly. Therefore, when Sheba rolled off her bunk the following morning and started making her way to the Life Center, the illumination on the corridors was still rather shady. A true Warrior, Sheba rose early and went to sleep late. The interim was filled with various occupations, none of which held any priority to Sheba today. After explaining the situation to Commander Adama, he had agreed to give Sheba her furlon. Which, much to her delight, meant that she could spend as much time as was needed with Apollo. She briskly strode down the corridors towards the Life Center, making, as part of her mind noted, excellent time in her hurry. She poked her head through the Life Center door less than one centar after waking up. Even Col. Tigh couldn't find fault in that. Apart of its two occupants, the room was empty. Sheba assumed that Cassiopeia was either getting some rest in another room, or that she was doing her duty elsewhere. Apollo, surprisingly enough, was still asleep, very much out of character for the early-rising Captain. Starbuck, however, was awake, and greeted Sheba with a shaky smile. "Welcome to the last refuge," he said dramatically. "The one and only way any of us would ever get some rest on this ship." "Ah," Sheba grinned mischievously. "I knew you had some ulterior motive for this. Don't worry, though. I won't tell Apollo." Starbuck grinned back at her. "I don't know, Sheba. I can come up with at least ten other, more preferable ways to spend my day." "I'm sure you could," she said, as she walked over to Apollo's side. "How come he's still sleeping?" "It's not how come he's still sleeping, it's how come I'm already awake. He didn't exactly sleep much last night." "Oh?" Sheba turned to him with a frown. "Why?" "Rough night," he explained. "It's rather hard to sleep when you're coughing your guts out every other centon." "Oh. You or him?" "Both." "Then what are you doing up?" "I had a bit more sleep yesterday, to begin with, and I'm feeling too lousy to sleep, anyway." Sheba slumped down on a chair between the pods. "Well, then, I'll keep you company. And speaking of, where is Cassie?" Starbuck stifled a yawn. "I don't know. Last time I saw her was in the middle of the night when I was about sure I was going to die. Haven't seen her since I woke up." "Which was, when?" Sheba quirked an eyebrow. "A few centons before you came," he grinned. "Say, while you're here, could you please get me a glass of water? My throat feels like dried parchment." Sheba rose back to her feet. She would usually send any man who tried to enlist her to serving duties straight to Hades, but a sick man was a sick man, and he did ask nicely...for Starbuck. She went to the cooler and filled a glass with water. Slowly, careful not to spill a drop, she made her way back to the room. She handed the glass to Starbuck, who thanked her briefly before struggling up to sit and drink, and turned her attention to Apollo. This time, she had ample time to observe his sleeping face. He seemed less tranquil than he did when she left him last night, but that was understood- he did have a rough night, Sheba calmed herself. A part of Sheba wanted to see his green eyes open and smile at her, but an equally large part wanted to let him sleep on undisturbed. While she debated this, she noticed that the loose strand of hair were still falling on his face. This time, Sheba couldn't -and wouldn't- stop herself. She reached out her hand to brush them away. Her fingers lingered on his face, savoring the fact that he did not flinch away this time. She couldn't help but noticing the slight warmth at her fingertips-Apollo was running a mild fever. To be expected, Sheba reasoned, but still, she'd rather he'd be spared of it. Sheba drew her fingers away reluctantly. She didn't want Apollo to wake, not just yet, he looked too peaceful to bother. She turned back to Starbuck, and saw him sitting up, a tired expression to his face, holding the now empty glass in his hand. "Here, let me," she moved to take the glass from him. Her fingers touched his hand and she was startled to feel the heat emanating from him. If Apollo was running a fever, Starbuck was burning up. She removed the glass and came back to the room. "Are you okay?" she asked Starbuck. "You're feverish." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "I know. What do you want me to do about it?" "Sleep!" a new voice rang from the door way, and Sheba and Starbuck turned to see Cassie standing there. She quickly crossed the few steps between her and Starbuck's pod and rested her hand on his shoulder. "You should sleep. Your body needs the rest." Starbuck grunted. "I need a rest from sleeping!" Sheba grinned. At least his spirits were up. Cassiopeia was less amused. "Don't be smart with me. Go back to sleep, I'll wake you in time for your medication." "Oh, Joy," he muttered, as Cassie helped him lie back down. He was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillows. Cassie shook her head with a smile, then turned to Sheba. "You're bright and early, I see," she said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to welcome you to our little piece of paradise. I was in the other room getting a nap. Between those two, I hardly slept. It's like raising twins!" "Don't worry, Starbuck was here to greet me, and we had a nice little chat. But since he's back asleep, I suppose that one," she gestured at Apollo, "will be hassling us soon enough." "I bet he will," Cassie agreed. "So we might as well sit down." She suited action to words by settling down at one of the few chairs in the room. Sheba followed suit, moving Apollo's pack of clothes to the last vacant chair. "Starbuck isn't faring very well, is he?" Sheba asked. She and Starbuck may have snapped at each other more times than they had a civil conversation, but he was her friend, and she was worried about him. "His temperature is a lot higher than Apollo's." Cassiopeia sighed. "Yeah, it hit him pretty hard. Apollo was probably vaccinated at one stage of his life, while I don't think anyone ever bothered to do so for Starbuck, so the virus is being rougher on him. But, either way, they'll both be fine. It'll just take a bit longer." "And how's Apollo doing?" Sheba questioned. "He's fine. Annoying, but fine. At least Starbuck spent most of the time asleep. He woke up, coughed and went back to sleep. Apollo, on the other hand, woke up, coughed, complained for a few centons, and then went back to sleep." She looked over at him. "He doesn't like being sick." "Captains don't get sick," Sheba grinned. "Bojay used to be the same way on the Pegasus, not to mention my father. They're very sure that their rank means total immunity to any and all diseases in the line of duty, and the only result is that they act like little children." "You know," Cassie commented, "when the Commander was injured, he wasn't a terribly good patient, always worrying more about what happened to the rest of the ship and the Warriors, but that's probably because he's the Commander, but other than that, he was quite reasonable. I hoped it ran in the family, but," she smiled at Apollo's direction, "I suppose that rank is thicker than blood." "Nope," Sheba shook her head fiercely. "Apollo is just being obnoxious because he thinks that being away from his duties for a day would mortally wound him." "Pilots!" Cassie huffed. "Men!" Sheba corrected, and both burst out laughing. The day wore on uneventfully. Apollo woke shortly afterwards only to acknowledge their presence and fall back to blissful slumber. Sheba spent the time with her legs propped on one of the chairs, her back leaning on Apollo's pod, catching up on her paperwork and keeping an eye on the sick men, while Cassiopeia did her work in other parts of the Life Center. At about midday, Cassiopeia strolled up to Sheba, holding two small cups and a bottle containing a thick red liquid. "Sheba, tell me, what was the most dangerous mission you ever went on?" Sheba quirked an eyebrow. "Uh, I'd have to say the Battle of Molokai. Why?" Cassie grinned. "Because you've just found its match." "Oh?" "We have to get those two up, and this syrup down their throats," Cassie explained. Sheba frowned. "And I take it they don't feel too keenly about it?" "Well, Starbuck shouldn't be a problem. He's too feverish to argue, and too weak to put up a struggle. Apollo, on the other hand..." she paused, "Well, that's where you fit in." "Oh, no, no, no!" Sheba shook her head fiercely. "You're the Med-tech, you deal with him!" "True," Cassie conceded. "But I'm not the one looking for a relationship with him." "I really don't see the connection," Sheba insisted. Cassiopeia sighed. "Sheba, sometimes, I swear, you've been hanging with the male pilots too much! Some things, such as this, require a bit of a woman's touch. Use your feminine wiles!" Sheba hesitated. "I don't know...I'm not too good at this feminine wiles thing. And Apollo is too oblivious anyway. If I were a status report, maybe..." "A status report?" That was one for the books. Cassiopeia tilted her head backwards and laughed heartily. "You just don't know what you've got going here, dear. Apollo is anything but oblivious. But, of course, being Apollo, he'd never admit it, I'll give you that." "So what do I do about it?" Cassie smiled sweetly. "You need to press things along a little. And this bottle of syrup," she held the bottle up to Sheba, "is the first step on your way to domestic bliss with the captain over there." "I'm still not sure." Sheba turned to look at Apollo. "Maybe he'll take it the wrong way." "And maybe the Council will do something reasonable." Cassie shook her head, then her expression turned serious. "Look, they need to take this medication. I'm going to make sure it happens. Starbuck won't be a problem, Apollo will. The way I see it, the syrup is going down his throat, the only question is, by whom." Sheba was still looking at Apollo, her brow wrinkled. "Well...okay. If you put it this way." She reached her hand to the bottle. "Give me that." Cassie poured the contents of the bottle into the two cups and handed one to Sheba. "Here, I'll show you how it's done," she grinned. She moved to perch on Starbuck's pod, and shook him by the shoulder gently. "Starbuck...Starbuck...wake up..." she called sweetly to him. He stirred and sighed. "Cassie?