Personal Journal - Apollo
By Lady Rae
September, 2000

     The old saying was that time was the great healer.  I'm not sure
if I believe in old sayings, or even if I believe in that one in
particular.  There have been many times over the course of my life when
I wished the hurts would heal, so I could move on.  In time I would
forget about them, or push them to the back of my mind until something
or someone would dredge them up, then the pain would begin again anew.
     Over emotional.  Overly sensitive.  These labels have been used to
describe me or said about me over the course of my life.  My paternal
grandmother was the first to tell me I was just an overly sensitive
child, that I let my emotions overwhelm me and had to learn to control
them.  Control them.  That was a joke!  Just because I could not stand
to see another person hurt, hear another child cry, or let an animal be
hurt or suffer.  I would cry and almost feel the pain the other person
or animal was experiencing.  My mother called it 'empathy.'  I called
it a bother and wished I could learn the control my grandmother said I
needed.  My mother said being sensitive to the needs and feelings of
others was a great gift, since it would allow me to treat others more
respectfully.  That it would help me be able to express myself
eloquently.  I know since she trained in the arts she wished for one of
us to follow in her footsteps, by being a writer, an artist, a
musician, or even a stage performer.  She almost received her wish. 
When I was young, I found I loved music.  It didn't matter what genre
or from what colony it originated.  I just enjoyed music.  Mother felt
keyboard lessons would help me to express myself through music and she
was right.  I loved my lessons with fervor that I had never experienced
before.  Even though I loved sports as a child, if I had to choose
between them, music would have won every time.
     It was my escape when I felt life was asking too much of me.  When
I could not deal with the expectations or pressures of being my
father's son, the pressure I felt to excel and live up to other's
expectations, or just the day to day living and growing up in a
constant state of war, music was my solace.  As I grew older, other
interests came and went, but music was constant.  I'll never forget the
day I told my father I wanted to be a musician and not follow the
family tradition of the Colonial Service.  The disappointment was
written on his face.  I'll never forget it as long as I live.
     I have always had my differences with my father, challenging his
authority, his expectations, his rules, but in the end, I usually gave
in and did what was expected of me.  Giving up my dream had been the
first real hurt in my life.  Giving up my place at the Caprician
Institute for the Performing Arts had hurt me deeply, but I couldn't
let it show.  Filling out that application for the Caprican Military
Academy had been painful and very difficult.  Many times I set my pen
down, not wanting to go any further with it, wanting to tear up the
application and everything it seemed to represent with it.  However, as
I held that paper in my shaking hands, I knew I couldn't and wouldn't
destroy it.  There and then I made a vow to myself I would never, ever
place my expectations for my children above their desires, their
dreams.  That I would never expect the woman I fell in love with to
give up her own dreams, but I came to renege on that vow in the end.
     I never dated much when I was a teenager, either too shy or too
afraid of the reaction that I would get from a girl if I voiced my
interest in her.  I had seen too often in my life that someone wanted
to be my friend just because of who my father was, who my mother was or
who my grandfather was.  I learned to trust no one.  I stayed to
myself, kept my thoughts to myself.  My only playmates and confidants
were my brother and sister.  Every time I would be mad or upset with
one of them, I would sit by myself and think what my life would be like
without them.  On that point alone, I could never stay angry at either
one for very long.  I did learn the lessons my grandmother wanted me to
learn about controlling my emotions, masking them behind an outward
appearance of indifference.  I use to drive my parents crazy when I
would use that look on them when they were angry with me.  Over time I
refined it, working on it till as my best friend puts it, I had it down
to a fine art form.  No matter how hard I tried, that look never, ever
worked on him.
     And how could it?  He knew me then and knows me now better than
anyone ever has.  He has been there with me through the good and the
bad times, taught me how to enjoy life, take chances even though that
may sometimes be foolish, risky or suicidal.  When we met, I ignored
him like I did most of my classmates, figuring he would be like
everyone else.  Let me tell you one thing right now, Starbuck has never
been and will never be like anyone else.  He's in a class all his own,
and if someday someone tells him I said that, I will venomously deny
it!!  He breezed into my most boring class one day and attitudes
changed left and right.  He had only started school that day, but was
the most popular person in the school by the end of the day.  Everybody
knew Starbuck.  Everybody had heard his name.  When he came into class
and sat down at my table, it was like we connected.  I stared at him,
studying him like he was part of my latest lab study, trying to figure
out just what he was.
