Proof of a Purpose

Proof of a Purpose - Change of Plans

Starbuck knew things had become routine between he and Cassie. They had settled into a pattern of dates, when Cassie had time, that were now comfortable and predictable. When he first noticed this feeling, the predictability of it all, he had been concerned that things were maybe getting boring. But when he talked to Boomer and Apollo about the situation, both of his friends assured him that it was the natural course of a mature relationship. Infatuation versus love. Boomer had quipped that at least Starbuck was still infatuated with himself. While Apollo had even overemphasized that maybe Starbuck had finally grown up. "Don't worry Starbuck, you'll come to appreciate the slow burn of real love, versus the out of control fireworks of your past...um...relationships." Slow burn? It sounded like something he should report to the Life Station for. It was quite the revelation that this point in the relationship, where he would normally be second-guessing why they were even bothering, was in fact a turning point in disguise. A surefire sign of a mature relationship. Yeah, it took a little prompting for him to come around to the idea, but when he did, he found himself embracing it wholeheartedly. So it was time to grow up, and what did grown ups do? They took the next step, and he was ready. Okay, so maybe he wasn't ready, but he was ready for the pattern to change. It had been exciting shopping for the ring, tracking down blackmarket dealers in golds and gems. And it had been exciting thinking about the parties they would have, the bachelor party would be the biggest blowout this fleet had ever seen! He'd even found himself excited about the prospects of having his own quarters. His own! That had been something he'd never known before. He could put up any holos he wanted, even that one of the naked woman sitting on the rock by the ocean. He had tried to argue to command that it was art. He had bought the picture in an art museum for Sagan's sake! But regulations had stated it had to come down and be packed away in the back of his locker. In his own quarters, he could display it prominently and be proud of his purchase of art. He could even maybe buy a few more items to spruce up the gray predictable walls of their existence. He patted the ring in his pocket and dreamed on about the excitement of the days to come before they settled down into the routine of grown up life. Day after day, he could know what to expect, what was to come, "and that was okay, wasn't it? It's how things should be, right?" He reassured himself, that the life to come would be a good one. "Routine is good for children." He felt his heart give a little flip in anticipation of becoming a father. It would be frightening, he knew, but he also found the danger to be something he looked forward to. "I can face a baseship single-handed, surely I can take on a toddler. He'll have all the best toys!" Starbuck distracted himself trying to think where one might be able to find the black market toy dealers and buying all the toys he had always wanted as a kid, but he could never have. The thoughts helped to keep him entertained as he went about his duties for the day, as he had every day for the last three yahrens. Patrol was not where you wanted to flip into a routine, or you might just miss something. He patted the ring in his pocket again. Maybe the days ahead would fill that empty pocket in his soul that left him feeling like he was missing something . . . like cubits filtering through his fingers against his better judgment.

Adama strode onto the bridge, ready to begin another day, another shift, ready to pick up where he had left off the day before. Just another day with the same worries, the same problems, the same duties to be performed. It was just another First Day of the Secton. Another Secton, another cycle.

Adama sighed heavily as he ascended the command platform and surveyed his crew hard at work. There was little discussion amongst the crew, and Adama wondered if three yahrens into what might be a long journey was beginning to take its toll. Many of the crew had at least had the luxury of a few days off duty now and then to enjoy the paltry few recreational activities the fleet afforded. But even those distractions had become routine and predictable, and Adama noted, didn't seem worthy of discussing anymore. Nothing seemed new or interesting anymore. Just another cycle, another distraction, that in the end seemed just the same as any other.