Goodbye and Thank you, Whoever.
By: Ayelet H. Lushkov 
Written November 1, 1998

        Do you know how many times I've heard those words? Those four
demeaning words? Oh, sure, they always inserted my name in the end of it,
but it was never more than just a string of syllables. It could have
been, and if I know my trade, very often was, any other name, of any
other woman. 
        I should have known better than expecting anything more. After
all, being a socialator isn't about receiving love and affection. It's
about giving them. Giving them to strangers, who viewed you as an
attention-full companion at best, and as a plaything at worst. It's not
a very gratifying career, nor it is easy, nor fun. And anyone who thinks
there's glamour in it is nothing but a fool. 
        I never meant to become a socialator. My father was a merchant, a
well established one, at that, too, and we never lacked any sort of
creature comfort. What I did lack, though, was much less tangible. 
My father loved me, I never doubted that. He went out of his way, worked
hard days and nights to make sure I had whatever I wanted. Anything I
wished for, I had. Daddy's little girl, all sunshine and smiles. I would
have counted my blessings, if not for one thing-Father was never home.
Forever on convoys to other planets, other outposts, other places. 
        My mother...therein lies the problem. She loved him, loved him so
much it bordered with insanity. He was her love, her life, her reason for
living, for breathing, for getting out of bed in the morning. And just
as he was never around for me, he was never around for her. She loved
him too much, and it resolved itself when jealousy reared her ugly head. 
        For some reason, Mother was more than certain that Father cheated
on her. Maybe he did, he certainly never shared those things with me. But
either way, Mother was sure that this was the case. She was certain
beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt that her sole reason for existing
her turned his graces from her. She withered like a flower out of the
nurturing soil. If he wasn't around to light her days, nothing else
could. And me, I was nothing more than another obstacle in the way of
his attentions. 
        She loved me, too, in her own way. I'm sure she did. After all, I
was my father's daughter. But as yahrens wore on, her love became less
and less obvious. She worked, and took care of the house, and of me, and
spent centars before the mirror, trying to find a bulge in her belly, to
indicate the arrival of another child, who might bring back the stolen
affections of her husband. She bathed me, and fed me, and clothed me,
and I never went without anything, or thought that my family was
dysfunctional. But she never made me feel like I mattered. 
        I grew up, and the boys discovered me. I was surrounded by them
at school, on the play ground, where ever I went. Serenades under my
window, flowers, poems, everything a girl's heart might wish for at that
tumultuous age of adolescence. Unlike my own mother, for them, I
mattered. A smile for me drove young men wild, and a word of my lips
sent those boys head over heels in their hasten to bring me whatever it
was I mention I desired. 
        Soon, some daring boys let their hands wonder lightly on my body,
and tipped my head back to share some stolen kisses. But never did I let
them venture further. Daddy's sunshine would not be tarnished by someone
unworthy of her. And Father's criteria were high, almost unreachable.
Nothing was too good for his baby, and no man good enough. My mother
stood aside, and watched as my father concentrated all of his time, at
those precious moments he had with us, on his daughters' suitors. 
Soon after he'd leave, the fights would ensues. I'd be blamed of taking
away his time, his attention, his rest, everything. In Father's absence,
Mother was the voice of law in the house, and soon enough, the law
became harsh, cold and unforgiving. 
        The atmosphere in the house changed completely. From the almost
uncaring apathy, my Mother became the hound dog watching for my sins.
Every late arrival from school, every missed curfew, every caress, kiss
or soft words she'd witness, everything was to be noted and stored away.
All in order to prove to the father that his little girl was becoming
unworthy of him. The Old Gods couldn't have been more demanding than my
mother's eyes.
        I was precariously balanced on a very fine line. My mother didn't
care about me, except as an obstacle to tackle. My father was more a
visage of a caring God than an actual father, now that I was older. I
craved attention, I carved love, and I craved affection. 
        So when the time came for me to choose a profession, the choice
wasn't hard to make. I wouldn't be a merchant like my father, nor a
Colonial Warrior, like so many of my classmate. No, I would join the
ranks of the eldest profession, be blessed by the elders, and become a
socialator. 
        My mother smiled knowingly, as if saying "I knew nothing good
would ever come of this one." My father raged. His little girl was
destined to greater, better things, than serving the needs of men. A
scholar, an artist, a politician-those were the things the stars spoke
about for me.
        But I would have none of it. 
        A few yahrens of training, and I was thrown into the cold,
uncaring waters of the world. And then, then I learned what apathy meant.
