Shouldn’t have hesitated.

A sharp pain explodes across the agent’s chest and his knees buckle. He topples to the ground in an ungracious heap, sticky liquid staining red.

Shouldn’t have hesitated.

A small part of his mind finds it funny that he’s been shot, and the only thing he can think of is shouldn’t have hesitated. It’s typical of him – logical, to the point, entirely too late and full of regret. He listens to the sound of the fugitives' dimming footsteps, draws a shaky breath. His next is a little more shallow.

Damn.

He’s going to die — must have punctured a lung — and he knows it. He could call for help — tries, but the only sound that emerges from his parted lips is a weak, wet gurgle — and by the time the other law enforcement officers find him he’ll have bled out — bone dry — for a while.

He sighs, shuts his eyes, intent on saving what little strength he has left for rational thought.

This is not the way he had imagined he’d go out.

Bleeding out, an eerie underground basement for a tomb.

He’d thought about it, of course. Wasn’t afraid of death, no. Not FBI Agent Alexander Mahone. Former FBI Agent Alexander Mahone.

Not that this… Mahone blinks, squints as the columns above shift a little, refocus. He feels lightheaded and his ears are ringing. Not that this is so bad. This, lying here in a growing puddle of his own blood.

Just not what he had been expecting, is all. He’d been so preoccupied with Michael, so sure of his own brilliant mind that he had never thought to suspect Kellerman. The cunning bastard. Hadn’t even seen it coming.

Mahone had always imagined that he’d go down fighting the good fight. Go out with a bang. A fiery explosion, maybe. After some heroic deed. But lately the good fight hadn’t been so good, had it?

And now he was here. Not a hero, but a monster, drowning in his own blood; twitching. Waiting for Death and getting what he deserved.

“Can you kill? Because I don’t think you can. That’s what it’s going to take to stop me.”

They had given him a choice. An innocent man and his brother or his own flesh and blood family. The family that he had evicted, left behind, shut out of his life, abandoned.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? This time he does laugh; a dry, crackly sound.

Of course he had chosen the wife and son he had never really gotten the chance to know, but loved nevertheless.

“I will find you.”

They were so alike. So easily, they could have switched positions. Michael could have been the one with the cold metal gun held in bloodstained hands, heartless and unrelenting. Mahone could have been the one doing the right thing, protecting his family while outsmarting the badbadbad man. But every time Michael chose the selfless, Mahone picked the path of destruction.

It was so much easier that way. Who wants to be the one running, hiding from his own shadow? Living in terror, scared to death by the omnipotent reach of Justice? Mahone recalls the speech he gave that fateful day. Everyone wants to be the predator, lying sly and cunning in the reeds, stalking his prey. Only now does Mahone realize that all along he was the one running.

“I win every time.”

So he had found Scofield, just as he promised. And he lost, like he always does.

Mahone fought to suppress a shiver as his slipping body failed him. He felt cold, terribly cold. The pain in his chest had subsided to a dull ache, the ringing in his ears to a frantic pounding. It was his heart trying desperately in vain, he knew, to circulate the life force that now lay congealing on the concrete floor.

Mahone just wanted it to end. He would have arranged for the original going out with a bang scenario had his piece not been lying out of reach and given he still had the strength left in his fingers to pull the trigger. All of his hopes weren’t shot yet, though, pardon the pun. As it was, he still had the pills. Convenient, little white capsules of wonder; heaven in swallowable form. In his coat pocket, if he could just summon the will to…

No. No. He was stronger than that.

Mahone had depended on the pills – impersonal, sense-sharpening saviors – since Shales. Lately, caught up in the chaos of the past couple of weeks, he had been taking them less and less. Been so engrossed in the hunt for Michael and their mental sparring matches that he hadn’t really needed them to focus. To be calm, yes, but not to immerse himself in the younger man’s mind, to don his skin and walk around.

Mahone had been obsessed. Not just because his family was on the line, but also because in Michael he had seen a reflection of himself. Though with Michael, the glass was clean, not cracked.

