Part Three

 

The secton before Yule, Apollo, who's never rowdy (except at Triad matches), seems quieter and withdrawn.  Starbuck has done his research.  He knows that Apollo married Serina on Yule-Eve two yahrens earlier and that she was dead four days later.  It has to be the worst time of the yahren for him.  He half-expects Apollo to decide not to go to the Chancery that secton-end but as usual Apollo limps into the coffee shop to meet Starbuck at closing time, and Boomer jogs in three centons later.

Boomer, it appears, is a man with a mission.  If he only had the balls to tell Starbuck up front, they could have avoided this mess by Starbuck and Apollo going somewhere else.  Probably running.  But no, Boomer has to wait until they're sitting in the cabaret before springing his little surprise.

"Cassie," he says.  "Cassiopeia.  You remember Cassiopeia,  One of the dancers."  Boomer has his gaze fixed on Dietra at the centre of the dimly lit stage.  She's singing something sultry and sexy, in a deep and throaty voice.  She has a good voice, actually, and deserves better than a Chancery cabaret.  "The blonde one." 

"Right."  Starbuck points to one of the dancers beside Dietra.  "That one, yes?"

"Dietra said that she'll bring Cassiopeia and Bree—she's the other blonde—over when this set's finished."  Boomer looks apologetic and pathetic, both.  "I couldn't stop her.  She said that you two need some company and Cassie has a bit of a crush on you."

"I'm perfectly happy as I am." Starbuck, furious, takes in a lungful of fragrant smoke from the big fumerello he'd treated himself to out of his winnings.  Boomer knows that he's not interested.  Why in hell can't the man grow a spine and tell Dietra to butt out?

"Just be nice," says Boomer. 

Of course, Dietra will kill the worm if it tries to turn.  She truly is one scary lady.  Starbuck glances at Apollo for support, but he's staring down at his drink and being quiet and withdrawn.  Starbuck starts when a very pretty girl hurls herself at Apollo.  She's dark haired, so can't be either Bree or Cassie—they're still cavorting on stage, anyway—and she's expensively, if minimally, dressed.  Her frock consists of one or two miniscule bits of fabric and a couple of diamante straps.  Starbuck's getting an eyeful. 

She swoops down on Apollo and kisses his cheek.  Starbuck feels the jolt like an electric shock.  Apollo's been married; stands to reason that girls like him and he likes girls.  But really, this one's shameless.  It's just not on, assaulting Apollo like that and demanding to know what he's doing there.

"Wondering why you didn't get dressed before you came out," says Apollo.  "Did you forget your frock?"

She laughs, shaking her head.  "You're as bad as Dad.  He's at home having an apoplexy."  And Apollo sighs and introduces her.  She's his sister, Athena. 

His sister?  His sister!  Oh.  Well, that's all right then,  She's really quite pretty.  Starbuck bows over her hand and says something inane and polite.  It has its usual effect.  She preens and all her flags are unfurling.  She slides into the chair next to him and flirts.  She does it very well too, if the look on Apollo's face is anything to go by.  Damn, but this is awkward.  Starbuck's no stranger to having to be oblivious to interest from someone he's not interested in himself, but this is Apollo's sister.  He doesn't want Apollo steamed up about either the family honour or a slight to his sister.  He does want Apollo steamed up, but not about that.

His salvation comes from a most unexpected quarter.  Dietra's finished her set and here she is with her two friends, swooping in like guardian angels to claim their rightful prey.  Bree has a clear run at Apollo, of course, but he doesn't look like he's bothered too much.  The other blonde, Cassie or whatever, squares up to Athena.

"Excuse me," she says.  "I believe that you're in my space."

And just like that, war is declared, right before Starbuck's eyes.  Blimey, but it's funny. 

Athena turns to look Cassie up and down, and looks like that have caused entire civilisations to crumble into the dust.  She puts her arm around Starbuck's neck and she's glittering so much he almost needs shades.  Her voice is flat with disdain.   "I don't think so.  Starbuck and I have plans."

Cassie is like ice.  "Really." 

"Well."  Starbuck disentangles himself.  "This is all very pleasant, but I have a winning streak on me right at the moment, and me and Apollo are heading back to the Pyramid tables.  Right, Apollo?"

