SquidgeWorld Archive

People Will Say We're In Love
by Karo

"Lords of Kobol!" Jolly exclaimed when they exited the shuttle. The  rather bare planetoid had been transformed into what appeared to be a  fairground, complete with brightly-colored and striped tents.

Starbuck gave a low whistle. "I wouldn't be surprised if the  Commander and Tinia had invited the Lords, too."

Apollo rolled his eyes. "And this is just for the Pre-Nuptial  Reception!"

"Good thing we found an uninhabited planetoid, since Tinea was so  insistent about being sealed on solid ground," Boomer commented.

The four warriors watched in amazement as shuttles from the Agroships were unloaded. Potted trees, rosebushes and other flowers were whisked away by the wedding designers and their underlings. Carts of vegetables were wheeled away by the scullery personnel. Apollo noticed that Starbuck was eyeing the approaching shuttles with an expression of dread.

"What's wrong, Bucko?" he teased. "Afraid we can't manage our little task?"

Starbuck heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Unloading and setting up folding chairs? We can do that in our sleep. I was just hoping that the Livestock Ship isn't sending down any – live livestock. You
know, before it's slaughtered? I'd rather face Cylons." A distinct whine could be detected in his tone.

"Me too!" Jolly agreed. "I love to eat, but I don't really want to know where my food comes from."

Boomer's dark skin took on a greenish cast. "They wouldn't do that, would they?" He looked at Apollo.

"Well, if they want to serve actual meat at the Pre-Nuptial Feast – but I can't imagine that they'd slaughter any animals down here." Apollo tried to recall the detailed menu that Athena had read to him a secton or so ago, but all he remembered were the desserts. Cream-Celeste with Wolberries. Floating Angel Trifle. Black Velvet Cake. It was a little-known fact that Apollo had a sweet tooth. There wasn't much chance to indulge it on the Galactica.

"Somebody might think it would make clean-up easier," Boomer said sensibly.

"That's disgusting, Boom-boom!" Starbuck emerged from the shuttle with two armloads of folding chairs. "Now where do these go?"

"One hundred in the lavender Chapel Tent, and four hundred in the large yellow and white striped Reception Tent," Apollo told him.

Several centars later, four irritated and sweaty warriors had finished delivery and set-up of all five-hundred folding chairs. The Chief Wedding Designer, Jeremaius, had been obnoxiously particular about the placement of the chairs.

"What a meringue!" Boomer muttered as they returned to the shuttle. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and flipped his wrist for emphasis.

"I think that guy enjoyed ordering us around!" Jolly said indignantly. "I don't care what his fracking orientation is!"

Apollo glanced at Starbuck. "Did I really see that guy pinch your astrum?" Boomer and Jolly turned to stare at Starbuck, who turned red almost instantly.

"And you didn't kick him into the next solar system?" Boomer was aghast.

"I didn't want to get into trouble or spoil the wedding," Starbuck explained calmly. "Besides, it's no big deal. Girls pinch my astrum all the time. If I'm not interested, I just say I'm spoken for. That's what I did with this fellow. He backed off right away."

Jolly laughed. "Our Bucko is very comfortable with his testosterone level. No harm done. But that guy *was* awfully rude!"

Boomer shook his head. Apollo frowned.

****

"Why do you look so angry, Dad?" Boxey asked almost as soon as Apollo entered their quarters. "Are you mad at me? Aunt Athena just dropped me off – I haven't had time to do anything bad."

Apollo scooped up his son and gave him a kiss and a nuzzle – their usual mode of greeting. "I'm not angry, Boxey. I'm just tired and in a hurry to get ready for the Pre-Nuptial Reception. And you're getting far too big for me, son!" He grunted as he lowered the nine-yahren-old boy to the floor. "You think Dillon's parents would mind if you spent the night? Your Grandfather thought that I should stay down on the planet for the night."

Boxey grinned and ran to the wall-comm. "I'll call Dillon and ask."

"No, *I'll* call his *parents* and ask," Apollo countermanded.

Once that detail had been resolved to his satisfaction, and he'd made sure that Boxey was settled with his homework, Apollo stripped out of his sweaty uniform and stepped into the turbowash. Now that he was alone – or as close to alone as he was likely to get – he relived that horrifying micron when he saw Tinia's wedding designer pinch Starbuck's astrum. Apollo's first impulse was to laser the purple-haired meringue into oblivion. His second impulse was to shove his fist down the man's throat. Adrenaline had pounded through him, and with that primitive pulse, one word had repeated itself over and over in his head: Mine! Mine! Mine!

Did he really think of Starbuck as his? His best friend, yes. But, his? Apollo had never thought of Serina or Sheba as his, and given his relationships with both women, he might have been justified in thinking of them as 'his'. But Starbuck? Apollo wondered what it would be like to - oh Lords! He couldn't be a meringue and not know it, could he? He opened one eye and looked down at his unmistakable erection. Frack! Would he be considered a meringue if he only wanted to have sex with one particular man?