Not my mother's systematic filing of my sins, not her uncaring manner
with me. But giving your flesh, your body, your soul, to a stranger man
to have, to soothe his pains, his needs, his urges. And instead of a warm
word, waking up in the morrow, naked in an empty bed, with a heavy pouch
of cubits on the table nearby.     
        Oh, how I hated those men. The men who didn't care. Who saw
socialators as nothing more than a sexual toy. But there were others,
too. Other who appreciated the sacrifice I made, the efforts I made to
help them. Those who bothered enough to love me, even just a little, when
they had me. Those who explained when they couldn't stay, and thanked me
warmly, for being a friend, a companion, or a bed mate. Or for simply
being there, listening to them as they unsheathed their souls and
cleansed the wounds. 
        But they were few. Few and rare. And Cain was one of them. 
        Cain. It still hurts, to think of him, this great warrior who
thought he loved me.  I was young, and my need for love and care hadn't
diminished in the least by all the men I was surrounded with. He was
older then my average customer. Older, more respectable, with a halo of
awe and power around him. 
        I was swept off my feet. He cared about me, made me feel
important. When he looked at me, I felt like I was the center of the
universe. Like the whole War was fought over my hand. The face who
launched a thousand ships, I was. I told him everything about me, and he
listened, never stopping me to ease his own burden. He did for me what I
did for so many others. 
        For all his roughness at war, his lovemaking was soft and gentle,
and I drowned myself in him. I worried when he went away, when the
Pegasus was on a mission, and when he came back to me, I flew a metron
above the floor, encircled in his arms. 
        I learned that he had a wife on Caprica. That he'd taken his
daughter-later I was to learn that 'little Sheba' was nearly my own age-
and fled to Gemon to try and find balm to the pain of losing Sheba's
mother.  I was that balm, and I reveled in it. Even the frequent
encounters with Sheba's wrath, her calling me anything from 'whore' to
'trash', didn't disillusion me. That was only to come much later. 
        I was in love, or so I though, and was intoxicated by it. 
        In the histories of the Colonies, the Battle of Molokai is known
as the day the War tipped the Cylons' way. For me, it was the day the sun
set and refused to rise again. All was lost, and all was one. Nothing
mattered, anymore; there was only the mind numbing pain. 
        I went back to my work, buried away all the tangible memories of
him, and tried to carry on. Days came and went, seasons changed, and
still the pain remained. It ruled my days, my nights, my dreams. I closed
my heart to it all. If Cain couldn't have my heart, no one will. Men came
and went, some were like rare gems, but I didn't notice unless they
reminded me of him. Some were rough, uncaring, and I never noticed,
until I compared them to him. 
        Him, him, him, him. Him! Cain was everywhere, and I wanted to
scream! How could the Twelve World move on when the finest man to ever
live was plucked down? How could the War go on, when the greatest warrior
was no longer? How...How could I move on? How could I so betray him? 
        I hated him for leaving me. I hated me for betraying his memory.
And I hated every men garbed in the brown uniforms for being who he was,
instead of being Cain. 
        Then, the news came. The so long hoped for Armistice was here!
The Cylons and Humans would finally live under a joint flag of peace.
Cain sacrifice was not in vain. Or was it? Foolish me! Foolish worlds!
How could you have been so deceived? 
        Gemon rocked and burned around me as someone dragged me to a
freighter. I struggled and fought, not wanting to be saved where
Cain...Oh, Cain!...was not spared. But I was loaded onto the ship
nonetheless, and it hurtled forward, to meet the Galactica on the long
voyage to mythical Earth. 
        How turns the Wheel of Fortune? How can the disaster of a whole
race also mean the growth of a thing of beauty? 
        I shudder at the thought, but refuse to feel guilty for the love
that I found. It bloomed slowly, cautiously, between two people who were
burnt before, and afraid to love again.  Despite the time, the death of
Cain still reigned my heart. And as I was to learn, my Starbuck had yet
to end one relationship, overcome his own emotional walls, and allow
himself to love me. 
        But on the shuttle, when he looked at me, the first one to have
done so without contempt, I only thought that I should not be here. I
should be at Cain's side, wherever he may be. But he was attractive, with
a warm smile, and sparkling eyes that even the destruction couldn't
banish, and I needed a friend, so desperately. 
        When they healed my arm, he waited outside for me, and I was the
one he escorted down to see his Viper the night before the Nova mission.