This was his last chance to make the right choice. And this time he would. The pills remained, safely hidden within the folds of stiffening fabric.

Instead, Mahone turns his head to watch the red river spread. He finds himself fascinated by the crimson tide’s ebb and flow.

Why is life so unfair?

It had started with Shales and would always come back to Shales. But Shales had been cruel and unrepentant. Hell, if Shales hadn’t raped, mutilated, slaughtered all those people for the sheer thrill of it, carved Alex deep into the severed torsos just to taunt him… Mahone was justified with regards to Shales. But the law didn’t see things that way, and he was forced to… He had never wanted to pull the trigger on Tweener. Setting up mob boss Abruzzi hadn’t been so bad, neither was ordering an impersonal, long distance strike against an anonymous white plane… But the kid, staring back at him, piercing –chilling– his soul with that empty, glassy stare…

“If you’re going to murder us, Alex, you’re going to have to look us in the eye while you do it.”

He wasn’t a murderer. And that was what did him in.

In the end, couldn’t even shoot that son of a bitch Kellerman.

But maybe, maybe…

Mahone closed his tired azure eyes for the last time.

Maybe Kellerman and - in his own way - Michael had given him the greatest gift.

Before he had been trapped. Trapped by the government, trapped by circumstances out of his control, trapped by his own brilliant mind. Endangering everything and everyone he held dear.

Pam and Cameron would finally be safe. Safe from harm and safe from him.

Goodbye, Pam. Love you, Cam.

As Mahone drifted away, he hoped Michael the best; silently praying he would discover the truth.

“I’ll be seeing you. Oh, and Michael, it might just be sooner than you think.”

His mind wanders, conjures up forbidden memories unbidden. He muses, forlorn, that he had it all once; a beautiful, loving wife, a cheerful kid, a glorious, distinguished career.  And now…

Mahone flips the ID over, stops breathing as Property of U.S. Government in fine black type catches his eye.

Instead, Mahone allows the tension, the simple rage to build inside of him.

Michael Scofield intrigues him, confounds him. Why doesn’t Scofield just turn him in, reveal his hunter’s (literal) skeleton in the closet and end the standoff, the impasse, this deadly game of cat-and-mouse?

“That’s the difference between you and me…”

And yet… Michael Scofield - brilliant structural engineer turned cunning criminal, mastermind behind the biggest prison break in history, second most wanted man in all of America – can’t, won’t kill. Is handed a pistol on a silver platter and refuses it. After all the young man has been through, he still doesn’t have the heart to destroy (he was a builder once); hasn’t been corrupted by the hunt. Mahone himself used to be that way, he muses.  Used to believe in justice, in the system, in what he was doing.

Of course, that was a long time ago, before all this.

He doesn’t want to do this.

He can’t take it anymore.

He sighs and feels genuine regret.

Regret because he knows Michael Scofield is a good man, a better man than he ever was or will be, realizes Michael is probably right about everything, including his brother.

Regret because he knows what he has to do.

Mahone slowly reaches for his service pistol, grips the cold, weighty steel, as unyielding as his resolve, and with a steady hand reholsters it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Because while he might not be physically locked in a cage any longer, the agent has no more freedom now than he did then.

Because he knows what he has to do, and he knows what will happen if he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t have a choice.

Starbuck's Journal

Anyone - Read any further and you die.

Lee - I catch you and I swear I will beat you to a pulp.

Entry 1 - "33"

Jump 237 completed.

Well. Welcome to my humble journal. (Ignore the crap up front. Can't exactly drop by the stationary store, so I'm using a makeshift old notebook I found in my locker.) It is the end of the world, and I am Kara Thrace, a.k.a. Starbuck. I can pilot a Viper just as well as I can whoop Apollo's ass (he's not bad either) at cards if a cigar's involved - very frakking well.