****

Starbuck was already talking to Adama, Tinia and Athena when Apollo entered the Reception Tent. He was gesturing with his customary enthusiasm, and his audience seemed to be totally enchanted by whatever he was saying. Apollo was enchanted just looking at him. Starbuck was dressed in deep crimson and white: crimson suede pants and cape, with a white tunic and black dress boots. Formal white gloves completed his ensemble.

"Starbuck was just promising to keep the dancing lively," Adama said as Apollo approached. The Commander's face was ruddy with good-humor and possibly some pre-nuptial vignon. "I expect you to do your part too, Apollo, if you feel up to it."

"I was never much for dancing," Apollo replied, annoyed that his father didn't seem to realize that it had been over a yahren since Sheba's death. In addition to that, Apollo had never really loved
her; his betrothal to her had only come about due to pressure from Adama and Sheba herself. Apollo was ashamed to admit it, but a part of him had heaved a big sigh of relief when Sheba's Viper had been incinerated in a firefight three sectons before their sealing was to take place.

"I hope you can bring yourself to dance, at least with me," Tinia said earnestly. "Starbuck has promised to dance with me if Adama gets too tired."

"I'm not so old that I can't dance all night!" Adama protested, taking Tinia's arm. "Now let's leave the young folks alone for a few minutes until the party gets started."

"Father's had a few glasses of vignon already," Athena observed dryly. "Luckily the traditional pre-feast activities will be choreographed by Jeremaius and his crew. He has everything under control, believe me! There was almost nothing for me to do." She smiled. "Not that I wanted to do much of anything, but I'd promised Father that I'd help out. Luckily, Jeremaius handled all the pesky little details."

"I'm sure he's being well paid for it," Apollo said, not bothering to conceal his disapproval of the man.

Athena rolled her eyes. "That's all I've heard from Boomer since you guys got back – that Jeremaius is a meringue and that he pinched Starbuck's astrum. Get over it, for Sagan's sake! You need to get ready for the symbolic flower toss, Apollo." She giggled. "There are a few women who would love to have you throw the bouquet their way."

Apollo groaned. As the groom's eldest unmarried relative, he was expected to begin the festivities by tossing a bouquet into an assembly of all the unmarried guests. It was typical for the toss to be aimed toward the tosser's sweetheart; Apollo had no sweetheart, and no one whom he wanted to encourage.

"It's not that bad." Starbuck clapped him on the back. "Jordan's thirteen-yahren-old daughter is here – you could always toss it to her. Everyone will think that's cute."

"Thanks for the tip, Bucko. Where is she?"

Starbuck pointed out the slight young girl with glossy brown braids. "And I meant to tell you that you look quite handsome in forest green, Captain. Who helped you with your clothes? Athena?"

"Actually, Starbuck, I think that I developed a sense of fashion after the incident with the Ship of Lights."

Starbuck stared for a micron, then burst out laughing. "That would worry me, Apollo," he said when he'd recovered. "Except that I can tell you're still really you because of the way you always have one strand of hair that won't behave." He reached up and combed the stray lock of hair with his fingers.

A few centons later, Apollo was standing on the dais with Tinia as she conferred the symbolic bouquet upon him. He didn't even hear her speak the traditional words; he was frantically looking for Jordan's daughter amidst the crowd of unmarried guests. He couldn't see her anywhere. Beside him, Tinia gave him a surreptitious shove. All Apollo could see was Starbuck's insouciant grin and those entrancing blue eyes.

The bouquet flew out of his hand as if it had a will of its own. It almost struck Starbuck on the head, and he put up his hand more to shield himself than to catch it. Somehow he ended up holding the taped floral stem of the pink and white cluster, and the crowd around him was hooting with jocular merriment. Starbuck looked up at Apollo and gave him a mocking salute with the bouquet. Apollo could feel himself blushing.

****

The feast passed in a blur for Starbuck. Someone – probably Jeremaius – had replaced the tasteful spray of lilies at the head table with the pink and white bouquet. Starbuck couldn't believe
that Apollo had thrown it to him so obviously. And the anger that had radiated from him when Jeremaius had pinched him – that hadn't been ambiguous or feigned. Had he been wrong about Apollo all these yahrens? And was that a rose from his bouquet that Apollo had tucked into the clasp of his dark green jacket?

After the feasting came the dancing, and Starbuck was so in demand as a partner that he scarcely noticed what was going on at the head table. When he did get a micron to breathe, he glanced toward the table only to catch Apollo's smoldering green gaze. He sighed. The Captain truly was a beautiful man, no question about it. But could he possibly be attracted to another man? To Starbuck, for instance?