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes still half shut. "Yes, honey, it's me," she answered, leaning over him. "I need you to drink this." She placed the cup near his lips. He turned his head away, eyes still closed. "I don't wanna, Cassie..." know you don't, Starbuck, but you have to. It'll make your throat feel better and lessen the coughing." "Cassie..." She didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know that he still needed cajoling. She passed her hand over his brow, then bent closer, taking his face in her hand and placing a kiss on his lips. Still close enough to fill his breath on her cheek, she whispered, "For me?" Not waiting for an answer, she pressed the cup to his lips. He drank, and Cassie saw him wince as the liquid poured past his raw throat. A centon later, his eyes flew open. "Ugh!" he groaned. "This tastes awful!" Cassie laughed. "Of course it does," she said, ruffling his hair. "If it didn't, you'd stay here forever. Think of it as an incentive to get better quicker." "Like I need it," he groaned. Cassie ignored him, and turned to Sheba. "See? It's easy. Your turn." Sheba frowned. Starbuck looked up at his fiancee. "You're letting her deal with Apollo and his medication?" Cassie nodded, and he turned his head to Sheba. "Brave girl. Good luck." Sheba scowled at him before looking at Apollo. Cassie's sweet approach wouldn't work with him, that much was sure. Apollo was more likely to bolt than take his medication peacefully. "Oh, Sheba," she heard Starbuck's voice, "there's one more thing. Apollo hates coughing syrup." Sheba winced. "Just though you should know." She could see his grin, even though her back was turned to him. Following Cassie's example, Sheba leaned closer to Apollo. Hesitantly, she shook his shoulder, hoping to wake him just enough to provoke no resistance. She heard Starbuck make a whispered comment to Cassiopeia, and her hushed reply, but ignored them both as she continued in her efforts to rouse Apollo. Her attempts were soon rewarded when Apollo's eyelids fluttered. "Is it morning already?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred. "Apollo, it was morning the last time you woke up, remember? It's about noon, now," she told him. "Oh. What is it, then?" he asked. Sheba groaned inwardly. Apollo, always the romantic. She braced herself. "Apollo, I need you to drink this, okay?" Apollo's eyes opened completely, and his face wrinkled in suspicion. "What is it?" he asked, sniffing the cup Sheba was holding. Sheba stole a glance at Cassie, who shrugged helplessly. "Uh, it's, um..." "You're an awful liar, Sheba. What is it?" Sheba sighed. Apollo always saw through her charade. Heck, the man saw through Starbuck's charade, which was ten times as difficult. It was a natural gift if she ever saw one. "It's your medication," she said. Seeing his lips part to form the next question, she quickly added, "It's coughing syrup. You have to take it, Apollo." "I'm not taking it," he declared, and Sheba heard Starbuck stifle a laugh. She tried again. "But you have to, Apollo. I know it's not fun and games, but you can't be playing with your health." Apollo shook his head firmly. Sheba scrambled for a trick. She curved he upper lip, pushed the lower out and flashed Apollo a full-fledged pout. "Please? For me?" She immediately noticed his frown. Good, she congratulated herself. At least now he's feeling guilty. Apollo did feel guilty, now. Sheba never asked for anything unless it was important. And even if she did, how could he refuse her anything when she was looking so damn cute and irresistible? But no, Apollo's resolve didn't weaken. Long ago, he had vowed that he would never take the frakking syrup again, and he'd be damned if he broke that vow. Colonial Warriors, after all, always kept their word. And if he didn't, what kind of a roll model he would be to the 6 yahren old waiting at home for him? He looked valiantly up at Sheba's brown eyes, and knowing full well he'd come to regret this, said, "No." Sheba was caught unprepared. She was certain that Apollo would cave in. That look always worked on him, whether it came from her, Boxey, or in some cases, Starbuck. But it didn't this time. Okay, she resolved, if this were a battle, what would you do? Hit the enemy before he knew what hit him. It worked for the Cylons, it would work for Apollo. Before her decision could be weaken, she reached for the edge of the covers. Not expecting her sudden movement, which was, according to Apollo, in the wrong direction, he didn't stand a chance. Sheba knocked the covers away, revealing Apollo's naked feet. Before he could so much as utter a protest, she grabbed his foot, and started grazing her nails over the sole. His helpless yelps didn't diminish her resolve, and she quickly worked her way upwards, now concentrating her tickling on Apollo's stomach. Apollo was rendered helpless under her assault. There was nothing he could do but yelp in laughter. Then, it got worse. Sheba's hand started straying up and down his throat, and he opened his mouth to protest breathlessly. Bad mistake. The moment his mouth was open, he felt a cool object press against his lips, and a sticky liquid pouring inside his mouth. He recognized the taste. The wretched coughing syrup. "Ha!" Sheba said triumphantly. "Now swallow it. And don't even dream of spitting it out, cause I'll just make you swallow it again." Oh, no. Apollo felt three pairs of eyes on him, and the foul, too sweet taste of the syrup in his mouth. "I've got five cubit saying he'll spit it out," Starbuck said with a smirk. Cassie grinned back at him. "Well, then, I've got five cubits saying he won't." Sheba glared at them. "My Apollo always does the honorable thing. Don't you, Apollo?" She had him now, Apollo knew. After such a vote of confidence, after hearing himself being referred to as "Her Apollo", well, what was a Captain to do? Slowly, very reluctantly, Apollo forced his muscles to push the syrup down. He felt it's progress down his throat, and much like Starbuck, winced at the foul taste. The smile in Sheba's eyes, however, was all the reward he needed. "You lose," Cassie said sweetly, holding her hand towards Starbuck. "Pay up." He groaned. "Oh, Cassie," he tried. "You wouldn't charge a dying man," his blue eyes widened to an expression of a poor, abandoned pup. "Would you?" Tearing his eyes away from Sheba's gaze, Apollo glared at his friend. "You're not dying, Starbuck!" "I am, too." "Are not." "Am, too." Cassie and Sheba exchanged bewildered looks. It was known that pilots were often acting like little kids, especially among the bridge officers, but this, this was unusual. "You're not dying, Starbuck," Apollo growled. "Not until I get my hands on you, at least." "Well, then," Starbuck's voice overflowed with mischief. "I'll just have to make sure you stay right where you are for a while longer, won't I?" "Oh, just try, buddy. Just try." As if as a reply, Starbuck's body convulsed with a sudden cough, which only quelled when Cassiopeia helped him to lean on his side, facing Apollo. "Is that all you can do?" Apollo asked tartly, then leaned back on his pillows, sending a quick grin Sheba's way. Starbuck sent him a vicious look from the corner of his eye as Cassiopeia hovered around him. "Just wait and see, ol' buddy. Just wait and see." Chapter 3- The Truth About Captains and Daggits. Some people were graceful patients; Apollo wasn't. Some people slept like the dead; Apollo didn't. Some people would try to be agreeable to those around them; Apollo wouldn't. Some people could handle the sudden load of free time that being sick brought on; Apollo couldn't. Which all boiled down to one thing, Starbuck concluded, lying back, staring at the door and trying hard to ignore Apollo-one major headache. The lieutenant was known throughout the fleet to be a gambling man. One who didn't think some cheating was beneath his dignity. But at the core, Lieutenant Starbuck was an honest man. Honest enough to admit that he himself wasn't always the best guy around to get sick with. But, as he firmly reminded himself, with a running high fever, an IV keeping him from dehydration, and a constant weariness which seemed to creep its way into his bones, he was hardly at a position to cause any trouble. He was a good boy, as far as good boys went. Therefore, Apollo, the traditional good boy of the pack took it upon himself to experiment on meetings with the devil. And he experimented with a passion. After all, the Order of Universe had to be preserved. Which ever way you looked at it, the Captain was being downright annoying. So annoying, in fact, that the only thing keeping his astrum from being thoroughly kicked was Cassiopeia's relentless insistence that as long as Apollo was her patient, he would get the proper medical treatment he deserved. No matter how many strained nerves it cost his caretakers. Starbuck and Sheba, neither one reputed for their long temper or calmness of mind, found themselves united in an alliance of gritted teeth, clenched fists and muttered oaths. Still doing his best to ignore Apollo, Starbuck closed his eyes and concentrated instead on something, anything, else. To his dismay, he found that it was next to impossible. The constant coughing, despite the syrups they were being fed, had caused both their voices to sound hoarse, and Apollo was using his far more than was good for him. He could hear the other parts of the Life Center coming to life, slowly filling with the hushed noises of its day-to-day activity. Apollo was still going on about whatever it was that was occupying his mind since they woke a couple of centars ago, having finally given up on Sleep to claim them. "Apollo," Starbuck interrupted, "I know I didn't exactly make all the first-aid classes in the Academy," he paused, waiting for the snort from the other bed. True to form, Apollo didn't fail him. "But I'm pretty sure that when you have the flu, you're supposed to sleep it through. Whatever happened to that?" Apollo frowned. "I don't know. I think