I'm not really the type to keep a diary, but I'm bored to death and I figure it will keep me sane (or at least awake). I caught Apollo writing one, decided to follow suit. Not such a bad idea. Supposed to "release tension" or something. Thing is, we get 33 minute breaks between Cylon attacks and there's no time to do anything but wait for the next one. It's been 'count down the minutes, fly, return, FTL jump, repeat' for the past five days. No sleep, no rest.

Frakking Cylons.

The CAG apparently finished his entry, said to get ready. Like we haven't already memorized the routine. Lee - Apollo - is still learning. Had to lecture him today. He acts like everyone's friend when he's the CAG. To get my point across, I gave him a hard time with the stimulants we've been issued. When I said no, he tried to "Kara" me into submission. I blew up on him, told him to make me eat them or drag me down to sickbay. He got the point and I took my pills. Hate the nasty things - taste awful. Still, bunched reflexes and reaction times beat an out-cold, fried fleet any day. Hah, it was fun though. Lee's a horrible CAG, but I'll fix him yet. ;) Got to go. Be back next cycle.

Jump 238 completed.

I can't believe we just did that. That I did that.

Lee and I just blew up the Olympic Carrier. It was a frakking civilian ship! Disappeared after the last jump, then reappeared while Lee, Boomer, Crashdown and I were flying combat patrol. The Commander thinks the Cylons were tracking the ship, maybe one of the passengers.

The Olympic Carrier wouldn't stop. We had to destroy it.

We made one pass, and then there was this bright light.

What if we were wrong?

There aren't many of us left. Less than 50,000. There might have been thirteen hundred souls onboard the Olympic Carrier.

I know I'm going to have nightmares.

Entry 2 - "Water"

I haven't written anything for three days. The past three days have been crazy, insane, mad.

To put it lightly.

Last entry, I said I knew I was going to have nightmares, right? Well I did. Or I would have, anyway. So that day, I convinced myself that we made the right decision, the only decision. 24 hours no Cylons; if we had not destroyed the Olympic Carrier, we would still be on the run every 33 minutes, or worse, dead by now. And the Cylons had probably captured the people onboard already, because we didn't see anyone in the windows. I kept repeating that in my head until I began to drift off to sleep. Then it happened. Lee's voice, the bright explosion…I woke up drenched in sweat.

I couldn't go back to sleep. Not that I wanted to. I stole stimulants from Lee's locker; since the Cylons are no longer coming after us every half hour there was no need for them, and Lee had a whole stash. I just lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. During the day, I was fine. Thanks to the stims, I was wide awake, and that meant no nightmares. I think Lee had it worse than me though. I only had to worry about nightmares; he was getting flashbacks. Sometimes I'd be talking to him, and then suddenly he'd shut his eyes and his breathing would be erratic. He didn't want to tell me about it, I didn't push. We both knew what was happening, both wanted to pretend it didn't happen.

I kept taking the stims, he kept having his flashbacks, though thankfully they were becoming less frequent. Until yesterday, when Lee caught me with the drugs. He acted like a decent CAG for once, lectured me about how I was endangering my health, then promptly stole back the stash of pills and flushed them down the toilet. So I spent the rest of yesterday and most of today sleeping. I couldn't keep my eyes open if my life depended on it.

I only had one nightmare, thankfully. I guess my body was too tired for that. I vaguely remember waking up once, and that was because a series of explosions nearly tossed me out of my rack. After that, I went back to sleep.

It wasn't until late today that I got up. I decided to catch up on the card games I had missed, won a whole pile of stuff; lots of cubits and even a bottle of something to drink. Someone mentioned that emergency water rations were in effect, but I was still too groggy after all that sleep to care.

After I had an impressive pile of winnings in front of me and was about to turn in again, Dr. Gaius Baltar shows up. He strikes me as sort of strange, aloof, kinda weird. Then again, he is a genius and has a way with words. He was giving the impression that he had lost, then beats my Three on a Rung with his Four Colors, all with a flourish. Erg. He annoys me. There are rumors going around saying Cylons look like people now. Maybe Baltar's a Cylon. Honestly, how could someone beat me at cards unless they were some sort of supercomputer? I know, I know, I'm being a sore loser. :P It's just been awhile since I've lost before, that's all. I forgot what it felt like. Hm. I'll challenge him to a rematch later. He gave me a nice parting gift, a hand-rolled cigarette, though I still think he's a little strange.