Apollo's head snaps up, and he smiles.  It's that gawd-beautiful smile that makes Starbuck feel as though he just stuck his hand into a power socket.  "Right.  Winning streak."

"I see," says Athena, just as frosty as Cassie. 

Cassie folds her arms over her chest and taps her foot.  "So do I." 

"Then we're all cool, and having a good time."  Starbuck scrambles to his feet, and catches Apollo's arm to haul him upright.  "Cassie, please have this chair.  I won't... er I won't be needing it.  Boomer, Dietra – ".  He faces Dietra's magnificent scowl and smiles at her, and bows.  Poor Boomer.  He's going to be so deep into the felger he'll need breathing apparatus.  Starbuck can't possibly care less if he tries for a secton.  Apollo's arm is under his hand, warm and strongly muscled, and Apollo is with him.  They're making their escape together.  "Ladies."

Another bow and they're away.  Apollo's arm is shaking in Starbuck's grip.  He's laughing quietly.

"Should we run?" asks Starbuck.

"My little sister is very, very dangerous, Starbuck.  Running might be a very good idea."

Starbuck laughs and lets go of Apollo's arm to throw his own arm around Apollo's shoulders.  Was Apollo pressing closer?  Maybe.  He wasn't pulling away, anyway and, really, Starbuck couldn't ask for more.  Lady Luck was with him, yet again.





The problem with wrapping presents is that he's not used to it.  He's never had a family, and his orphanage didn't encourage its inmates to swop presents with each other at Yule.  So Starbuck lacks experience here.  He's struggling with Apollo's present.  Boxey's, thankfully, came in a box.  He can manage the box.  Straight edges for the win.  Cartons of coffee, even special coffee that has been specially and exclusively blended for the recipient, are not easy blighters to wrap neatly.  Apollo may have to take the will for the deed here.

He's just about got it all under control when he gets the call from Boomer.  Boomer sounds pretty distraught, but it isn't Dietra.  Dietra, it appears, hasn't gone on the warpath, although Starbuck isn't likely to be getting a Yule present from her.

"It's worse," says Boomer when Starbuck abandons present wrapping, hops over the wall and arrives in the back room at the bakery.  He hands Starbuck an official-looking letter.

Starbuck reads it, sits down abruptly and reads it again.  "Can they do this?"

Boomer shrugs.  "The lease is up in the New Yahren.  I've managed to get the financing in place to renew, but I was basing that on current prices with a little extra for inflation.  I can't possibly match that price."  He pours hard liquor into a glass.  "I've got first option, of course.  But I can't manage that sort of hike.  The agent told me the CCC are interested."

"Shit," says Starbuck.  He takes the glass from Boomer and downs it in one.  "Shit."

He's finished.  He's as finished as Boomer is.  If the CCC move in they'll undercut his costs and he'll be bankrupt and out of business by spring.  There's not much he can do to stop that.

"I like it here," says Boomer.  "We're just starting to make some headway.  I could do so much… so many plans…"  He stops short, takes back his glass and refills it.

For a couple of centons they take turns tossing back the liquor.  It isn't the triple malt stuff that Starbuck knows Apollo likes, but it ought to be doing its job of killing the pain. 

It isn't. 

He's finished.  He's really, truly screwed.  He can't fight the CCC.  He can't fight something as big and bad as that.  Screwed.  Ess Cee Ahhh Eee Double you Eee Dee. Screwed.  Totally and utterly.  He puts his elbows onto Boomer's desk and covers his face with his hands.  He can't think straight.

They talk for centars, trying to find a way out, to find a court of appeal, to find more money.  Short of robbing banks, there isn't anything.  They’re both screwed. 

He's finished, screwed, fracked into the ground.  There's nothing they can do.  Nothing.

And round and round it goes, that old rat in its cage. 





It doesn't help that when he does get back into his nice, doomed little coffee shop, that there's a message from Apollo cancelling their planned night out for a Yule meal.  Boxey has measles.

Starbuck just nods when Greenbean tells him, adding disappointment to disaster.  He spends a few centons looking around.  The front end has lost the pristine look it had five sectars ago when he opened up, but its edges are softer and more welcoming.  The chairs and sofas look worn in and comfortable.  His new espresso machine still shines like new though, and the glass case is only half-full of Boomer's cakes, the rest already sold. 