When the musicians took a break, Starbuck found himself gravitating toward Apollo. He was standing with some of the Blue Squadron pilots, telling an off-color joke involving a tattooed penis.
Starbuck couldn't help guffawing at the punchline, even though he'd heard the joke before; it was so incongruous to find naïve Apollo telling risqué jokes. Both of them endured some good-natured ribbing over the outcome of the bouquet toss, and then somehow, they were alone beside one of the bars. Starbuck sighed. Apollo echoed him.

"Look, Apollo, about the bouquet –"

"I'm sorry, Starbuck! I couldn't find Jordan's daughter in the crowd and I just – "

Starbuck laughed and batted his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. "In case no one's mentioned it, you shouldn't throw bouquets to your best friend who happens to also be a male. It's kind of like hugging a junior officer."

Apollo bit his lip to keep from laughing himself. "I see. And what about you, Starbuck? What have you been doing to make my father and Tinia – and even Athena – act like you can do no wrong? They're going to wonder why you've been sucking up to them. And when have you laughed at my jokes before? That'll make people talk for sure." Apollo took another sip of his ambrosa. His green eyes twinkled with something that Starbuck swore he'd never seen in those eyes before.

"And what are these mysterious 'people' going to say?" Starbuck challenged, going along with the teasing.

Apollo shrugged. "Well, they might say we're in love – or something like that."

Starbuck nodded slowly. "In that case, maybe you should stop staring at me while I'm dancing."

"And you need to stop sighing over me, Bucko."

"Right. People will say we're in love."

****

When the musicians returned from their break, Jeremaius announced that, in honor of the bride-to-be, the next set of dances would be traditional Yevanese dances. He assured the guests that the dances were easy to learn and invited everyone to give it a try. Apollo and Starbuck glanced at each other dubiously.

"I need you two," Tinia said, her tone precluding any refusal. "Many Yevanese dances require two men to each woman, and I can't think of two finer men, since my betrothed has decided to sit this set out."

The steps weren't terribly difficult, and the music was infectious. Apollo was a bit unnerved that so many of the sequences required the men to clasp hands, link pinky fingers or even grasp each other's waists in what Tinia called a swing-round. He was somewhat relieved when he saw that many other groups were attempting the dance. Even so, his eyes constantly met Starbuck's over Tinia's head, and in them he sensed a connection that he'd previously denied.

The triples dances were followed by Yevanese line dances, in which the lines of men and women were kept separate. Apollo found himself clasping hands with Starbuck once again as the line of men performed stomps and leaping kicks opposite the more sedate steps of the women. Holding hands with Starbuck was making him giddy, the simple touch sending tingles up his arm, igniting something that had lain dormant for yahrens.

"Apollo," Starbuck hissed. "The dance is over. You can let go of my hand now."

Apollo dropped his hand guiltily. "I kind of got used to it." He took his wingman's arm and guided him toward one of the bars for a drink after their exertions on the dance floor.

Once they were sipping chilled vignon, Starbuck gave Apollo an arch look. "If you don't want people to talk about us, Pol, you need to stop collecting love tokens."

Apollo paused with his glass halfway to his lips. "Love tokens? What are you talking about?"

Starbuck pointed to the somewhat wilted white rose that was still attached to the clasp of Apollo's jacket. "I think that rose came from *my* bouquet. And where are my gloves?"

Apollo reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced the gloves. "I was just holding them for you while we were dancing."

"You could have left them on the table," Starbuck pointed out. "Do you have any idea how that will look to people? You carrying around my – my accessories? People are going to suspect that we're more than just friends, Pol."

"I know, " Apollo sighed. "People will say we're in love, right?"

Starbuck nodded, a slight curve to his lips that might have been a smile.

****

"I'd heard that Lieutenant Starbuck tended to be a troublemaker," Siress Blassie said. "Something like Chameleon. Where is that old reprobate anyway?"

"Probably with Lieutenant Starbuck, charming his way through all the women," Siress Ignacia speculated, tapping Apollo on the arm with a fan made of various avian feathers.

"I have to say that you're probably right," Apollo concurred with a chuckle. "I'm not sure that there's a woman alive who's immune to the Starbuck charm."

"There have been a few," Starbuck said, coming up behind Apollo with Chameleon in tow. "Mostly the old, warty teachers at the orphanage."

****

Starbuck pulled Apollo out of the Reception Tent and into one of the portable men's turboflushes as soon as they were able to escape from the elderly Siresses.

"What were you thinking, for Sagan's sake?" Starbuck queried with mock-anger. "You're not supposed to praise my charm, Pol! You're supposed to be in competition with me for feminine favors!" He leaned close to the small mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. "I hate what happens to my hair when I sweat," Starbuck complained.

"Vain," Apollo accused. "There's no one in here but us. You know how that's going to look!" He turned away from Starbuck to take a leak.