     My table mate hated him on site, but I never held his opinion in
high regard.  He was another user like the rest of the people I knew
back then, even though he never knew that I knew.  I didn't trust him
as far as I could throw him.  He seemed to be attached to me like glue,
so I tolerated him.  But then, there was Starbuck...
     I have to admit I was very leery of Starbuck myself, not sure if I
dared trust him or not.  I was not sure if I should even speak to him,
but I did.  He laughed all the time, made jokes, and was just fun to be
with.  I knew my father would not approve of him because Starbuck was a
nobody.  He was an orphan from the Umbra Massacre, with no idea who his
parents were, when he was born or how old he actually was.  The social
service people gave him a name, a natal date (as close as they could
guess), and life went on from there.  He never had a stable home, known
the love of two parents or the agony of having siblings.  He went from
home to home, sometimes living on the streets when he would run away
from a foster home that he hated.  Never knew what it was to have
something new or something to call all his own.  He lived a hand to
mouth existence for his whole childhood, through his teenage years. 
Maybe for him, that was what defined him and made him Starbuck.
     Luck would have it our instructor  teamed Starbuck and I up on a
project for class.  Slowly, like a sculptor working on a hunk of stone,
Starbuck chipped away my protective shell, worked his way into my trust
which was something very few had ever done before.  I learned just how
much I could trust him the hard way, and hated myself for what I put
him through.  Starbuck even admitted to me that he understood why I was
the way I was.  Why I could not trust anyone.  Why I felt that everyone
was out to use me for that they could gain by my friendship.  To this
day, my staunchest defender and protector is Starbuck.  I know he would
willingly lay down his life for me without any forethought and I would
do the same for him.
     I owe a lot to Starbuck.  More than I could every repay in any
way.  He thought nothing about conning someone out of cubits,
sweet-talking some girl that tickled his fancy, pulling some hapless
fool into a pyramid game.  He would lie, cheat, scheme and cajole, but
he would never turn his back on his friends.  Loyalty was a large part
of his make-up, along with an outgoing personality, but in time I found
out just how much Starbuck and I were really alike.  For all his
outgoingness, he still kept himself reserved.  He never divulged
anything to anyone.  You could sit with him and talk for hours, and
come away still not knowing a thing about the man you just spent all
that time with, but he knew everything about you.
     Starbuck laughingly said the only reason he sat down at the table
that day was that he found me 'intriguing.'  I've never thought of
myself that way, but I guess he did.  Starbuck also helped me find my
way with women, although I still find myself having problems in
relationships.  I'm not very good at them.  I can't bring myself to
have the mindless flings Starbuck had, or have as many of them.  I
watched Starbuck romance 2, 3, 4, even 5 women at a time, and if they
caught on to him, there was always another one waiting to take their
place.  Starbuck told me many times I was too soft, too sensitive, too
deep.  That I would never be superficial like I thought he was, but he
acted that way for a reason.  Plain and simply put - he liked women. 
He liked a lot of women.  I always felt Starbuck was afraid to love one
woman because of the fact he was an orphan, that he felt unwanted
during almost all of his childhood.  He had stood on the sidelines,
envying others for their parents, siblings, relatives, as well as their
homes because they actually had a place to call home.
     Starbuck confided in me one time how he wished he could have a
home like mine.  That bothered me, because I never thought I really had
a home like other kids.  My father was gone most of my life, serving on
a battlestar, finally becoming the Commander of the flagship of the
Colonial Fleet.  My mother served on many social committees before she
turned her attentions to politics after my younger brother was born. 
She too would be gone a great deal during the legislative sessions, but
at least she was closer than my father.  At least she was home almost
every night to cook our dinners, tuck us in and tell us stories.  She
spent time with us, but I wanted more.  I wanted both my parents at
home with me.  I wanted to be able to play ball with my father on our
lawn, have him come to my school activities, tell me a story at night
before I went to bed.