It's a nice place.  It’s a popular place.  It could have been a great place.

He's done everything with it that he set out to do.  He's been beaten by something outside his control.  It's not his fault he's failed, despite everything all those senior officers used to say about him.  This isn't something he can blame himself for.  The system beat him.  That's all.  And no-one beats the system in the end.  Every gambler knows that.

"You look very pensive, Starbuck," says Sire Anton, coming back to the counter for a refill.

Starbuck forces a smile.  "Time of yahren," he says.  "Makes me introspective.  That and all the liquor I've had today."

The Sire laughs.

Starbuck nods.  He looks at the kindly old man and before he can think better of it he asks the question.  "You're an old friend of Apollo's, sir, right?  Do you have his address?"





The mansion block where Apollo lives fronts onto the Park, almost directly opposite the Kobolian.  Starbuck's seen these blocks of flats but up until now he hadn't believed that real people lived in them.  Only socialites and celebrities.  How in Hades does an archaeology professor manage it?

He finds Apollo's name on the mailbox.  The penthouse.  Wow.  He almost goes back, but the thick misery needs some outlet.  Even five centons with Apollo to hand over the present for Boxey and the special Yuletide coffee will help.  It will make him feel a little better.  He rings the door bell before he can change his mind.

Apollo looks gloomy, but brightens right up the moment he sees Starbuck.  "Hey!"

"Hey.  I got your message.  Thought I'd better bring Boxey's present."

Apollo's smile broadens and he throws the door wide, beckoning Starbuck inside.  "You got him a present?  That's really generous of you and we weren't expecting it, you know.  I hope you've had measles, though.  They're not the sort of present you want in return." 

"I'm an orphan.  The orphanage always made sure that if one of us kids got sick the rest of us got pushed into the room with him for a day or two to make sure that we all got it..  They liked getting these things over with all at once.  How's Boxey?"

"Spotty.  The doctor says he'll feel a lot better by tomorrow." 

Apollo pulls him into a huge living room.  It's the sort of place Starbuck's seen in magazines, all polished floors and big pieces of furniture that are more like statements of wealth and taste than something to sit on.  One entire wall is window, looking over the snowy park to the Kobolian's dome.  Seems funny seeing it from this side.  The room's saved from artistic sterility by a pile of toys on one sofa and a dog bed under the window.  From the amount of dog hair on a sofa that's almost the size of Starbuck's entire flat, he doesn't think that Muffit uses the dog bed much. 

Apollo's regarding him with a slight frown.  "I didn't know that you were an orphan, Starbuck."

Starbuck shrugs and trots out his usual spiel about being abandoned at an orphanage door in a small town in the Thorn Forest at the age of two.  No parents  No name.  Starbuck was the name of the policeman who found him.  And so on, and so on.  Boring old personal history stuff.

Apollo looks shocked.  "I'm sorry, Starbuck."

For what?  For having a family?  For never having lacked anything?  For being rich?  Because the more he looks around this place, Starbuck realises that Apollo is rich.  The whole apartment reeks of money. 

Starbuck sheds his jacket and puts down his bag.  The present for Boxey seems like a joke now, a poor joke compared to all the expensive things the child is likely to get at Yule.  It's a pity he mentioned it at all.  Can’t get out of handing it over, not now.  "Not a problem.  Means I had a clean slate and have no-one's expectations to meet but my own.  Apollo, this is an amazing apartment.  What a view!"

Apollo says no more about the orphanage, but he looks like he'd like to.  "I've lived here for yahrens," he said.  "You should see the dome at night when they turn on the floodlights.  It's amazing."

"I can see that from my place."  But there, the dome's so close that it looms overhead, blocking out everything.  The view is much better from here.  Stunning.  "Archaeology must pay better than I realised."

"Family trust funds."  Apollo's neck reddens.

Real money, then.  Old money.  Apollo looks uncomfortable talking about it.  As uncomfortable as Starbuck is about orphanages.

"Will you still get to your parents for Yule?" Starbuck pauses, remembering.  He's screwed about the coffee shop but that's not as bad as your wife ending up under the wheels of a truck, or being left lame for life.  "This must be a shitty time of yahren for you." 