it's part of the conspiracy. You don't really suffer if you sleep." "Conspiracy? What conspiracy?" "Weren't you listening?" Apollo sat up in his bed, his sleep-mussed hair and otherwise rumpled appearance making his look like a wandering prophet, preaching his ideas to the non-believers. "It's a conspiracy. A big one, too. All intent on making me suffer." Jaw dropping to chest, Starbuck stared at his once-sane friend dumbfounded. "I think the fever has finally fried your brain." Apollo sent him a wry look. "Thank you so much for that bright observation, Lieutenant." "I live to serve." Starbuck grinned tiredly. "And aim to please." "I bet you do." Apollo snorted for the second time that day. "Seriously, now, Apollo. You've been talking my ear off for the last 2 centars. Do you reckon you could shut up for a while, so I can maybe get some sleep before your Sheba comes twirling in through the doors?" "Sheba doesn't twirl," Apollo retorted. "And she's not 'my Sheba'." Starbuck groaned. "Didn't we already have that discussion before?" "Yes, we did. And as I recall, we reached the same conclusions." "Well, then, we must have been listening to different discussions." "Don't start, Starbuck," Apollo lifted a cautioning finger at him. Starbuck shook his head. They did have that discussion before. Several times, in fact. Always reaching the same different conclusions. Sometimes, Starbuck was convinced that Apollo simply enjoyed running in circles around his own tail. "Whatever you say, buddy. Now, if you don't mind..." He sank into the pillows, pulled the covers over his shoulders, and turned away from Apollo. "She does walk in nicely, though," he heard Apollo sigh dreamily and stifled a groan before drifting off to sleep. But sleep was not to be for long. Scant centars afterwards, and far too few than he thought he was entitled too, Starbuck was rudely awakened by strange noises coming from the other pod. He cautiously turned to his other side then opened his eyes a crack. The sight he beheld made him seriously doubt his sanity. Squatting at the feet of his pod, Apollo was examining the structure thoroughly, looking for something best known to himself. He remained there for a few centons before getting up and shuffling over to the other side of the pod to continue his examination there. Frowning over what Starbuck could only guess was a failed mission, he jumped up again, and went over to the doorway. Standing on his tiptoes to reach the frame-head, he dragged his fingers over the door frame. Having come up with nothing but a few flakes of dust, he promptly proceeded to search the corners, the walls and the ceiling for the mysterious object. He went a full circle around the chamber, finally coming to a halt back at the door frame. He stood there for a moment, a frown on his face, as if he had failed miserably at whatever mission he was assigned to do, and knew full well that the consequences would be horrid. Finally, Apollo sighed ruefully, shook his head, and went back to perch on his life pod. Coming to the wrong conclusion that whatever demon which took control over his best friend's person was now resting in peace in the back of Apollo's mind, Starbuck decided that attempting once again to reach the precious goal of blissful, undisturbed sleep, would indeed be a good course of action. He closed his eyes and turned on his other side, burying his face in the soft pillow. "Aha!" He heard Apollo exclaim triumphantly. To his horror, he next heard the shuffling of feet, fast approaching his place of rest. Refusing to succumb to madness until the last centon possible, he buried his head further in the pillow. A centon later, Starbuck found his head resting upon a pillow-barren mattress, with his beloved pillow held by Apollo. On his part, Apollo was beating the hapless pillow into a pulp, emptying it from all its contents, and standing in a slowly rising pile of pillow guts. "Apollo, what the frak are you doing?" Starbuck demanded gruffly. "I was using this pillow, you know." Apollo paid him no heed. "Apollo!!" Starbuck yelled again. "Give me back my pillow, you demented...pillow-napper!" "No," Apollo insisted, while continuing his self appointed task of depriving Starbuck's pillow of anything it bore in its belly. Starbuck drew in a deep breath. Being sick was one thing. Being sick and dealing with a crazy Apollo was another one all together. "Apollo," he tried again, calmly. "Would you care to explain what are you doing to my pillow?" Apollo gave him a scornful look. For a minute, Starbuck felt like a first orbit cadet, not knowing what every seasoned Warrior sang out in his sleep. "I'm debugging the area," Apollo declared simply. Starbuck stared at him gape-mouthed. "You're what?" Apollo sighed. "I'm de-bugging the area. I'll be dead before I let them see me give any sign of suffering." "Oh, you'll be dead, all right," Starbuck muttered testily. "Why are you debugging our room? Who is "them"? And what makes you think I won't make you suffer twice as much if you don't give me my pillow back?!?" Apollo's gaze filled with a manic delight. "Sooo," he said, waving his finger at Starbuck's face. "You're a part of it, to, huh? Thought I wouldn't be on to it, huh? Thought they could fool me? Well, guess again, buddy! This Captain wasn't born yesterday!" "What?" Apollo sighed again. "Are you or are you not a part of it, Lieutenant? Come on, quickly! One syllable answers." "Part of what?" Starbuck was close to despair. Apollo wasn't making his already hurting head to feel the least bit better. "A part of the conspiracy, you sniterat!" Just then, the door opened, and Cassie and Sheba walked inside. "What conspiracy?" Sheba asked, having caught the last sentence spoken. "Cassie!!" Starbuck cried in immense relief. "Take him away from me. Please! He's crazy!" Looking from one to the other, Cassiopeia felt obliged to agree with Starbuck's diagnosis. Up to his ankles in feathers, an empty pillow case dangling from his fist and a manic gleam to his green eyes, Apollo was indeed far from the epitome of saneness. "Apollo, what conspiracy are you talking about?" Sheba repeated, taking his arm and steering him back to his life pod. She sent a worried look over he shoulder towards Cassie, who was pulling out a new pillow for Starbuck, and trying to reassure him that what ever it was Apollo was raving about, it was not contagious. Settled in his pod, Sheba sitting by his side, perched on the blanket, thus effectively destroying any plans Apollo might have had of escaping, Apollo looked around him and emitted a long sigh. "I'm surrounded with imbeciles!" he declared, not noticing Sheba's dangerous lift of her brows. "The grand conspiracy to make me suffer! It's why I'm here in the first place, you know!" Across the room, Starbuck gripped Cassie's arm, pulled her close, buried his head in her lap and sobbed, "Cassie, I'll do anything! Anything! Just, get me out of here. Or better yet," he lifted his head, "get him out of here. Out the airlock, while you're at it!" Cassie and Sheba exchanged long, bewildered looks. Finally, Cassie drew her aura of medical authority about her. "Starbuck, you're staying right here. We don't want this virus to spread, and Apollo won't do anything to you. And, Apollo," she turned to face the dark haired man. "There's no conspiracy. No one is out to harm you." "Yes, they are. The conspiracy is larger then you think, Cassie," Apollo shook his finger, looking like a teacher drilling information into his stubborn student's head. "Don't let them fool you, too!" "Don't worry, Apollo, I won't. They won't set a foot in this room, you have my solemn word on that." Apollo squinted at her. "How do you know that?" "Well," Cassiopeia moved from her position towards Apollo. "Let's just say that I have some...connections. And they can make certain...allowances, to ensure that this room will be clean." "Cassie!" Starbuck gasped. "Don't encourage him!" On the other side of Apollo, Sheba was nodding her fierce agreement to Starbuck's words. Apollo ignored them both. "Are you sure that your...associates can clear this room?" he asked Cassiopeia. "Positive, Captain." Apollo nodded solemnly. "Very well. Contact them. I want this room cleaned before the day is out!" "Will do, Captain," Cassiopeia smiled enigmatically. Sheba and Starbuck looked from one to the other in amazement. Finally, Sheba shrugged. "Do you suppose you're up to some visitors?" she asked the two men. "Boomer said he's pass by this morning.." "Boomer!" Starbuck exclaimed. "Finally, someone normal!" Apollo scowled at him, but was promptly ignored. "When did he said he was coming? Wait. Cassie, we can see him, can't we?" Cassie smiled at his excitement. "Yes, yes, you can. He was vaccinated, so he should be okay. You're not as contagious anymore, but even if you were, we got most of the people who'd want to see you two vaccinated." An unwitting Boomer walked in to the Life Center some few centons later. "Boomer!" Starbuck greeted him as soon as he passed the door. "Starbuck!" he returned, with a grin. "So glad to see you still remember my name." Apollo perked up. "Halt!" he called, and Boomer froze in place, shifting his gaze between Starbuck, Apollo, Cassiopeia and Sheba. Almost knocking Sheba sideways, Apollo leapt out of his pod and hurried to Boomer's side. "Don't take another step," he ordered, and started to search Boomer's uniform. Boomer looked down at Apollo, who was inspecting his boots, with concern. "Uh, what's he doing?" Apollo looked up with an exasperated expression. "I'm debugging the area." Boomer sent a long look Cassie's way. She shrugged her shoulders, sent him an apologetic smile, and mouthed, 'Humor him...'