     Then I saw life from Starbuck's perspective, and realized how
lucky I was.  I never felt so much guilt at my actions towards my
parents in all my life.  It opened my eyes to how fortunate I really
was, how much my parents loved me.  I also found out how much love they
were capable of giving, not just to my sister, my brother, and members
of our family, but I watched as my mother warmly welcomed a parentless
boy into her home and into her life.  My father took a little bit more
time, but in the end, he loved Starbuck as if he was his own son, and
defended him as he would of my siblings or myself.  He even helped
Starbuck gain admitted to the Academy after they rejected him based on
the fact that he was a nameless person who knew no one.  How cold our
society could be to others who didn't fit into their 'norms.'
     This is becoming too depressing.  I need to change the subject
real fast before I'm *really* depressed.  Women.  There is a subject I
can honestly claim very little experience in.  I made a fool of myself
more times than I could remember trying to be a woman's fantasy man
like Starbuck.  He kept telling me to expand my horizons.  I felt my
horizons were as expanded as they were going to get after I nearly
dropped out the Academy when I had an affair with Fatima.  That was the
one time even Starbuck couldn't get through to me.  I turned my back on
my family and my friends for a woman who used and abused men and their
emotions.  She walked on me, then threw me away when I saw her for what
she was.
     For a long time after that, I avoided women like they had a deadly
virus.  I would admire some from afar, but would never get close enough
to become emotionally entangled with them.  They could be my friends,
but nothing more.  Then I met Alannya and found that maybe, just maybe
I could learn to trust, but in the end I hurt her very badly.  She
loved me, would have given me anything I wanted, would have done
anything to make me happy, but I couldn't see her for what she was. 
All I saw was Fatima and her deceit.  So I threw Alannya into the same
mold when she was nothing like Fatima.
     That was the only time that I can remember where Starbuck was so
angry with me that he actually started a fight with me.  Neither one of
us was much to look at after the fight, nor did we talk to each other
for maybe a sectar afterwards.  Boomer, Jolly and Giles were the three
who kept me informed about Starbuck, and Starbuck informed about me. 
When we finally did get back together, Starbuck chewed my astrum
royally, and in truth, I deserved it.  I knew better than to hurt
someone as I did Alannya.  I just wish I had been able to tell her how
sorry I was for how I acted and treated her.  I found out she had died
10 sectars after we parted in a cylon raid.
     Serina was the first woman I loved more than life itself.  I
didn't hold back from the emotions I was feeling then.  I lost so much
with the destruction of the Colonies, my mother, my younger brother, my
home.  I felt as if my life was over, I had nothing and no reason to
live.  I fell back into my old ways, hiding behind a wall so no one
could hurt me again.  I threw myself into my father's vision, threw
myself into being righteous and defending the civilians we were
protecting.  Threw myself into an emotionless void so I would not feel
the pain anymore.  I couldn't stand it.  I wanted to hide, but there
were others who wouldn't let me hide and lick my wounds in peace.  I
found I couldn't cry, couldn't express the emotions, the pain I felt at
the deaths of my mother and Zac.  I didn't want to live, but I was too
afraid, to cowardly to end my life by committing suicide, so I existed. 
Lived without living.
     Then this light shined in my life.  Serina.  Her determination,
her outspokenness, her drive for what was right made me see her for
more than just the celebrity that she was.  I knew of her for yahrens. 
How could anyone not know or hear of Serina - one of the most famous
faces in Caprican Broadcasting.  She received the stories others could
not.  She found out the truth, and did not reduce herself to reporting
half-baked lies.  She had interviewed my parents on several occasions,
since my father was a member of the Council of Twelve and my mother was
a member of the Caprican Council.  I knew then how both my parents
admired her for her determination to tell the whole story.  And there
she was, confronting me at my viper with an angry mob, stopping them
with just her words from tearing me to shreds.