Apollo even smiles.  "Better this yahren.  Boxey's doing well, if you ignore the spots and the bad temper.  I don't think he really remembers Serina.  He was very little when she died."

He says nothing about himself and how he's doing, but that smile looks okay.  Apollo probably is doing okay.  Starbuck's glad.

"I made this for you."  He pulls the coffee from his bag and makes Apollo open it.  "This is a one-off, a Very Special Blend.  It's got cinnamon, orange and allspice in it, just for Yule and, er, just for you.  So here it is."

Apollo's ears go pink again.  It's very endearing, and something black and heavy lifts off Starbuck's chest.  He breathes in a little deeper and catches the scent of the coffee wafting up from the cartons in Apollo's hands.  It smells of Yule all right, but without the bitter disappointment. 

Apollo stutters something, and Starbuck has to roll his eyes and hint that they should try it out.  Apollo takes him into a kitchen—designer, of course, and probably hand built—and points him to the spiffiest home coffee maker that Starbuck's ever seen.  Well, that isn't quite true.  He invites Starbuck to take a seat at the table and goes to work the coffee maker himself, but Starbuck isn't going to let some amateur in there when he's there to play with spiffy machines himself.  Starbuck elbows Apollo out of the way and takes over.

Apollo lets him, leaning up against the counter and grinning.  "Smells good."

"Smells Yule-y, anyway," agrees Starbuck.  "There's a box of cakes and mushies there somewhere, from Boomer.  He sends his best wishes and season's greetings." 

"That was kind of him.  Boxey'll love them."

"Well, make the most of it."  Starbuck gives the brewed coffee an experimental shake, nods approval and pours it into the mugs Apollo roots out of a cupboard.  It tastes just as it ought.  It's all cinnamon and spice and all things nice.  A triumph. 

The irony is killing.

Apollo appears to love it.  "I'll take this to Osaiya with me, to my parents' place.  It'll be a hit."

"I'll make you some more whenever you want it."

"I'm looking forward to the holiday this yahren.  At least I was before Boxey got measly.  What are you doing for Yule?"

Starbuck looks away, kicking idly at the base of the counter, all his attention on his boots.  They're still wet from the snow lying in the park.  "Oh, I'm holding the mistletoe for Dietra and Boomer.  I can hardly wait.  I feel like the Festive Gooseberry."

"You should come to Osaiya, with us," says Apollo.  His ears redden some more, but he doesn't break eye contact.  He may even mean it.

Starbuck thinks of failure and poverty.  Osaiya is the richest district in the entire city, out there on the coast with its big estates and massive houses.  Oh, he'll fit right in, he doesn't think.  "Will your sister be there?"  He grins at Apollo's laughter.  "Maybe next yahren, when she's forgotten all about me."

Apollo will have forgotten, too.  He'll have forgotten the idiot who poured his entire capital into a coffee shop that couldn't work out, wouldn't work out with the CCC next door.  His eyes burn for a micron.  Damn the fumes from the damn coffee.

Apollo's staring at him when he looks up again, and he can't help but smile.  Lords, but Apollo is beautiful, all cheekbones and green eyes and a full-lipped mouth.  If he gets nothing else out of the last few sectars, Starbuck can be glad he got Apollo.  Even if not quite the way he wants and only for a little while.

He takes a step forward.  Apollo stops laughing and looks back him, all solemn and wide-eyed. 

Starbuck steps up close.  "Apollo," he says and it's as if he never said the man's name before.  "Apollo."

He raises his hand and lets his fingers brush Apollo's cheek.

Apollo doesn't move away.  He draws in a slow, shaky breath.  Starbuck's fingertips move slowly down the side of his jaw.  When Starbuck's fingers touch his lips, Apollo leans forward to meet him.

"Yes," he says, and Starbuck's lips brush Apollo's, briefly and sweetly.  "Star—"

"Hush."  Starbuck's hands cup that beautiful face, thumbs moving gently against the corners of Apollo's mouth.  He leans in again and once again his mouth pressed against Apollo's.  Apollo's lips part and he tastes Apollo for the first time.

Boxey's cry is loud, distressed.  "Daddy!  Daddy, where are you?"