"Women do it all the time, especially when they want to talk about men," Starbuck commented. When Apollo indicated that he needed to get to the hand sanitizer, Starbuck switched places with him in the cramped space.

"I've heard that meringues often conduct their liaisons in turboflushes," Apollo said.

"That's such a nasty term, Pol. It's meant to be derogatory, and I'd prefer that you not use it." Starbuck sounded less casual than usual.

"I don't mean any harm by it. I suppose I should say 'homosexual' or 'Theban"?"

"Yes." Starbuck turned back to the mirror and held his hands under the sanitizer. "Not all Thebans are like Jeremaius, you know." He fixed Apollo with a cool, blue stare.

"I know." Apollo's heart was pounding erratically. Was Starbuck trying to tell him something?

They stepped out of the turboflush and into a misty rain. The planetoid's sun had just set, and the sky was painted with streaks of purple, orange and pink. Apollo held out his hands to catch the fine droplets, and he smiled when Starbuck tilted his face up to the rain.

"Beautiful," he breathed. The sunset, the rain, and Starbuck – all beautiful.

Starbuck grinned into the damp haze. "It's been so long since I've felt the rain, or seen a sunset. I almost forgot what they were like."

"Remember the summers we spent at the lake house?" Apollo rubbed the mist through his hair. "The way we used to sit in the greenhouse room and watch the rain and the lightning, and listen to the thunder?"

"I was always scared of thunder and lightning when I lived at the orphanage," Starbuck said. "When I was with you, it wasn't scary at all."

For several centons, neither man said anything. They simply soaked up the mist and let the memories flow between them.

"Are you guys nuts?" Boomer's voice jarred them out of their mutual reminiscence. "It's raining and you're getting wet, in case you hadn't noticed!" He passed them on his way to the turboflushes.

Apollo smiled. "We've got to be careful, Bucko. People will say we're in love if we stand out in the rain together like a couple of idiots."

Jeremaius descended upon them almost as soon as they re-entered the Reception Tent. "I've been looking all over for you two!" He touched Starbuck's arm lightly, and Apollo felt himself
bristle. "I'm giving everyone their tent assignments now, in case anyone wants to leave the party early. You boys are in the pale blue tent at the far eastern perimeter." Jeremaius pointed with a
beringed finger. He winked. "I managed to give you a private tent. I'm sure you'll find it very comfortable."

Apollo was nearly speechless. Starbuck very graciously thanked the Chief Wedding Designer and then casually lit a fumarello.

"Aren't you the least bit upset, Starbuck?" Apollo demanded when Jeremaius had left them.

"About what?" Starbuck puffed two rings into the air.

"He thinks we're – we're –"

"In love?" Starbuck laughed. "He probably does, the way you glared at him when he pinched my astrum earlier. And just now when he touched my arm, you almost growled at him. You may not realize it, Pol, but your body language is telling people that you've laid claim to me." He puffed another few smoke rings. "So we've got a private tent for tonight. I know it's no big deal for you, but I'm going to enjoy sleeping with just you, and not two dozen snoring pilots."

Apollo frowned. Everything Starbuck said made sense, except the fact that he wasn't at all upset. Did that mean that Starbuck didn't mind if people thought that he 'belonged to' him? Or should he be more suspicious than that? "When you told Jeremaius you were taken, you let him assume that I – that we –"

"*I* didn't give him that impression, Pol," Starbuck protested. "You did."

"And you didn't bother to correct him!" Apollo sputtered.

Starbuck shrugged. "It was easier not to. I'm sorry if that upsets you so much." He stubbed out his fumarello on the bottom of one boot, his golden hair falling over his eyes.

"I'm not sure if it does," Apollo said slowly. He grasped his wingman's arm. "They're playing Yevanese music again. Let's go dance some more."

Centars later, after a third set of Yevanese dances had ended, Starbuck collapsed into a nearby folding chair. The number of guests had dwindled considerably, but Apollo could feel his father and Athena watching him closely. Starbuck noted the direction of his gaze.

"I should have told you not to dance with me all night, Pol," he sighed. "I'm afraid people really will be talking about us."

Apollo squatted down beside Starbuck's chair and rested an elbow on his wingman's thigh. "Did you *want* to dance with me?"

The blue eyes flickered and the unusually long lashes swept downward. "Yes, more than anything."

"Well then, it's very simple." Apollo rose to his feet and pulled his friend up with him. "Let people say we're in love." He chuckled. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Starbuck glanced up, startled. "Pol, I –"

"Truth, Bucko!"

"Yes." The blond warrior still seemed wary.

"Yes, what?" Apollo stepped closer. "Tell me that you're in love with me, or I'll kiss you right here."

"People will say we're in love for sure, if you do that," Starbuck warned with a heart-stopping grin. "And they'd be right."

The End
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