. With a sigh and a shake of his dark head, Boomer looked back at Apollo. "He's nuts, isn't he?" "Very much so," Starbuck assured him. "I am not nuts!" Apollo muttered, while continuing his search on Boomer. "I'm just making sure this grand conspiracy doesn't go any further than this." Boomer arched his eyebrows. "You don't want to know, Boom, trust me," Starbuck quickly told him. "You really don't want to know." Suddenly, Apollo, now at Boomer's torso, stopped his search. "Aha!" he exclaimed. With a flourish, he pulled a pen out of the pocket of Boomer's flight jacket. "I've found it!" With a wicked, manic grin, he stalked back to his pod, climbing back on it. There, he settled to examine the pen thoroughly. Gape-mouthed, the others simply watched him in utter wonderment. Humming a merry little tune to himself, Apollo proceeded to inspect the pen from every possible aspect. Having satisfied his curiosity, he lifted the pen up and squinted at it for a while. Starbuck and Boomer exchanged dumbfounded looks. Heedless of the going-ons in the room around him, Apollo allowed a wicked grin to settle of his features. He sneered, showing a set of white teeth, then proceeded to snap the pen in half. With a vengeance. Dark blue ink sprayed out of the broken pen to settle on everything around it. Luckily, most of the ink found its way to Apollo's hands, and only a few drops managed to reach the clean Life Center covers. Apollo looked at the ink on his hands and smiled in delight. Cassie sighed deeply. She got up from her spot near Starbuck, and walked the few steps between the pods. She looked down on Apollo and the mess on his hands, and place her hand on his shoulder. "Satisfied?" she inquired. "Yes. It's dead." Three Lieutenants demonstrated unity of rank with a heavy, heart-felt groan. Cassie, on her part, simply rolled her eyes. While Sheba fetched some clean towels and Cassie replaced the stained covers and wiped Apollo's hands clean as best she could, Boomer turned to Starbuck. "Okay, I know how he's doing," he said, "but tell me, Bucko, how are you doing?" "I'm pretty much like him." Starbuck grinned. "Only without the mental deficiencies." "Oh, so you're you, only you with a fever." "Exactly. A high fever, too. And cabin fever brought on by a hyperactive roomie." Boomer grimaced. "You two deserve each other. And, speaking of deserved punishments, I bring news from the Squadron." "Who's the new me?" Apollo asked immediately. "Muffet," Starbuck snapped. "It's part of the conspiracy to replace you. The daggit gets full command." Apollo narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Hmmm." He stopped. "Muffet and Colonel Tigh! Of COURSE! Why didn't I realize that before!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Yes, I see it all perfectly now!" Seeing Boomer's desperate stare, Sheba rushed to his rescue. "Be that as it may," she said soothingly, placing one hand firmly on Apollo's shoulder, "Boomer had news to tell us. Boomer..." Relieved, Boomer drew a breath to calm himself. Apollo could be quite unsettling as his usual self, but this new him..."Well, Col. Tigh," he spared a sharp glance at Apollo, "nominated the temporary chief of the Squadron. And it's none other than your best buddy, Bojay!" "What?" Apollo bolted up right. "They can't just give my command to Bojay! He'd ruin everything!" "And where do you get off saying that, Mr. Grand Conspiracy Theory?" Sheba's eyes flared. "Bojay, like him or not, happens to be a close friend of mine, and he did a great job commanding Silver Spar!" "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Apollo dismissed her words. "But Blue Squadron is something different! Not everyone can assume command of it. You need skills, charisma..." "A nut-house diploma," Starbuck supplied helpfully. Apollo glared at him. "As I was saying," he continued, "I have nothing against Bojay as an individual and as a pilot..." Both Starbuck and Boomer had a sudden attack of coughing. "...but I just don't think he's capable of leading my squadron! Now, if you just let me go and talk to the Colonel, I'm sure we can straighten this whole thing out." He purposely rose to get out of bed, when Sheba's iron fist closed in on his shoulder, pulling him back to the bed at the same instance that he had risen. "I'm not exactly sure how to put it, Apollo, so I'll be blunt. You. Stay. Here. Bojay. Command. Squadron. Otherwise... You. Die. Get it?" "Uh, well..." Apollo stammered. "Bojay would make a fine temporary replacement. I hope." "That's better," Sheba complimented him. Starbuck rose on one elbow and peeked at Apollo. "Come on, Apollo," he said, "he's not that bad..." Apollo's wide eyes narrowed substantially and he nailed Starbuck down with a hard stare. "And what's your relationship to the conspirators, Starbuck? Are you taking orders from the daggit??" he demanded, dead serious. Starbuck stared at him, jaw hanging. "I don't take orders from you. Why would I take them from a daggit?" "Ha! So, now it's an act of mutiny, too! I thought better of you, buddy," Apollo shook his head ruefully. The look Starbuck sent Cassie would have been read the same in all the Colonial languages. "Get him off me. Before I'll be forced to retreat to brute force and pluck his tongue out with my bare hands." With a sigh, she picked up the hypo and injected the sedative into it. "...but when my own lieutenants turn from me, well, that's when things get bad! I'm disappointed in you two, gentlemen..." Apollo raved and ranted on. Two sharp glares added themselves to Starbuck's manifesto. "...and to think that the mastermind behind this was a daggit!..." Apollo got no further, as the hypo was attached to his bare shoulder in a swift motion, and he heard Cassie's musical tones, "Say good-night, Apollo." Fighting the sedative in his blood, Apollo managed to slur another sentence before loosing the battle. "The daggit may have won this round, but it has NOT seen the last of Apollo!" Chapter 4- Sleepless Sheba walked into the room the next morning, holding a plate laden with her breakfast. Casting a glance over the two pods, she saw that nothing had really changed since the moment she left them for the night. Apollo's head was turned away from her, and she couldn't determine if he was awake or not. Starbuck, however, had his head burrowed under his pillow, his hands clutching its edges firmly. Even if he wasn't asleep, it was obvious that he didn't want anyone, namely, Sheba guessed, Apollo, to bother him. She shrugged, and sat down to eat in peace. She was just about to bring the first fork full to her mouth when she heard Apollo's hoarse voice. "Is that debugged?" Sheba sighed. Well, guess another few centars of blissful quiet were out of the question. "It's safe, Apollo," she told him. He leaned back on his pod and crossed his arms. "Good. I'd hate to see you as a part of this ploy." "Ploy?" Sheba gave him a wide-eyed stare. "Apollo, what's gotten into you?" "Me?" He looked genuinely offended. "I'm the victim here, Sheba." Sheba glanced at him from under her lashes, keeping her attention on the rapidly cooling food. "I'm just not so sure that Muffet..." Apollo cut her off with a shriek. "Muffet?!? How dare you speak that name in my presence?!" Shocked, Sheba could only stare at him, gape mouthed. Apollo didn't seem to notice. "That wretched daggit! I take him in, I feed him, I cloth him, I give him my only son!! And how does he repay me? By gratitude? A word of thanks? A friendly bark? A jar of mushies, maybe?" He glared at Sheba. "Nooo, of course not!! The daggit..." "Rises from the cradle and bites the hand that feeds him! We get it!!" A new, gruff voice made Sheba turn her head. Starbuck was sitting up, clutching his pillow as if he wanted to choke the life out of it, and glaring at Apollo with maddened, red-rimmed eyes. "I'm going to say it once, and only once, Apollo, so you'd better get it through that thick head of yours!" he growled. "There is no conspiracy! The daggit is not against you, the room isn't bugged, and the reason we all breath is not so you'd get infected with god-knows-what!" Apollo looked at him coolly, lips pursed. "Are you through, lieutenant?" "Not quite yet!" Starbuck glared at him. "You can't run around the room debugging it! You can't search every person who walks through the door!" In her seat, Sheba winced at his strengthening tone. "And above all, Apollo! You can not wake me up every two centars and ask me if I take orders from the daggit! Or to tell me any new conspiracy theories!" Apollo lifted a finger and made as if to talk. "And no!" Starbuck hissed, "You can't make me stop breathing on you!" Apollo slumped back. "Well!" he huffed. "If that's how you feel..." he stared pointedly at the ceiling, humming to himself and ignoring his two companions. Starbuck turned to Sheba with a long suffering sigh which sounded utterly miserable. "See what I have to put up with?" he whined. "The sedative wore off in the middle of the night, and he hasn't stopped talking from then until I hid under the pillow and refused to listen! He damn nearly put me on report!" Apollo snorted loudly. "You're both on report!" Looking away from him and back at Starbuck, Sheba asked, "Can we file this out as lieutenants abuse?" Starbuck's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah! We can do that! There's not a tribunal in the fleet that wouldn't convict him! All we have to do is tape him!" "You'll do no such thing!" Apollo told them, regally. "Oh, yeah?" Starbuck scowled at him, and Sheba finished. "Watch us." They didn't report him, of course. Apollo never doubted that they wouldn't. They were his friends, and they loved him. Didn't they? But if they did, as he thought they would, why did they insist on having such a difficult attitude with him? He could forgive Starbuck his edginess and bursts of temper. After all, if he was that sick, he'd act the same way. He knew all too well that Starbuck despised being sick. There were just so many other, better things to be doing that lying down in a life pod, and being repeatedly told you needed rest. But Sheba. That wounded Apollo. She was supposed to trust him! Why couldn't they just see the truth to his theory? No, not a theory, he amended. A hard fact truth. There was a conspiracy going around, and it was all aimed to relieve him of his command! He should have suspected that Bojay would be a part of it, seeing as he wanted Apollo's job since the Pegasus disappeared. The fact that Muffet and Col. Tigh were behind it did come as a bit of a surprise, but he couldn't fault the logic behind it. Apollo never suspected that Col. Tigh meant him any harm. No, the Colonel probably thought that he was overworked and needed a rest. The Lords knew, Apollo confessed, he did need a break, but he was very reluctant to take it. Tigh must be doing this for Apollo's own good, and was reeled into to the Conspiracy by the smooth talk, or rather, barks and growls, of Muffet, the Vicious Daggit. Why would Muffet want Apollo's job, though? Apollo frowned in concentration. The answer would be the key to the downfall of the conspirators. Of course! The reason came rushing in. He craved power! Being close to the centers of power on board the Galactica, in his daily travels between Apollo's and Adama's quarters have triggered the daggit's wish for domination, and all the times it had been on one mission or the other with them only served to fuel the fire. So simple, so outright. Why, oh, why, couldn't they see it? If Apollo was the first target on the line of fire, then Starbuck and Sheba are bound to follow. And after them? Boomer? Greenbean? Giles? Everyone, until only the daggit will remain standing, in perfect, solitary control of the last battlestar and her 220 ships of rag-tag fleet. A rustle from across the room made Apollo look the other way, torn from his thoughts. Starbuck had rolled over to his side, and was now laying with his face turned to Apollo. He was curled up around the pillow, his hand clutching the rumpled sheets. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. He was moaning quietly, tossing and turning his head, weakly trying to struggle against some invisible enemy. When his arm rose to blindly fend off someone, or something, Apollo rolled out of bed, stepped into his slippers and shuffled over to Starbuck's side. He shook his friend's gently, feeling the heat radiating from him. He frowned. The 4th day, and Starbuck was still running a high fever. Too high, judging from Cassie's worried expression, when she thought neither man was looking. "Starbuck," he called. "Hey, Bucko, wake up!" A somewhat louder moan was all he received as an answer, and Starbuck's hand swung in his direction, almost hitting him. "I'm not the enemy, you know," he told the oblivious man. "The daggit is." Starbuck was still dreaming, and his struggling increased a little. This time, the swing of his hand did hit Apollo, who used his chance and grabbed Starbuck's arm. "Starbuck!" An annoyed tone crept into Apollo's voice. Starbuck paid him no heed. He tried to move his arm, but Apollo held it firmly, not allowing Starbuck the faintest chance of using it. His second arm tried to rise, almost dislodging the still-connected IV. With a grunt, Apollo used his other hand to immobilize it, too, and leaned closer to Starbuck's ear. "Lieutenant!" he barked, summoning his father's best authoritative tone. "Wake up! That's an order!" Military discipline sank in where gentle calls wouldn't, and Starbuck eyes fluttered open. He saw Apollo holding both his arms, and gave a heartfelt moan. "Not you again!" Apollo looked indignant. "Yes me again. You had a nightmare." He release Starbuck's arms. "You okay?" Starbuck rolled onto his back. "No!" he complained. "I'm not! I hate this!" He started to rise, but regretted it immediately, and slumped back down. "And I can't even complained about it without getting dizzy!" he pouted. Apollo shuffled back to his own pod. "Yeah, but at least They are not after you." "They?" Starbuck gave him a long look, then understanding dawned. "Oh," he said finally. "Maybe." Well, well, well, Apollo thought. There was a change of attitude. "Maybe?" he asked. "Yeah, maybe. I still think you're nuts, but I haven't got the energy to argue with you." "So you still won't believe me?" "What, that Muffet is after your command?" Starbuck gave him another pointed look. "Do I *look* like I've been sniffing vapors?" Apollo regarded him for a micron, and arched an eyebrow in a silent response. "Okay, okay, so I do. Forget that." Starbuck waved his hand. "The point is, as long as you stay out of my hair with this conspiracy business, I'll put up with you." "Define 'put up with me'?" Apollo demanded wryly. "Put up with you, as in, I won't beat you senseless in retaliation when I can stand up." Not the best offer he'd received, but he needed allies. There was a lurking conspirator in every corner. "Okay. It's a deal." "Good." "Just one more thing," Apollo added, and ignored the sharp glare Starbuck was casting his way. "I need your word that you're not in on It." Starbuck sighed and started shaking his head. When he recovered from that mistake, he looked at Apollo. "Would I take orders from an orange, furry daggit? Besides which, despite your craziness, you're my best friend. I wouldn't sell you out." Great Lords, what am I doing? he wondered. I'm just as crazy as Apollo is, doing this. I must be sicker than I thought. Yeah, that's the only explanation! Apollo nodded his acceptance, and rose from his pod again. "Where are you going?" Starbuck asked. "To call Cassie. She wanted to know when you woke up. I don't think she meant by me, but a courier boy always was a career option I wanted to look into". Starbuck looked down on himself as Apollo walked out of the room. He was a mess. He was sweaty, the cloth sticking to his body, and he must have dislodged the IV a bit in his sleep, because the point where it went inside his arm was beginning to dully throb, in perfect unison with the various aches drumming all over his body. Drawing his gaze over the pod, he realized that it was just as big a mess as he was. The sheets were rumpled and in utter disorder. The pillow was soaked with his sweat, as were the sheets and covers. Not to mention, he smiled weakly, that he wouldn't mind some loving attention from Cassie. He tried to smooth the sheets a little, then grabbed the pillow and rested his head on it. The dizziness that enveloped him was suddenly making the idea of not holding his head up very, very appealing, and despite his best efforts, his eyes were drifting close again. Just for a little while, he promised himself. He didn't want to sleep again. He just did that, and it didn't turn out to be much fun. But his eyes had different ideas, and wouldn't stay open, as much as he willed them to. The Life Center was on his way. That was the only reason. It was on his way to the shuttle bay, and he had a few centars to kill before the Canaris arrived. Chameleon walked up the corridor leading to the Life Center, staring intently at his feet. On the way, that was the sole reason he was doing this. A pretty med-tech directed him to the small room where Apollo and Starbuck were, and he cautiously approached it, feeling like he was approaching a tribunal. He looked in to see an empty room, and blew a relieved sigh. He definitely wasn't feeling up to facing Cassiopeia. She had a talent for making his feel guilty about everything, all the lies he'd been feeding everyone since that damned genetic test. But he didn't have to face her at this very moment. She wasn't there, and neither was Apollo. Chameleon looked at the empty pod for a while, wondering where the Captain might be. A box of tissues by the bedside, the rumpled covers, a pile of papers and books, all told him that Apollo hasn't been released yet. Which meant, that he would only have a few centons alone. He let his gaze drift to the other pod, and the figure splayed on it. Quietly, as to not disturb the sleeping warrior, he pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. His eyes swept over the mess that were the bedcovers, before he allowed himself to look at Starbuck's sleeping face. Closed blue eyes, mussed blond hair, relaxed features, smoothed by sleep. Chameleon could see some of himself in his son's face. He closed his eyes briefly, seeing before him an image of a blue-eyed baby, smiling a two-yahren-old smile. A baby who would never know that his father sat by his bedside and worried. That his father loved him, and wanted nothing more than to spare him from any more pain and disappointment. Chameleon opened his eyes again. His baby has grown up, and still didn't know. Would never, ever know, because his father couldn't bring himself to face it. Starbuck stirred, and Chameleon tensed, watching silently as Starbuck shifted slightly without waking. Gently, he tucked the covers more firmly over Starbuck's shoulder. Back in the chair, Chameleon found himself smiling at the odd satisfaction the simple act had brought him. He used to tuck the covers around his infant son, feeling the tiny form, no longer than his forearm, tremble with every breath. He'd watch his son sleep, and see himself in the tiny features, and revel in the simple joy of fatherhood. He'd dream of future days, when he and his son would play, learn and work together; the perfect family. The kind he never had. But that was yahrens ago, all wiped out by the Cylons, and his son, like himself, was doomed to a life without family. And now he had a chance to amend it all, and yet he wouldn't. He and Starbuck had remained friends, visiting each other whenever Starbuck's schedule would permit him to be away from the Galactica. Chameleon cherished those visits, but each time he'd walk Starbuck to his shuttle, and stand watching the craft disappear into space, he'd feel a pinch in his heart. He would lie awake in his bunk, looking at one picture of Starbuck or the other, and wonder why he could never say those words. I'm your father. Three simple words, and all the lying would be over, and he couldn't say it still. Maybe, Chameleon thought, too many yahrens have passed. Maybe, he tried, he was afraid that Starbuck wouldn't accept it. Maybe, he reasoned, he didn't want any old memories rushing back in from the dark corner he kept them in. But sometimes, after Starbuck would confide in him his need, his hunger for a family and a past, Chameleon would be honest with himself, and admit to the reason of his silence. He wanted his baby son back; and couldn't believe that his laughing toddler had grown up to be this brash Warrior. He wanted those lost yahrens back; wanted to grow with his son, to mold him and teach him and love him, and not to receive the finished product, without having had the slightest relation to his upbringing. He felt cheated, deceived