Apollo pulls away.  He turns his head and Starbuck's hands go with it, keeping his face framed.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry. I'd better—"

Starbuck draws back.  The dark heavy thing inside his chest is curling and snarling itself into knots.  This is so stupid.  Apollo's way out of his class, way out.  He shouldn't be trying this on, not with failure staring him in the face.  He smiles and nods, letting his hands drop away from Apollo's face and giving him a little push.  "You'd better go."

"I'll be right back."

Starbuck lets the smile widen.   "Happy Yule, Apollo.  Happy Yule."

"Daddy!"

Apollo throws up his hands helplessly and goes.  Starbuck takes one long, last look at him.  His eyes prick again and he rubs at them.  This damn spicy coffee's not going to be any good if it reduces everyone to tears.  Not that it matters, not any more.  He won’t have anywhere to sell it anyway.  Starbuck blinks his eyes clear and heads back into the living room.  He has to get out of there.  He's got nothing to offer Apollo and he needs to get out before Apollo realises it and chucks him out.

He's shrugging back into his coat when Apollo comes back.  Apollo's smile dies away.

"Can't stay," says Starbuck.  "I just wanted to drop off Boxey's present while I had the time."  He puts the parcel onto the sofa.  Apollo's over by the wall, watching him.  His face is pale and his mouth pulled into a thin line.

"Starbuck?"

"Yeah, and let me know if you want any more of that coffee, okay?  See you, Apollo.  Have a good Yule."

"Starbuck?" 

Starbuck doesn't turn.  He walks quickly down the hallway to the elevator and gets into it without looking back.

Yeah.  Happy Yule.





Starbuck has a miserable Yule.

Boomer and Dietra are as depressed as he is.  None of them can see how they're going to get out of the mess, but they all try and be festive.  They go to the Caprican Yule Ball at the State House on Yule Eve, because they have the tickets anyway.  Dietra brings Cassie.  Starbuck barely notices.

"He could make a bit of an effort," says Dietra, cross as all hell.  Cassie's gone to the Ladies Room and is, apparently, crying in there because Starbuck's a hard-hearted bastard.

Boomer is a tad less diplomatic than usual.  "Oh for the Lords' sake!  Are you blind?  He's had the hots for Apollo for sectars and I wish you'd stop meddling!"

And the world is so far from being all right and tight and sweet, that instead of visiting grievous bodily harm on Boomer's person (which they all know she can do and not even get out of breath), Dietra's eyes fill with tears and she runs off to keep Cassie company.

Starbuck notices that, at least.  "I'm not sure if you're brave or stupid, Boom-boom."

Boomer nods.  "I know.  Have another drink."

And then the Lords really, really piss on him.  Dietra and Cassie have just come back, red-eyed and mouths all trembly, when Starbuck is swooped on and is roundly kissed.  At least Athena's wearing a complete dress this time.

"Oh yeah," says Starbuck, fending her off with both hands.  "Happy Yule, Athena.  Join us in having a real good one."

"Good grief."  Athena actually tosses her head.  Starbuck has never seen or heard of anyone doing that outside the pages of a novel.  "You're as miserable as Apollo.  What is the matter with you all?"

They all look at each other.  Boomer just shrugs, and the two girls scowl.

Starbuck smiles while the cold dark curling thing under his breastbone aches and complains.  "We're just chock full of festive spirit." 

"Good grief," she says again, and is gone in flash of tight, short skirt and plunging neckline.  It's not that much more of a dress.

Starbuck's really very grateful.  If only everyone else would go too.  He'd much rather sit at home and brood about a sort of kiss that wasn't anywhere near enough, and yet was a million times too much.

Oh yeah.  Happy Yule.  God bless us, every one.





He doesn't see Apollo until New Yahren's Day. 

The café's quieter than usual; even the Kobolian's closed to the public for the holiday and the weather's awful.  The streets are hard with ice and snow, and the wind is icy.  There aren't many tourists hardy enough to take on that in the name of Culture. 

Apollo brings Boxey with him.

Starbuck, eyes gritty from lack of sleep and the ever present nausea biting at him, doesn't join them.  He smiles a welcome and stays behind his espresso machine.  He can find something to keep him busy there, despite the lack of customers.  He polishes at a bit of chrome without enthusiasm.

He jumps when Boxey appears beside him. 