Sure enough, we didn't have to worry about water after all. Boomer and Crashdown managed to find H2O contacts on some rock called Tamica. So I think I'll go drink a glass of water, make sure Lee's doing okay, and then get back to sleep.

Entry 3 - "Bastille Day"

I am going to kill Lee. Well maybe not kill him, just maim him a bit. Or a lot. Depending on the excuse he gives me.

Frak. What the frak was he thinking? He could have gotten himself killed. Or all of us killed!

That - okay, okay. Breathe, Kara, breathe.

I'll start off with this morning. Maybe writing this down will help calm me.

This morning I woke up after a good night's sleep. No nightmares, no stims, just a refreshing night's sleep. Now that I could keep up a decent conversation without yawning every other sentence, I asked Boomer about the water shortage situation. She told me the explosions the other day were caused by G-4 Detonators rupturing our water tanks - we lost 60% of our portable water supply, or 10 million GPs. Sargent at Arms has opened an investigation, but we may never know who set the bombs. Sabotage, that worries me. Water riots were breaking out on the civilian ships while I sat around gambling. Frak me. :(

Then I gave Sharon a big hug. She deserved it, after finding that icy rock with Crashdown and saving our dehydrated asses. Boomer was busy, so Boxey tagged along with me. He's a sweet kid, bright and a quick learner. Boomer picked him up on Caprica, the poor boy lost everything. So Boomer's like a mom to him, and I'm the aunt. Or rather, cool older sister. Yeah, I think that description fits much better.

I called a meeting with the pilots, ran into Dr. Baltar on the way. Still need to schedule that rematch with him. In the Radio Room, I had Boxey light me a stogie, then Flattop and I had a little talk about coming in a little too hot. CAG Apollo was on the Astral Queen trying to recruit volunteers to melt down Tamica-the-ball-of-ice, so I had the honors. It was fun; Flattop's a good guy and we all have a little of his speed demon in us, but he needs to realize it's not good for the Viper or the flight deck. Personally, I think he's just excited since he's nearing his 1000th landing. But safety always comes first.

Then Tigh comes along, tells Boxey to scoot, turns his nose up at my cigar, and proceeds to tell me how I should reprimand my pilots. Tigh can be such a bastard. He doesn't understand that screaming is not always the best method. Hell, it's done a whole lot of good for our relationship. (If you haven't noticed, I'm a sarcastic type of person.) He's hated me since Officer Candidate School, and the feeling's mutual. I let him know he smelt wonderful (like alcohol) before I left. Put an ugly frown on his face. Point for Starbuck!

So I just finish dealing with the wrath of Tigh when I hear the voice of some nut over the loudspeakers saying he's got hostages and basically "down with the government." Find out in the CIC that the Astral Queen is a prison transport vessel, the nut was a terrorist named Tom Zarek, and the hostages include Apollo, Cally, Dee, and Billy, the President's aide. President Roslin won't negotiate with terrorists, so Commander Adama, Tigh and I come up with an attack plan. We have three teams of Marines, and I'm the sniper. Adama doesn't want me to go, but even Tigh had to agree that I'm the best shot in or out of the cockpit.

When we get there, I hear a gunshot. I assumed Zarek was executing hostages, so I got teams Alpha, Bravo, and Constellation set as quickly as possible. The scene below was sickening. All of these men in orange jumpsuits are clustered around a metal cell. Inside is a pacing man and Cally - bleeding, she'd been shot. Found out later that the bastard who shot her had tried to rape her, but she managed to bite his ear off. If Lee hadn't shot him, I would have beat the son of a bitch to death so painfully that his missing ear would have been nothing in comparison. As it turned out, Lee got hold of a gun and shot him before I could get to the lucky bastard.