by the fate who broke up his family, and then marched his son back into his life, without ever asking Chameleon how he felt about it. Much like his son, Chameleon was a gambling man. And the first rule of every gambler was, play the hand you're dealt. Which Chameleon did, holding his cards close to his chest until the time would come to reveal the perfect pyramid. Only the perfect time never came, and the perfect pyramid continued to evade him. Lucky in cards, unlucky in love. Bending down until his face were buried between his hands, Chameleon sighed deeply. He took a deep breath and straightened up, looking intently at Starbuck. "Damned it, boy, I'm your father," he said, biting back tears. He hadn't cried in yahrens, and he wouldn't start now. Chameleon sighed again, looking at his son's calm, unchanged complexion. "Now all I have to do is tell you that when you're awake." He smiled, a bitter, weary smile, before burying his head back between his hands. "Is it just me, or does anyone who walks in here gets this sorrowful expression?" Apollo demanded, walking back into the room with Cassiopeia in toe, and seeing Chameleon still perched at Starbuck's pod. "Are we really that pathetic?" "You will be," Cassiopeia said. "Unless you get some rest." "But I just did that," Apollo complained. "And you'll do it again," Cassie insisted. "Do you want me to go get Sheba?" she threatened when he didn't seem to move towards the pod. "Okay, okay," he sighed, and climbed on the pod. "How are you, Chameleon?" The con-man looked at him, with a shade of a smile. "I'm fine, Captain, thank you." He looked Apollo over. "I see that I don't have to ask you the same thing, do I?" Apollo grunted. "No, you don't. It's pretty obvious." "And it's going to get even more obvious. Apollo, how many time do I have to tell you?" Cassie glared at him. "Fine," he moaned. "I know when I'm not wanted." He shifted on his pod loudly, until settling down. He stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering what would be the conspirators next move. He lay with his eyes closed, listening to the repetitive sound of doors being opened and closed as Cassiopeia tried to get Starbuck more comfortable without waking him. He heard a low moan, as Starbuck was somehow jarred, and heard a few slurred words directed at Cassiopeia, then at Chameleon. Apollo ignored them, shutting the voices out, not wanting to intrude on what could be a private moment. Instead, he concentrated on the sound of his own breathing, trying to lull himself to sleep. He could feel himself drifting to sleep, when Chameleon's voice reached his ears. "I know, Cass, I know. I should tell him. You're getting repetitive, there, you know." Apollo fought the urge to open his eyes, and tried to go back to the calm sea he was just floating in. They apparently thought he was sleeping, and the words weren't supposed to ever reach his ears. Still, Apollo's mind was relentless. Tell who what? What was going on? Apollo tried to frown without moving his muscles. Did it have anything to do with the conspiracy? "Then why don't you?" Cassie asked. Chameleon sighed. "Do I look like I know that?" "You're his father; you should know," she stated. "Well, I don't." There was a brief silence, before Apollo heard Cassiopeia sigh. "I just hate hiding it from him." "I know, Cassiopeia. I'm sorry. Maybe," Apollo heard the sound of a chair pushed back, "maybe someday I'll be able to tell him." "The longer you wait, the harder it will be." "It'll be hard no matter what. I..I have to go, now. My shuttle is due shortly. You take good care of my boy." Chameleon started walking towards the door, when Apollo heard Cassiopeia rise, too. "You didn't even ask how he was," she said. "I don't have to. I can see. He's not doing too good, is he?" He didn't wait for an answer. Or maybe Cassie simply nodded, Apollo didn't know which. "But he'll make it. He's been through worse." The door hissed open, and Chameleon walked through it. "I'll come back some other time, when he's awake." The door hissed closed, and the room fell silent. Then, Apollo heard Cassiopeia sigh. She walked towards him, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "You can open your eyes now, Apollo," she said. He opened his eyes, and offered her a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." "It's okay, Apollo," she smiled. "We weren't exactly quiet, and as long as Starbuck didn't hear anything.." "Did he?" She shook her head. "Look at him," she said, and gestured at Starbuck's prone form. "He's oblivious." "Yeah." Apollo pushed himself up to a sitting position. "I'm not sure I got this right. Chameleon really is Starbuck's father?" Cassiopeia nodded. "And he doesn't want Starbuck to know?" She nodded again. "He asked me to fake the results, saying that Starbuck would leave everything he loves for him, and he didn't want that. He promised he'd stay in Starbuck's life, so I agreed. And now..." "You're trying to convince him to tell Starbuck the truth." "Exactly." She sat down on the edge of the pod. "Apollo, you can't tell Starbuck about this. I know you want to, believe me, so do I. But it should be Chameleon's decision, not ours." Apollo frowned, then glanced at his friend. "I can't say I like it. I don't know if I can lie to Starbuck about this..." "I don't like it any better, Apollo. But, well, I don't have much of a choice. I can't force Chameleon into something as big as this, and neither can you. It won't do anyone any good." "I feel like I'm in the middle of an IFB show," he mumbled. "This is almost worse than the conspiracy." Cassiopeia gave him an amused look. "You never give up, do you?" "Nope," he grinned back. "Can't lose to an electronic daggit, can I?" She shook her head, but her smiled remained. "You know, Apollo," she said, rising and starting to fuss with medical equipment, "this is a whole new side of you." He chuckled. "I have many facets." "Does Sheba know it?" "Um, well, she knows of a few..." "Which few?" Cassie inquired. "No, let me guess. The over worked Captain and the over-stressed Captain?" He made a face at her, then grinned. "And the broke Captain whose cubits were robbed off him to test one gambling system or the other." "An occupational hazard," she remarked. "Did you get the "Greater Good" excuse yet?" Apollo wrinkled his brow as he ran the list of excuses Starbuck had fed him over the yahrens through his mind. "I don't think so, no. Which one is that?" "The one about investing it for the greater good of the fleet?" She looked at him with laughing eyes. "Ah, that one," Apollo sighed. "Yeah, sounds familiar. I think he's perfecting them on me, before submitting the rest of the world to them. I'm just happy he's on my side. Just think, the daggit and Starbuck together...the world won't stand a chance!" "Good thing we'll never have to find out," she said distractedly, squinting over a scanner reading. "Apollo, I'm going to need you to keep things quiet in here for the next couple of days, okay?" "But, the conspiracy! There's no rest for the wicked, Cass!" he protested. "I'm sure there isn't," she said in a soothing voice. "But Starbuck's fever isn't coming down like it's supposed to, and I don't want to over medicate him. The best cure right now is lots of sleep. And that would be easier for the both of you to do if it's quiet in here." "Okay," he relented. "He is going to be okay, right? It's not life-threatening or anything, is it?" "Well, there have been cases when there were complications, which might even lead to death, I'm afraid. I don't think this will be one of them, but just to make sure, I want him to get lots of sleep." "Can't you sedate him?" "Technically, I can," she explained, "but I don't want to do that unless I have to. He's already got half a dozen medications running through him, and I don't want to over do it. If I have no choice, I'll do it, but as long as he sleeps without it, I'd rather not." Apollo relented. "Okay, I'll be quiet," he promised. "But can I at least see Boxey?" "I don't see why not," she said, after thinking it over a little. "Starbuck won't sleep the next few days through, anyway, so if we time it so he's awake then, it won't be a problem. Is that okay with you?" "Yes, sounds good to me," he nodded. 'But, Cass," he added seriously, "you have got to keep the daggit away." She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, captain, I'll take care of it. Now, I'll leave you two to sleep. Sheba will stop by when she gets back from her patrol, so you have until then to sleep." It wasn't until after she tucked the two warriors in and left that Apollo realized that he didn't even agonize over Chameleon's revelation. Great, he moaned silently. I was conned! And now I can't even try to see what Starbuck knows. She's good. He blew out a sigh. Oh, well. It's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, or the daggit's downfall. Whichever comes first. He felt his eyes drift close. Funny, since he knew he wasn't sedated, and a centon ago, he'd have sworn that he wasn't tired. Maybe she can give me some tips, he thought, before drifting away. These persuasion powers can come in handy with my squadron.... Sheba came and went, not eliciting so much as a stir from the two slumbering pilots. On her way out, she passed by the med-tech station, where she saw Cassie sitting, reading some print out. She grinned at her friend, and shook her head, gesturing at the room she had just left. The blonde shrugged, grinning back, and Sheba moved past her, on her way back to the woman's barracks, where she'd hoped to collapse on her own bunk for a few precious hours of well deserved sleep. Coming off the bridge, also on their way to sleep the sleep of the just, Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh had also stopped to check on their favorite troublemakers. Even the aura of discipline and authority around the two highest ranking officers of the Galactica didn't impress the two. As Tigh commented, they were dead to world; and it was just as well, because even the world could use the break. Tigh excused himself shortly after making sure that both man were securely in bed and away from his bridge. Adama