"Are you mad with us?"

Starbuck's mouth opens and closes a couple of times.  He looks across the room to Apollo, but there's no help there.  Apollo looks pinched and chilled, and his expression is remote, as if Boxey (or Starbuck?) is nothing to do with him.

"Of course not, Tiger!"  But Starbuck can feel his ears burning.  "I'm just busy."

"You never are when we're here."  Boxey gives him a patent Boxey-Hard-Stare.  Then, astonishingly, it softens and he gets a real smile from the kid.  "I liked my Yule present, Starbuck.  It was nearly the best one I got, except the ones from Daddy.  Daddy says I can take it to Carillon in the summer when we go back to get some more bones."

Starbuck has to laugh.  "Bones," he repeats, shaking his head. "You and bones!  All right, I'll bite.  Tell me all about Yule."

He gives Apollo an apologetic look when he reaches the table.  Apollo doesn't respond beyond an unsmiling nod.  Oh God, Starbuck's really blown it.  He's really, really blown it.  Apollo's mad (hurt? resentful?) about that kiss.  Starbuck shouldn't have done it.  He shouldn't have done it.  If he hadn't done it, maybe he'd be able to sleep at night and not wake up with the taste of Apollo as a memory on his lips. 

Boxey starts out telling him about Yule at his grandparents house.  Apollo does speak then, to thank him for the present he got Boxey.  It's just a student's archaeological set, nothing much.

"As long as it gets him a few bones," Starbuck says, aching.

"I like bones," says Boxey.  He looks from one to the other of them.  "Daddy's going to show me how to make mummies."  His chin trembles and big tears roll down his face.

"Hey," says Apollo.  He pulls Boxey close.  "What's up?"

Starbuck pulls in a deep breath.  "Me being a jerk.  I'm sorry, Apollo.  I was just… it wasn't a great Yule here."

"Athena said she'd seen you at the Yule Ball with Boomer and Dietra."  Apollo pauses.  "And Cassie.  Did you have a good time?"

"No.  It was shite." Starbuck glances at Boxey.  "Damn."

"Yeah." Apollo smiles at Boxey.  "Finish up your chocolate and we'll take Muffit for a walk in the park.  You can play in the snow."

"It's freezing," protests Starbuck.  "I'll come with you.  Jolly!"

He runs back to the counter to hand over then into his office to find his outdoor things.  He brings Muffit back with him.  The damned health inspectors aren't like to out in force today.  In the circumstances and given how much of a jerk he's been, he's a bit surprised that Apollo's actually waiting for him when he gets back, but Apollo and Boxey are both there.  Boxey's back in his winter gear and is almost spherical with the extra layers.

They don't talk much on the way to the park.  It's a slow walk.  Apollo's having to use his cane to keep him steady on the snow and ice.  The sight of that makes Starbuck's throat contract.  What if Apollo had been killed in the same crash as Serina?  Starbuck would never have known he existed.

Starbuck takes Muffit's leash.  He jumps when Boxey slides a hand into his.  He stares down, surprised at the lump in his throat that he has to swallow past.  Boxey looks up and grins.  He grins back.

The snow is thick in the park.  There was a thick fall overnight and most of the lawns are untouched, glittering with frost.  Starbuck lets Muffit free and the daggit's off like a shot, Boxey yelling and chasing after him.  There's a long silence.

Starbuck apologises when he can't bear it any more.  "I didn't mean to upset Boxey."

"I know." 

"I was feeling a bit guilty.  I hadn't… when I saw Athena I knew she'd say something to you and I wanted to explain… "

"You don’t have to explain anything to me.  It's none of my business." 

"No."  Starbuck stops, standing more than ankle deep in the snow.  He waits for Apollo to turn.  Apollo can't think he'd rather have Cassie?  That's just stupid.  "No, it's not fine."  He takes a deep breath and when he breathes out again, it's on a cloud of steamy water vapour.  The cold pinches at his face and he jams his hands into his pockets.  "Listen.  This is important.  I was stupid.  I mean, I just got scared."

Apollo scowls at him and there's more than a hint of Boxey in that stare.  "Scared of what?  That's stupid."

"That's what I said.  Yeah, it was.  I've done stupid before."  Starbuck sighs.  "I've done scared before, too.  That day I came over… I sort of panicked."