I was in position, but didn't have a clear shot at Zarek. Lee did, though, with a gun inches away from Zarek's face. I waited for him to pull the trigger, but he didn't. I could not believe it. Instead, it looked like Lee was talking to Zarek! They moved into the cell with Cally, and that's when I got my clear shot. I was going to take Zarek out, had the red laser on him and everything, when Lee pulls him out of the crosshairs and it's all over. My shot gives away our location to all of the armed goons below before Lee declares a ceasefire. Lords, I don't know how close we were to a bloodbath, but we were damn near.

The rest is all a blur. Lee had us clear out, return to Galactica and leave the Astral Queen in criminal hands. Now that our cover was blown, there wasn't much else we could do. A couple of marines wouldn't stand much of a chance against 1,500 gun-toting maniacs. Besides, Cally needed immediate medical attention. We dropped Lee and the ousted Astral Queen crew off on the Colonial One before returning to the Galactica. Lee and I didn't get a chance to talk.

I've just returned from a failed attempt to reconcile differences with Colonel Tigh. Note to self: Never do that again. I poured him some water and we toasted. Lords, I admit for once that I am human with flaws, and he has the gall to tell me mine are professional while his are personal. Guess he's just as much of a bastard sober as he usually is. But I knew that. He probably blames me for not taking out Zarek. Well Tigh can go shoot him himself, next time.

I do believe I've calmed down enough to think clearly. Lee still has me confused, though. He knows that the Commander and the President do not compromise with terrorists. Of all people, Lee should know. Commander Adama is his father, President Roslin is a motherly figure for him. Besides that, Lee's both the CAG and the President's personal representative. Then why did he talk with Zarek instead of letting me shoot him? Isn't that negotiating with the terrorist?

Then again, maybe I'm being too hard on him. Lee's smart, capable, loyal and compassionate. I trust him with my life, and he did resolve the conflict without spilling any blood (except for the monster who hurt Cally, but that doesn't count). In fact, Lee even accomplished the original mission of recruiting volunteers for Water Ops. Besides, there was no guarantee that after Zarek was dead the prisoners wouldn't just kill us too. Lee must be getting hell from Dad and "Mom" (Roslin) at this moment on the Olympic Carrier for disobeying orders. He doesn't need me shouting too. I'll go easy on him, but we still need to talk when he gets back.

In the meantime, I think I'll see how Cally is holding up in sickbay. The Chief's probably doting on her.

Entry 4 - "Act of Contrition"

I feel so vulnerable, so naked. The Old Man found me out. I've confessed. He knows I killed his son.

Flattop made his 1000th landing. Lee is the worst CAG in history, so of course he didn't have Flattop's helmet ready. No brush, either. We had to finger-paint the thing.

The Old Man, Lee and I were on our way over to the flight deck when the drone dropped. Equipment fatigue. Killed 13 pilots, including Flattop, wounded 7 more.

During the memorial service for the dead, Zak's funeral played in my head. I remember how the Commander took my hand in his, a gesture of comfort. Recall how the honorary gunshots shattered the silence. They gave him a hero's burial. But the truth was that he shouldn't have been in the cockpit in the first place. I shouldn't have passed him. Zak wouldn't be dead.

Finally got that rematch going, me and Crashdown vs. Baltar and Boomer. Couldn't concentrate though. Kept thinking about the feel of Zak's warmth against my skin. He was playful, understanding, loving. He said he didn't want special treatment from his father, especially not from me.

I was in love with him. I was in bed with him. I passed him. I killed him. My love is the reason Zak died.

Old Man wanted me to train new pilots. I was afraid he would say that. Reassured me Zak's death wasn't my fault, that I had nothing to do with it. That Zak had been ready, had passed Basic Flight. And I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't make myself correct him. I told the Commander I could train his new pilots.

I was hard on the nuggets. Washed them out on the first day. Lee confronted me; I wasn't paying attention to what I was saying and Lee guessed what was going on. He's always been able to see right through me. I was so angry, I almost decked him. I bet he would have hit me back, had I punched him.