stayed behind, straightening the covers over Apollo's shoulders, wiping wandering hair off Starbuck's face and smiling knowingly at Cassiopeia. Finally, he rested his hand on Apollo's shoulder gently, and smiled at Cassiopeia. "So, tell me, how much trouble has he given you, yet?" he asked. "He, uh," she fumbled for words. "He didn't give me that much trouble." "Nonsense." The Commander gave her an almost mischievous smile. "He's my son, I've seen him through, oh, a few sicknesses. He's not the easiest patient around." Cassie snorted. "You can say that. And then some." She sighed. "It's not that he's not cooperative. Some mild pressure, and he does as he's told. It's the between that's the problem!" "Oh?" Adama quirked an eyebrow. "What does he do then?" "Drives everyone else crazy! He's got it into his head that there's a conspiracy against him, for goodness sake! At first," Cassie paused for a moment, "at first it was adorable. But then he tried to de-bug Boomer!" Adama stifled a laugh. "He what?" "He tried to de-bug Boomer," she repeated. "Did he succeed?" he asked, unsuccessful in his attempts to maintain dignity. "Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "He searched him, head to toe, and then he pulled out Boomer's pen, shrieked, climbed back to bed, and killed it." "Killed it?" "Killed it," she affirmed, a grin of her own starting to tug at the corner of her mouth. "And wait until you hear who's the head of the conspiracy." Adama eyed his son. "Who?" "It's not a who. It's more of a what." "Cylons?" That seemed logical to Adama. Granted, he would have to talk to Apollo about cutting back his hours, but at least his son wasn't loosing his mind. "Muffet." Then again... Adama closed his eyes briefly, looking like he was mulling over the problem. "To tell you the truth, Cassiopeia," he finally said, "I'm not surprised. Apollo has a tendency to do those things when he's sick. Ila used to tell horror stories about how he got when he had the stomach flu once. My best advice to you is to simply humor him." "I am humoring him. The problem is, Starbuck isn't," the blonde med tech said. "Yes, that would be a problem. Starbuck is in a worse condition, isn't he?" She nodded. "It hit him much harder. Apollo ran a fever for a while, and then it came down. Now he's just...well, no offense, Commander, but he's crazy." She shook her head and smiled at Adama. "Starbuck's fever has been running high and hasn't came down yet. I'm trying to simply let him rest it out, and Apollo promised to behave." She paused. "But that was a moment of clarity..." Adama nodded his understanding. "Well, I'll leave it to your medical expertise. But if there is anything I can help you with, I'd be happy to." "Actually, Commander," she said, "there is. Apollo wants to see Boxey tomorrow. And, well, I need to keep Muffet away from here. I don't suppose you'd agree to..." Adama grimaced. "I see your point. Very well, I'll be a daggit-sitter. In my age, it's good to try new experiences." They smiled conspiratorially at each other before Adama headed out of the room to his own quarters. A lone cadet hurrying through the ship was quite surprised to see the great Commander Adama laughing helplessly at the entrance to the Life Center. Chapter 5- The truth is out there... Hot. Hot, red, burning Sagittaran sun, shining down on him, trying to boil him alive. Well-cooked Colonial Warrior. A new delicacy in this part of the star system. He could feel his mind melting inside his skull, the sweat flowing down him, the uniform being too damn heavy to carry on. Fumbling helplessly, falling down to his knees, then flat on his stomach, head buried in the suffocating sand. Then, nothing. A burst of heat, and then he was surrounded with fire. Towering above him, lapping at his soles, burning through his clothes, his skin. Boiling mists passed before his eyes, and an image cleared. Burning houses. No, not again. Umbra, Caprica City, he didn't know which. Another burst of fire changed it all, again, and he was back down in the hot sand. He moaned pitifully, feeling the heat creeping into his very bones. It was a living creature inside of him, eating him alive. He could feel his strength, what little was left of it, being sipped away from him, soaking into the cruel sand. Then, he felt a cool breeze above him. He somehow forced his numb body to roll over. The sky above him were painted with the bright shades of the Caprican sunset, and he could see a dark soothing blue crawling across the sky. He savored the sight, breathed it in, relished it, the repose from the all-consuming heat. Just as he was starting to feel the blessed chill settle around him, the sand shifted. He was falling, falling, faster and faster, arms and legs flailing, an unspoken scream in his throat. Starbuck came to, panting, to discover himself in his Life Center pod, surrounded with neon lights and metallic surfaces. He didn't know the time of day, heck, he didn't even know if it was a day. All around him there was silence, interrupted only by the soft snoring of his sleeping captain, and his own hoarse breathing. Slowly, he pushed himself up and swung his legs off the pod. Holding the IV pole tightly, he leaned on it as he stood up. Once the colorful spots stopped swimming before his eyes and the room came to a halt, he took a deep breath, and started hobbling towards the small window. Leaning against the window frame, he rested his head on the cool, clear substance of it, and looked out at the vast space. A few dancing lights shot from under the ship, and started soaring away from it. Starbuck smiled to himself; the Viper patrols, constantly flying in or out of the Galactica. A little further behind the majestic ship, he could make out the lights of the first civilian ships. Behind then, he could barley make out the looming form of the agro-ship. If the other ships weren't blocking his view, he knew, he'd be able to make out the smooth lines of the Rising Star, and hovering behind her, another clutter of civilians ships, followed by the Celestra, and next to it, the prison barge. There would be little silver dots, buzzing between the ships, transferring the people from one to the other. A seasoned pilot, he only needed to close his eyes to see the 220 ships outline across the stars. He looked beyond the fleet, and saw nothing but stars. Space was all the same, no matter where you looked, but every place offered another panorama of the gigantic creation. Standing inside the Galactica, looking out at the shining spots, you felt like a viewer in a theater; the sights rolling before you. In a viper cockpit, you felt a part of it. One with the universe, another little moving star. Space was around you, but not in an intimidating way. You were one with it, controlling your own fate. Or trying to, and hoping the Cylons won't get in your way. And up on the Celestial Dome, you felt, like you were riding in the hand of God. You stood there, small and insignificant, and beheld the wonders of the stars in all their divine glory. On the Galactica or in his cockpit, in the Dome or standing near the edge of the landing bays and looking away, Starbuck reveled in it. He stood, forehead resting against the window, eyes glued to the stars. Then, a quiet voice, hardly noticeable, murmured something, and Starbuck tore himself from the vista and fixed his eyes on the source of the voice. Apollo shifted and murmured another blurred thing. Starbuck smiled. Just dreaming, he decided, and looked back at the space above and beyond the window. "But he's your son, Chameleon!" Apollo mumbled urgently. Starbuck turned back towards him, his curiosity piqued. Apollo mumbled another incomprehensible thing and frowned in his sleep. Starbuck stood at the window, watching the play of emotions on Apollo's face. The captain's expression shifted from surprise, to incredulity, and finally, to anger. "You used him to save your hide, you gave him all those false hopes, and now..." Starbuck briefly wondered how could the same man who claimed to be overthrown by an electric daggit use whole sentences in his sleep before he heard Apollo's last words. "...and now you won't tell him he's your son? You can't do that to Starbuck..." he trailed off again. The words hit Starbuck like a blow to the gut. Chameleon? His father? The room spun wildly around him, and he tightened his hold on the window frame to remain standing. His mind reeled, questions floating and disappearing again faster than he could process them. Why would Chameleon lie to him? If he did, why was he still around? And lastly, how did Apollo know about this? He blindly found his way back to the pod, and sat down on it heavily. Taking deep breathes, he tried to clear his mind and bring his labored breathing back under control. Slowly, he tried to figure out this new bit of information. Chameleon, apparently, was really his father. Starbuck smiled weakly. That was good to know. there were so many questions he had harbored over the yahrens, but had no one to turn them to. Now, he had a chance of having a past, and a family, just like Apollo, or Sheba, or Cassie, or practically everyone he knew; who might have lost their loved one in the destruction, but at least had memories to hang on to. One precious commodity that Starbuck was always deprived of. So he had a father, now. One that lied to him, hid the truth from him, and more than likely, had conned his friends into hiding it from him, too. Figures. I finally have a father, and he turns out to be a con man. Then again, he is my father... Starbuck brushed his hand through his hair, trying to still his hurrying thoughts. That Apollo knew about it, well, was obvious. If he knew anything about Apollo, it was a rather recent discovery, since the captain didn't usually blurt out things, unless they got him into a state of shock, or immense surprise. In this case, Starbuck guessed, it was both. That Cassiopeia knew wasn't that hard to figure, either. She conducted the tests, she was probably the one who told the old con man about the results. And, Chameleon did seem to always be squirmy around her. He blew out a tired breath. He couldn't bring himself to be mad at neither