"And Cassie?  Did you just panic with her, too?"

"No.  Listen, Apollo.  I've had a crappy, crappy Yule.  Boomer had some bad news.  He told me just before I came over to see you.  His lease is coming up and the property manager has told him there's a rival bid for it.  The premium's gone sky high.  If he loses the bakery, I can kiss the coffee shop goodbye."

"Why?" 

"Because the Cylonic are after the lease.  They put a coffee house there and they'll drive me out of business within sectons.  I just about break even and it's getting better all the time, but I put every cubit I had into the place.  I don't have anything to spare.  And because they're so big, they buy in bulk and they'll be able to undercut me on everything.  I won't stand a chance.  They're so damn ruthless."

"I hate the CCC," says Apollo.  "It was one of their trucks hit Serina."

Starbuck's mouth drops open.  "Oh.  Right."

Apollo balances on the cane and kicks at the snow with his good leg.  "It was two yahrens ago.  So does that explain what happened in my kitchen?  Were you looking for a bit of comfort or something, and I was handier than Cassie?"

Starbuck couldn't blame him for being angry.  "I just wanted to see you and pretend for a few centons that things could go right for me for once.  Pretend that I had a chance with you.  But I'll have nothing, Apollo, when I lose the coffee shop and … well, I got scared."

Apollo doesn't answer that.  "The property agent has to give Boomer first option."

"Oh, she will.  But Boomer can't afford a higher premium and he can't really afford much of a bigger rent.  The rents are high enough already, and the Galactica Bank can ask for as much as they want."

"Galactica owns your leases?"

"The Galactica Mutual Trust and Investment Bank.  It's shit, isn't it?  We've had it."

"Well, maybe," says Apollo.  He actually chuckles.  "And maybe not.  I know someone high-up at the bank who might be able to help."

"They'll have to be pretty damn high." 

"Can't get higher.  I'll need to make a call."

"Yeah, well.  Anything you can do.  But that's not why I was scared, Apollo."  Starbuck looks at him, hoping for something, a sign that he understands, for a sign of hope.

But Apollo's focused on Boxey, looking around for him.  "Where's Boxey?"

Starbuck can see him over by the pond.  "I'll go and get him."

He jogs away before Apollo can say anything.  Not that he expects Apollo to say anything.  Starbuck's blown it.  He's just met every expectation those senior Fleet officers used to have for him.  If there's a way to crap it up, Lieutenant, that's what you'll do.  And even if there isn't a way, you'll find one.  And boy, has he crapped this one up.  Apollo's disgusted with him.  And rightly so.  He's sick with fear and all he can taste is absolute failure.

Boxey won’t come back before Starbuck chases him around the pond at least once.  "You can't catch me mind," says Boxey, laying down his conditions. 

And if that isn't the story of Starbuck's life, chasing after what he wants but not being allowed to catch it.  He forces a grin at the kid and makes his promises.  It warms his blood for a few centons as he and Boxey set off, an near-hysterical Muffit chasing after them both.  Then Starbuck trudges back to where Apollo's talking on his mobile comm unit.  Apollo puts the mobile away when Starbuck rejoins him.

"He's all right.  He and Muffit will be along in a centon.  There's a lot of snow out there to get their prints onto."

"I spoke to… to that contact I have at the bank.  He'll sort the leases out tomorrow."

Starbuck stares at him.  "Can he?  Can anyone?  I'm sorry to burden you with all that stuff about the bakery and Cylonic.  It's just been bothering me.  Not as much as… well, it's been bothering me a bit."

"It's all right.  And yes, he can sort the leases." After a centon Apollo says, "I wish you hadn't run away that day, you know."

"I wish to Hades that I hadn't run away, as well.  Look, can I ask you something about you and Joss—"

"There isn't a me and Joss.  There hasn't been a me and Joss for more than three yahrens."

Starbuck stares.  "But there was?"

"Three yahrens ago.  Does it matter?"

Starbuck takes a step forward.  "No.  I just wanted to be sure.  Listen—"  He stops. "Oh felger.  This is stupid.  I'm stupid.  I am so, so stupid.  I was stupid to run off that day, and I'm stupid now.  But passing up on you – that would be far more stupid than I'm ever likely to be."