     I met her again when my father announced his plans to follow the
voyage of the Thirteenth Tribe to find Earth.  She appeared again,
asking for my help with her son who wouldn't speak, wouldn't eat
because he had lost the daggit that meant everything to him.  I hadn't
wanted to really become involved with her or her son, but something in
her eyes compelled me to help her.  And then there was Boxey.  So much
like Zac when he was that age.  I couldn't turn my back to him.  I had
to help.  What had began as friendship turned into much more very
quickly.  Never in my life had I moved so fast in a relationship.  I
threw caution to the wind and lost myself in Serina.  Now, losing her
as I did, I'm glad I took the leap without looking.  I'm glad I didn't
sit there and analyze what I felt for her.  I did what Starbuck told me
yahrens ago and just went with the flow.
     But she died, too young, too soon and I was lost without her.  The
pain I felt over losing my home and my family paled in comparison to
the pain I felt when Serina died.  Suddenly I was a father, responsible
for a child I barely knew, but I could not walk away from him.  In
Boxey, I saw Starbuck.  I saw my best friend's childhood in the eyes of
a 6 yahren old boy.  I was not going to let the same thing happen to
him as it did to my best friend.  My father didn't question me, didn't
question my motives for I think he knew why I did what I did.  Made the
decision I did.  I admit now it was not the wisest decision considering
the line of work I was in.  The fact I could die at the hands of the
Cylons at any time, leaving Boxey alone again, but I also had my
father, my sister and my friends to be there for Boxey.
     In truth, he was a pretty tough for a little kid, handling all the
loss he had experienced better than I did as an adult.  He became my
life, my salvation and my sanity.  I was a father; a dad and I wanted
to be the best one I could be for him.  I wanted to be there more
physically than my father was for me.  I could not judge my father for
his decisions he made, but I could learn from what he did, the mistakes
he felt he made in his dedication to protecting our people.  I would be
there for Boxey, but in the end, I found I made some of the same
mistakes my father did.  I put Boxey through some very rough times with
my job, taking the risks I did.  I know I was far from the perfect
father.  There was no manual on how to raise this boy like there was
with a viper.  It was trial and error.  I fell on my face more times
than I could count.  But when I fell, Starbuck was there to step in. 
There was also Boomer who played the role of uncle like he wore his
uniform.  Jolly, Giles, Greenbean, a lot of the warrior contingent made
sure they were right there for Boxey as surrogate 'uncles,' and I am
ever grateful to them.
     Being in the situation I was, I came to see my father in a
different light.  I watched as he developed his relationship with
Boxey.  He stepped into the role of 'grandfather' like it was made for
him.  He spent more and more time with Boxey.  I could see the father I
always wanted there with the boy that was now my son.  It didn't matter
to my father that Boxey was not mine by blood.  He was still my
father's grandson and my father doted on him. Father told me not too
long ago how he wished he could live his life over, maybe he could
right the wrongs he felt he had done to our mother, myself and to my
brother and sister.  I realized at the time just how much I loved the
man that I called 'Father.'  How I could not see my life without him? 
I hoped at that micron, that I could be half the father, half the man
he was.
     Here it is, almost 0300 centars in the morning.  I have been
writing this entry for almost 6 centars.  The time has flown and I'm
still not finished.  My shoulders and back ache from sitting here for
so long, but I still have so much more to say.  I have to be on duty in
3 centars, but I'm not the least bit tired.  And I cannot stop before I
say what I need to say here.  I have to admit something to myself.  It
is something I have had a long, hard time coming to terms with, but now
I think I'm ready.  I have hidden from my emotions, from being hurt,
from feeling again for another woman for quite a while now.  I have ran
from what I feel for a long time, but after a lot of soul searching, I
feel I need to face life and get on with mine.
     When Serina died, I felt I died with her.  In truth, I didn't.  I
just hid from the hurt so I wouldn't have to feel that emotion ever
again.  I ran from love, hid from it, avoided it, denied I ever felt it
until now.  I can't run anymore.  Today I had to confront my feelings
for a woman I have loved for a long time.  I know I have hurt her, more
than I care to admit, but I was so afraid of losing her like I did
Serina.  My wife died because she was a warrior, something she was not
meant to be.  She didn't have the instinct, the drive, nor the skills
to be a warrior, but still she became one.  The reason she became one
was to understand why I did what I did.  To come into my world to be
with me.  She was just as afraid of losing me as I was of losing her. 
She died because she loved me.