of his friend. Whatever their reasons were for hiding this from him, they were probably good one. He could even see Chameleon's reasoning. Another point to strengthen the genetic results. So, the question remains. What did he feel about his father? Starbuck closed his eyes to think about it. What do I feel about my father? My father...it felt good to say it, with the certainty that it was true. The last time he had a chance to seriously think about it, there was always the shadow of a doubt, as much as he tried to ignore it. That shadow was gone now, and Starbuck wasn't sure if it were for the best. "He's my father, damn it! Why does it have to be so complicated?" he groaned. Maybe because everything in his life was like that; there were always complications, implications and consequences, to whatever happened to him. And none of them, ever, were the kind he liked to hear about. Starbuck pulled the covers over himself, and gazed at Apollo searchingly, as if expecting the man to say another thing in his sleep, that might put Starbuck's mind at ease. But Apollo remained silent, and Starbuck averted his gaze to the ceiling he'd learned to know so well. He closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the throbbing headache, which seemed to get worse and worse since the minute he opened his eyes. What was it his old flight instructor used to say? Keep it simple. Simple. I can do that. I have a father. He lied to me about it. He opened his eyes, and reached a hand up to massage his temples. That technique didn't do him any good. His mind was still in turmoil. Never mind, he told himself, he'd deal with it later. Much later, when he could think rationally, without it affecting the angle in which the ship was tilting. When he could sit up, get out of here, and have a strong drink. Or better yet, have a strong drink, hold Cassie, and hear the whole thing out. Or maybe when his father came to see him, whenever that would be. Or...Starbuck grabbed his head in his hands, trying to hush the thoughts again. Slowly, it worked, and his mind pushed everything aside. Everything, that is, but the dreary sick feeling that has been his companion for the last 4 days. 4 days? It felt like 4 yahrens. Maybe he wanted to protect me, an escaping thought surfaced. He stomped on it fiercely, sending it back to the winding tunnel of his mind from which it came. Tomorrow. He'd think about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day. Boxey squatted down in the middle of the room, one hand wrapped around Muffet's neck, staring intently at his grandfather. A pout was beginning to form on his lips, and the threat of tears was becoming worrisome. "But, grandfather, Muffet want to see Dad, too! Why can't he come?" he exclaimed. Adama grimaced. How does one explain to a 6 yahren old child that his father was positively sure that his pet daggit was out to get him? "Well, Boxey," he started cautiously. "I'm certain that Muffet wants to see Apollo, just as much as you do. But.." he hesitated. Boxey fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. Somehow, even Muffet had managed to look beseeching. "But, daggits aren't allowed at the Life Center." Boxey frowned. "But, he'll behave, grandpa!" He looked at his daggit. "Won't you, Muffet?" The daggit gave a mechanical bark. "See?" Adama sighed. Blood or no blood, Boxey had some of Apollo's characteristics. He looked at his grandson, trying to come up with something more authoritative. None of the various methods that worked splendidly with Apollo, Athena or Zac had worked now, and he was starting to draw blanks. Finally, he looked at the rank pin attached to Boxey's collar, and an idea sparked. "Boxey, I'm sure Muffet would behave himself remarkably. But, Life Center regulations are Life center regulation, and regulations must be followed. If you are going to be a Colonial Warrior like your father, you have to start learning that." He dangled the bait, and waited to see if Boxey would bite. The boy looked down at the pin he was wearing, then at Muffet, than at his grandfather. "All right," he finally said, and Adama gave him an approving smile. "Good. Now, Sheba would be here to get you shortly, so you'd better get yourself ready." The boy nodded eagerly and disappeared to his room, Muffet hobbling behind him, growling and barking. "I'm sorry, Muffet, but you can't come with me. You'll stay here and help grandpa," he heard Boxey say, before the door closed behind him. Just then, the chime called, and Adama, shaking his head, went to answer it, and admit Sheba inside. After they were gone, the Commander went to his desk and sat down. "So, friend," he told the daggit sitting beside his chair. "It's just you and me, now." The daggit huffed. "My sentiments exactly," Adama said, and turned to observe his daily schedule. Cassiopeia ran her hand absentmindedly through Starbuck's hair, while humming an old lullaby to herself. On the other pod, Apollo was listening intently. Probably trying to decided whether I'm sending coded messages to the other conspirators, she thought. Under her hand, Starbuck was sprawled bonelessly, with his eyes closed and an expression to his face that she couldn't quite figure out. The rhythm of his breathes told her that he was awake and alert, and she paced the motion of her hand through his hair so it would lull him to sleep. "What's that you're humming?" Apollo suddenly asked. She grinned enigmatically at him, knowing full well what it would do to his ludicrous suspicions. "Just an old Gemonese lullaby." "It's nice," Starbuck mumbled sleepily. "An old Gemonese lullaby?" Apollo repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Yes," she said. "Don't Capricans have lullabies?" "Well, yeah," he admitted. "But..." "But?" "He's being paranoid," Starbuck mumbled. "Just ignore him." Apollo glared at him. "I might be paranoid, but at least I'm still alive." She saw Starbuck's eyes flutter open. "Not for long, you're not." Apollo made a face, then stuck his tongue out at Starbuck. Cassie smirked to herself. To her relief, Starbuck's eyes closed again, and he mumbled, "Very mature, Appy." Appy? Cassiopeia wondered, noting the indignant look on Apollo's face. She'd have to remember that. "Oh, yeah?" Apollo started. "Well, I wasn't the one who..." Cassie perked up. If Apollo was about to reveal something of their childhood that Starbuck wasn't sharing, it had to be good. Alas, she was destined to never hear the rest of Apollo's words, as the doors flung open, and a short figure hurled herself straight unto Apollo's arms. "Daddy!" the figure exclaimed, as a winded Sheba followed into view. Apollo cheered up considerably at the sight of his son. "Boxey! Came to see your Dad, did you?" The boy smiled mischievously. "No, dad. I just needed an excuse not to do my homework." His father frowned, and sent an accusative look at Starbuck, who shrugged innocently. Boxey giggled. "I'm just kidding, Dad. Grandfather had me do everything before coming here." "Good." "Yeah, but, Dad, why couldn't I bring Muf-" Before Boxey could venture any farther, Starbuck went into a violent coughing fit, which sent everyone to his side in a matter of microns. After making sure that Starbuck didn't stand in any immediate danger, Sheba chased Apollo back to his own pod, while Boxey climbed on Starbuck's. "You okay, Uncle Starbuck?" he asked. Starbuck nodded, glanced around to make sure that Apollo was too occupied elsewhere to listen, then beckoned Boxey closer and whispered urgently. "Listen carefully, kid. Whatever you do, don't mention that daggit near your father!" Boxey's eyes widened. "Why not?" Before Starbuck could move to exercise any damage control, the boy sauntered back to his father's side. "Daddy, don't you like daggits?" Apollo glanced around the room suspiciously. "Daggits? What do you know about that traitorous animal, son?" Boxey tilted his head. "Well, Muffet is my-" Starbuck winced. Sheba clasped his shoulder in sympathy, and greeted her teeth. Cassiopeia simply shook her head, rolled her eyes, and reached stoically for the sedatives. Oblivious to his friends' antics, Apollo focused his gaze on his son and stared intently into his eyes. After a long moment's scrutiny, he released Boxey, rolled his eyes, and announced dramatically, "Alea iacta est!" Starbuck sighed loudly. "Oh, great." Looking from one to the other, Boxey finally decided to verbalize the feeling of the rest of the room habitants. "What?" "Let the dice fly high," Starbuck muttered the translation. "Now he thinks he's about to declare war. We're past the point of no return." The confused look remained firmly on Sheba's face. Cassiopeia seemed to simply resign with whatever her two patients came up with. Revenge, she firmly reminded herself, is a dish served cold. Sheba's hand, still clutching Starbuck's shoulder, gripped tighter, causing the lieutenant to whimper slightly. "Apollo," she looked at him searchingly, "what in Kobol are you talking about?" He gave her a long look of wonderment. "Didn't you listen in history classes? Even Starbuck listened in those!" "Hey!" Starbuck tried to protest, but Sheba's grip on his shoulder silenced him promptly. "Apollo," Sheba started again, punctuating her words with whimpers of pain from Starbuck, whose shoulder didn't appreciate the treatment it was getting at all, "while I'm sure that you enjoyed history classes, some of us suffered the misfortune of going to a school on some other planet than Caprica." "Really?" His eyes widened as he processed the information. Sheba stifled the urge to pull at her hair. "Capricans!" "I know!" Boxey jumped, suddenly. "We learned about that. It was said by Commander Julius, after he crossed the Rubicon, in the 4749 Caprican revolution. Right, Daddy?" Smugly, Apollo ruffled his son's hair. "Right, Boxey." Cassie narrowed her eyes. "That's nice, Apollo, but, as much as we appreciate the history lesson, what's that got to do with anything?" "Oh, nothing." He turned wide innocent eyes at her. "I just always wanted to say that." The flying pillow that connected with his face in short order proved that Sheba's rough treatment hadn't damaged Starbuck's throwing arm in the least.