I wouldn't cross my own barrier, though. He was cute, with enough witty
charm to dazzle any girl he wanted, and I was flattered that he bent his
efforts on me. But, I thought, he chose the wrong one. Though never
sealed, I was a war widow, and a faithful one, at that. I knew that if
he asked me, I'd sleep with him, but I swore to myself, even as I
pressed my lips against his, that I won't love him. Not as much as I did
Cain. Never like Cain. 
        Time passed, and we settled into the routine of the journey.
Starbuck and I became closer and closer. He encouraged me when I started
my training to be a med-technician. I met his friends, Apollo, Serina and
Boxey; Boomer and the rest of them. All of them accepted me with open
arms, and without a false note in their affection. 
        Starbuck became my best friend. I saw him whenever I could, and I
enjoyed it, and him, immensely.  I was happy, but obsessed as I was
about my own guilt, I wouldn't let myself recognize and acknowledge it.
I enjoyed kissing him. Loved making love to him. Was touched when he
opened his heart to me. But never did I do the same for him. My most
intimate feelings were Cain's, and Cain's alone. 
        But Time is the greatest healer. And he healed my wounds, too.
Just as I was the balm to Cain's wounds, Starbuck was to mine. Slowly, I
told him my past, my history. Slowly, he was becoming the only man I
wanted to be involved with. Like a wave, turning over every rock it its
path, something was sweeping through me, turning my feelings around,
shaking them of the dust and putting them up for me to observe. 
        But things could not move on, until I faced my own demons. And
unlike most other people, I met my most beloved demon again. 
        The Pegasus was found. The legendary commander Cain was alive!
The fleet rejoiced at the news. And Starbuck came to break them to me. I
cannot say how much it took of him to come and tell me. And I, like a
foolish schoolgirl, uncaring of anything but her own selfish heart, left
him where he stood, and rushed to Cain's side. Ever loyal, every
faithful, ever his. 
        He stood there, in all his glory. My Cain, back from the stars,
like I've always wanted him to. I stood there, my eyes shining, waiting
for my heart to leap out of place and start again, after all those
yahrens of solitude. But it didn't. I stood before him, finally
disillusioned. 
        He was still magnificent. Still the Warrior, the man he'd always
been. He hadn't changed a bit. But I have. I seemed to be the only one
who did. The Pegasus was as if it was frozen in time. Its crew all secure
in the knowledge that their commander was undefeated, that Cain will
prevail. But we, on the Galactica, on the Fleet, we knew! The human race
was no longer the proud specimen it had been. We were beaten, and left
to die, and now, we were licking the blood of our wounds. And they were
too many to count.
        Over the next few days we had together, I realized that more and
more. My heart was free, no longer in its chains. Chains that I have
forged myself, out of love, and pain, and guilt. But now, the love was
gone-maybe it has never been. And my heart was free. 
        It was very painful to realize. Cain, the love of my life, was no
more. Instead, there stood a man who'd lost it all, and build it back
again. Who had built his own flying kingdom, and wouldn't give it away,
in fear that the universe would tumble down with it, unless it was in his
custody, under his command. 
        My Cain was no longer. Now, there was a Cain bred out of
desperation, and necessity, and fear, and hate. The only true love he had
left in him was the love of war. The only desire, to defeat the Cylons,
be the cost what it may. No room for me, anymore. And painfully, I
realized that I wanted no part in it. 
        But old habits, and old loves, die hard. The Cain I loved and the
Cain
I've come to know in those few days were two different people, but my
heart, my soul, would remain loyal, to the one who'd left me to go to
battle and never come back.
        It took long days and many tears, and finally the departure of
the Pegasus, for me to see the light again. Sheba had stayed behind, left
by her father to be saved from the certain death. She was to Cain what I
was for my own Father. His little girl, his pride and joy. But unlike
me, she didn't befell her father with crushing disappointment. For her,
he would remain her father, no matter what. And if she could go on, so
would I. 
        Oddly, my relationship with Starbuck, which I had thought I had
ruined when I rushed away to Cain, gained strength from the ordeal. Cain
wasn't here, but Starbuck was, all ears and smiles, and all the love I
could have ever hoped for. 
        And looking into the blue pools in his eyes, I suddenly felt like
laughing, and dancing. And I did. I pulled him with me, and twirled
around the room. We collapsed on the floor in a heap, and I leaned
against him, laughing breathlessly. I was happy! Happier than I've ever
been. And I knew that nothing in the world could tamper with that.