Next thing I know, I'm being called to the CO's quarters. I wish I could blame the rest on Lee, but I can't because it was all my fault.

When I get there, the Old Man's voice is full of worry. For me or for him, I don't know. I try to sidestep the issue, but Adama's look of hurt traps me.

For the past two years, he's been like a father to me. Supported me when we lost Zak, kept me on the Galactica even after Tigh threatened to throw me off.

It was difficult to look him in the eye as I told him Zak busted three of the test maneuvers, that he should have failed but I passed him. I broke eye contact. I tried to get him to understand…I was so in love with Zak, I couldn't bear to be the one who crushed him.

My secret was out, I tearfully gathered the courage to face my punishment. But whatever I was expecting, there was no way I could have prepared for the hatred contorting the Commander's face. Between the stony eyes and monotone voice, it was the quiet edge in his even speech that was most unnerving.

He told me to reinstate the trainees, do my job and leave the cabin while I still could. He's never threatened me before.

I betrayed him.

He may never forgive me.

I don't blame him.

If Lee hadn't slipped up, he may never have known the truth.

I got out of there as quickly as I could, feeling broken, weak. I was crying, far from the tough-girl façade people know as Starbuck.

I'm alone in my rack writing this. Still sniffling, smiling weakly at the thought of the pathetic scene I must be making. Lords, if Lee were to walk in and see me now…

I am going to fix this. If it's possible, I promise I will. I'll go wash up and pull on my flight suit. Grab the nuggets; let 'em know they're back in the cockpit, starting with Kat, Chuckles and Hot Dog. I'll make them into one hell of a squadron if it's the last thing I do. I'll earn the Old Man's forgiveness if I have to spend the rest of my wretched life atoning for my sin.

And I am going to take out all my shame, all my anger, all my pain on the Cylons. Frak, they had better stay out of my way. I swear, the next time they have the nerve to show their crescent-shaped selves in my sights, I will make them sorry they ever decided to mess with the likes of Starbuck.

Entry 5 - "You Can't Go Home Again"

What's the old saying? Something along the lines of "Be careful what you wish for." Yeah. Somebody should have told me that. No, really, somebody should have pounded that into my head, hard. Because I shouldn't be alive, should not be writing this now.

I should be dead, my lifeless body freezing over on some inhospitable moon. I should have suffocated hours ago. But here I am, breathing, laughing…just glad to be alive. On the Galactica. Granted, in sickbay and pumped full of drugs, but onboard the Galactica nonetheless.

The thing I most feel like doing at the moment is dropping to the floor and kissing the deck. I would, too, but Dr. Cottle thinks I'm nuts enough, and even with the painkillers, my busted knee smarts like hell.

Last entry, I promised there'd be hell to pay if the Cylons dared show up. I made good on my word and nearly paid for it with my life.

Three of the nuggets and I were out going over test maneuvers when an incoming Raider party appeared. Had the nuggets punch in for home before I flipped around and engaged all eight.

I think…I was trying to redeem myself. I had so much rage, so much guilt pent up in me - I gave myself no choice but to do battle. Because deep down, I realized the Old Man could never forgive me, that I could not bear to face Lee's pity.

Maybe I had an unconscious death wish. Maybe I'm just impulsive.

Hot Dog disobeyed orders, came back for me. He actually managed to take out one of the Raiders before taking a hit himself. Now that I think about it, had Hot Dog not been foolish enough to come back, I might have been KIA. I owe that crazy kid one. He also earned himself a long lecture on the importance of following orders. ;P

The odds were 8 to 1. After Hot Dog's stint, 7 to 1. Still, absurd odds. Even for an exceptional pilot like myself, pretty near frakking impossible. I guess it was the adrenaline rush. You know, people in life or death situations are capable of superhuman feats, that kind of thing. Either that, or the gods were feeling awfully bad about the Holocaust, because I somehow managed to bring down all but one of the Raiders.

Of course, my wireless transponder just had to cut out at that point.