     But the woman I love now and yes, I can sit here and admit freely,
at least on paper how I love her more than I ever thought possible, is
as different from Serina as night and day.  Sheba was born to be a
warrior.  Trained to be one.  Honed her skills, has been tested in the
stars in battle with the Cylons.  She has survived, just like her
father.  Proven herself again and again.  When Sheba showed me in the
Cylon Raider how she felt about me, I was confused.  I wanted to run
and hide, to throw it back in her face or better yet, deny she had even
told me, in so many words, what she truly felt for me.  The kiss we
shared was tender and bittersweet.  It shook me down to my very soul,
scared me even more.  I loved Serina passionately.  She was my wife for
such a short time and now she was dead.  When Sheba said those words in
the Raider, she was trying to get through to me.  Wake me up so I could
see everything I should have been seeing.  'She was a very lovely
woman, Apollo, but she's dead.'  I was angry, so angry with her when
she said that.  I wanted her to stop, shut up, go away, but she
wouldn't.  I couldn't speak the words to tell her to do any of those
things.  I wanted to be left alone with my memories of Serina, but
Sheba wasn't letting me.  What Sheba didn't know was I had been at war
with myself since I saw her holovid in her father's quarters on the
Pegasus.  Her beauty, her vitality jolted me like a spark of current. 
Then I remembered Serina, and denied to myself what I had just felt.
     Slowly she began to fit herself in my world, to be my friend  -- 
a close friend.  Someone else I could trust just as I trusted Starbuck
and Boomer, but there was a difference with Sheba.  She knew and
understood how I felt being my father's son, because she was her
father's daughter.   Her father was a legend.   She lived with the same
expectations that I did, so she understood me in ways that no one else
really could.  Why I distrusted others.  Why I was so careful who I let
into my life.  Why I guarded my privacy so much.  The turning point in
our relationship was when Iblis came and tried to take her for himself. 
I was angrier than I had ever been in my life.   I was livid and hated
this smiling man in white.   In truth, I was jealous.  I wanted her to
be with *me* and now she was turning away from me towards a man I could
not tolerate.
     When Iblis tried to kill Sheba, I knew I could not let her die.  I
could not lose her like I did Serina, not when I had the power to stop
it.  I could not and would not let her die.  I remember stepping in
front of her, taking the death blow meant for her, then nothing more. 
Now I don't question what happened to me back then.  I accept it and
continue living.   I realize I'm here for a reason, but I am unsure
what that reason is.  What I need to do, what foretold event I need to
fulfill, whereas accepting what I feel for Sheba has not been that
easy.
     Starbuck knew my feelings for her before I was willing to admit
them to myself.  Tortured me for the fact I would not just admit how I
felt and accept it.  Father knew my feelings long before anyone, I
think.  Athena knew since she hinted about it many times.  Cassie knew
and did everything she could to get us together in social situations. 
Quiet dinners, parties, fleet social functions, anything to throw the
two of us together.  Finally we would make the tentative steps towards
a relationship, then I would run from it, breaking off all contact with
Sheba except as I needed to as Squadron Commander.  Then, slowly, I
would come back to her again.  We would try to start another
relationship again.  How and why Sheba put up with me, only the Lords
know, but I'm thankful she stuck it out.  Being Cain's daughter, how
could I expect anything less from her?   I love her.  It seems so right
to see those words written here, but it also is a little frightening. 
I am admitting my feelings, the possibility of pain, of being hurt, and
of losing another person I love, but I can't run anymore.  I realize
that, even though it is hard to admit it.  I can't hide anymore.  I
have to accept the possibilities of what could happen and live with
them.  Sheba lives with the same prospects as I do, the same fears. 
She knows she could lose me during a Cylon attack.  I could die during
a mission to some planet.  She accepts the risks because she knows we
have to live life for the here and now, not for the possible heartbreak
in the future.  I can't predict the future, neither can she.  None of
us can, but now I am willing to try, willing to take the chance,
willing to love again.
     Life is a gamble.  Maybe some of Starbuck's luck will finally rub
off on me.  I need to take the chance, so here goes.  Just in case one
day I don't return from a mission and Sheba finds this journal, sits
down and reads it, here it is in black and white.
     Sheba, I love you with all my heart.  Never, ever forget that.

(End)