Tomorrow may bring other things and new woes, but all that didn't
matter, because I was held by the one man who mattered most to me, and I
could feel his warm breath on my neck and shoulder, and hear his
chuckle, and...
        And I loved him.  
        We spent that night in my quarters. Pilots don't have the privacy
my position as a med-tech warranted.  Somehow, he'd managed to scam us a
luxurious dinner, and we ate it in a comfortable quiet. When the evening
was over, he was asleep in my arms, a soft, sated smile hovering on his
features. I lied next to him, watching him sleep. Then, he shifted and
stirred. His eyes opened slowly, and he gave me a slow smile when he saw
me looking at him. He kissed me softly, then moved to get out of bed. 
        "Where are you going?" I asked. 
        He looked at me, trying to gauge if I was upset with him. "I
should get back to the billets," he said. "I have an early wake-up call,
and you shouldn't wake up that early for nothing." 
        I must have stared at him, because he put his hand on my cheek. 
"Cassie?" 
        I shook my head, and placed my own hand on his. "Don't worry
about it, Starbuck. I can always go back to sleep after I see you off." 
        He wrinkled his brow. "I...Cassie, you really shouldn't bother
yourself over me. I can go back to the billets. It's not a problem." 
        "I know," I said, calmly. "But I want you to stay. Please?" 
        He looked at me for a while, then slipped back under the covers,
taking me in his arms. He was asleep again after a few centons, his face
buried in my neck. 
        His wake up call was early, but I didn't mind. I spent the night
awake, looking at him, thinking. The scene that had just took place
wasn't big, or long, but it was significant to me. It told me one thing:
he cared. He cared enough to worry that he might disturb me. It wasn't
something big, but I'd learned long ago that it's the small things that
make the difference. 
        The very thought of him leaving me, even for a few scant centars
was unbearable to me. I wanted him there, with me, not matter the
inconveniences. Be they as small as waking early, or life threatening as
a battle. 
        I loved him. It was a small seed, and still uncertain, but it was
there, and his smile the next morning when I woke him up and sent him
off with a kiss was all the nurturing it needed. 
        But it was a rough way. It was still hard for him to open up to
me. He'd stopped seeing other women, and now was all mine. All mine to
love and learn. And I did. I told him all about me, and he in turn,
shared his life with me. Slowly, painstakingly, but he did. And that was
all that mattered to me.  
        Still, he didn't share everything with me. Aurora was one of
them. When she reappeared, I was a wreck. Torn between the need to trust
him to come back to me, and the jealousy at having him rushing off to
another woman. But I remembered me doing the same, and didn't stop him.
The past has to be laid to rest before the future can begin anew. 
        And he came back to me. Never to let go again. 
We survived Aurora. We held through all the suicide runs he went on,
only to defeat the odds and come back. We came through all the fights
and squabbled we had. We  managed when Starbuck found out about
Chameleon. We conquered everything Fate threw our way. And through each
ordeal, I loved him more.  And I still do. 
        We were sealed nearly a yahren ago, on a day that would have been
a clear summer day on Gemon. I looked into his eyes, and knew that
despite everything, we'd make it. Despite the rumors, and our
reputations, and evil spirits and tongues, we would stay together.
Because I love him, and he loves me. And that's all that ever mattered. 
        And now, I lie awake, again, watching him sleep. Beneath my
breast, I can feel the kick of my first child. Our child. He keeps me
awake at nights, much to his father's disapproval. But I enjoy those
nights, when I finally have him all to myself, without the need to share
him with the fleet. 
        I never dreamed it possible, and yet, here it is. I watch my
husband sleep, and love him more with every rise and fall of his chest. 
        Another kick. Another sign of life in my growing belly. A life we
created, together, the final seal of our union. 
        Sleep fogs start wrapping themselves around my eyes, too, and
slowly, I push the pillow back, and lay down. Starbuck's arms close
immediately around me, seeking to protect and love me, even in his sleep.
I smile, and close my eyes, trusting my love to keep us safe from harm,
as he surely would. 
        I feel him shift beside me, and open my eyes to see him sleep on,
undisturbed.  Good. He shouldn't be waken. Who knows what tomorrow
brings? 
        Before I fall asleep, I lean closer to him.  
        "I love you, Starbuck." 
        And love conquers all, doesn't it?

--The End.
         
Ayelet, up to her ears in schoolworks. *sigh* 
-- 
    Ayelet; lushkov@netvision.net.il
Odi et amo. quare id faciam fortasse requiris?
  nescio sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
       --Catullus