He takes the last two steps forward and puts his hands on Apollo's shoulders.  He kisses Apollo.  It's a chaste, close-mouthed kiss, just to stake his claim.

"There's nothing with Cassie.  It’s you I want.  It’s you I've wanted since you marched into the shop and gave me hell over that apostrophe.  I don't make special blends of coffee for just anyone, you know."

Apollo smiles and his eyes have lost that hard, cold expression.  "Joss gave me a heart scarab."

"One of those insect things?" 

Apollo nods.

Starbuck shudders.  "I'll stick to coffee."

Apollo's smile is a wonderful thing.  The snow is probably melting all around them, if Starbuck could be bothered to look.  "I've run out of your special blend."

"I'll make you some more."

"You do that." 

And Apollo kisses Starbuck for the first time.  His lips are cold and dry but his mouth opens on Starbuck's.  Starbuck kisses him back, kissing him through the smile on his lips.  He can feel Apollo's mouth curving up under his and the cold dark curling thing in his chest withers away.  If he loses the coffee shop, he might still have Apollo.  Fair trade.

When he pulls free, Boxey is only feet away, watching.  "Yeuch," says Boxey.  "Soppy."

Starbuck just grins.  He doesn't care how soppy. 

"Come home with me," says Apollo.  "Come home with me and Boxey."

It has to be snow blindness making his eyes sting.  "That'll be nice," says Starbuck.  "I think I will."





Starbuck wakes slowly, warm and drowsy and with Apollo behind him, curved around him so that his buttocks are tucked neatly into Apollo's groin.  Starbuck doesn't hurry his waking.  It's too important, this first morning he wakes beside Apollo.  Too important to hurry.  Every micron is to be savoured.

Last night, Apollo knelt over Starbuck, the tip of his cock brushing against Starbuck's stomach.  Last night he'd pulled Apollo down over him, bare skin to bare skin, and rubbed his hand over the head of Apollo cock again and again until Apollo was moaning out loud.  Last night they'd ground together, shuddering and groaning together, cocks sliding against each other, catching each other's moans in kisses.  Last night he'd come all over Apollo's hands and Apollo had raised his fingers to his lips and licked them clean, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.  That had been hot, and if Starbuck hadn't just come like a fire hose, he'd have been hard again at the sight.  But last night he was busy following suit, tasting Apollo on his tongue.

Last night was, all round, a pretty damn good sort of night. 

But this morning?  This morning is for doing it all again.

"This morning," says Apollo, who's awake and listening when Starbuck outlines all this to him.  "And every other morning."

Starbuck turns his head and smiles.  And Apollo leans down and kisses his smile, and whispers secrets against it.  Apollo's mouth curves up.

Two smiles kissing.

It's a good omen for a gambler.  He'll take those odds.





Epilogue

"Your Dad is who?"

"The owner of the Galactica Mutual Trust and Investment Bank Company."

"But that means he's my landlord!"

"Not any more.  I am.  I got him to transfer the freeholds of the street to me.  He's going into the office to sort it out for me this morning."

"The… the what?  The freehold of the entire damn street?  But that must be worth millions of cubits!"

"My dad likes me.  And I'm his first-born.  I told him it was important to me."

"But—"

"It means that Boomer's bakery is safe.  And you're safe.  No CCC moving in and putting you out of business.  No need to worry, Starbuck."

"But—"

"I've never seen you incapable of speech before.  Except last night, of course, when you were sucking me so hard I saw stars.  That was nice, by the way."

"But—"

"And that reminds me.  We need to think about a renegotiation of the rent.  I'm a very unprincipled landlord, Starbuck.  I'll expect a lot of sexual gratification in exchange for the lease."

"But—"

"I don't mean that we'll draw up a specific legal agreement, but we have to have an understanding about, say, the average number of blow jobs each secton.  Agreed?"

A mute nod.

"Excellent.  I wouldn't mind collecting an instalment on the rent right now, Starbuck.  Whenever you're ready."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do.  A blow job – or the apostrophe."

Another silence.

"So, I think this makes me a sleeping partner."

Starbuck smiles.  "Yeah.  But I pay my debts, Apollo.  You aren't going to be doing that much sleeping."

~end~
19,541 words

March 2010