Ironically, during the one-on-one dogfight, the shot that brought the enemy Raider down took my Viper with it. The crescent wreak thumped my bird over the head - "every action has an equal reaction" - my screen went dead and we spiraled downward toward some lonely moon.

Tigh stopped by earlier, told me I was lucky I hadn't fallen prey to the gravitational pull of a nearby star instead. Would have fried me "like an egg." Bet he would have liked that.

There have been very few times when I have felt fear. Falling was one of those times. It wasn't so much the fact that the G-force was crushing me or the knowledge that my Viper was disintegrating; burning apart in the alien atmosphere around me. It was just so sudden…psychologically I was in shock. Avoiding being blown to bits during Cylon dogfights - that I can handle. It's familiar, risky - yes, but it's predictable, I'm experienced. Falling, I had no control, my altimeter was broken, I could barely move or breathe due to the pressure of falling so fast. It was unknown, unfamiliar. The kind of emergency procedure they skim over at the academy, never expecting you to need it.

And the last time something like this happened, Zak died.

As I struggled to reach the ejection lever, the events I wrote about last entry flashed through my mind. There was a brief, sharp pain in my heart when I realized I might never see Lee or the Old Man again. Then I had pulled the lever, was ejected, in freefall. As a child, I dreamed of sky diving, but not like this. Not like this.

When I came to, shivering from the cold, the first thing I was aware of was the ache in my knee that was becoming more persistent. Then the fact that I was being dragged. Quite uncomfortable. I hit a couple of rocks before I realized the incredible gusts of wind had turned my life-saving parachute into a death trap. After a frantic struggle, my cut parachute flew down a canyon while I, thankfully, did not.

Everything on the frakking moon was yellow. At least what I could see of it, anyway. Due to the swirling clouds of yellow crap, visibility ended about 3 feet from my face. Not exactly a Caprican resort, and I didn't plan on an extended stay. Unfortunately, my plane was infinitely delayed, smoldering under a cover of yellow dust. My communications equipment, like my knee, had not survived landing. Fortunately, my knee was salvageable for the time being with some yellow tape.

The air was not only yellow, it was unbreathable. So in addition to having to worry about hypothermia or falling off a cliff, I had to hurry before I ran out of O2. Ah well, at least I could walk. Sort of. My knee felt like it was imploding, but the tape held and the fact that my survival depended on getting to higher ground where a search team would hopefully spot me kept me hobbling.

Can't say it was pleasant, but I did get to see some interesting things along the way. During my "expedition," I must have tripped over a dozen rocks, walked into a couple more and almost stepped on a geyser spouting poison gas. No sign of life anywhere. I guess it's just us and the Cylons in the universe (if walking, shooting toasters are considered animate).

Countless hours and most of my O2 later, I was running low on hope but not about to give up yet. Ask Lee, the Old Man, Boomer, even Tigh; I never give up once I set my mind to something. So I swallowed my stubborn pride and said a prayer.

I've never been a very religious person. After Zak's death, I tried church out, but between bouts of depression, cigar-smoking and constantly landing in the brig, the chaplain didn't care too much about me.

Occasionally though, I've found myself talking to the gods. I'm lucky to be alive. Very lucky. Too lucky for it just to be luck. The Lords of Kobol must be watching out for me. But the gods don't make things easier, they provide the opportunity for me to help myself. I don't believe in destiny, but I like to think there are higher powers out there somewhere. Still, I earn my own luck, just like gambling over a game of cards. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but I'll do what I can to win.

When I stepped over that ridge and saw the downed Raider, I knew it was my ticket home. There was no question, no doubt in my mind. O2 was the only concern.

I approached the immobilized Cylon Raider with a mix of caution and wonder. It was the enemy, the reason I was stranded in the first place. It was also a sleek, elusive mystery, mine to study and the only chance of going home.

It was dead, the single shot to its head evidence of the dogfight that had brought both of us down. Underneath was a hatch. When it opened, instead of wires, there was flesh. It didn't make sense. The Cylons were machines, overgrown toasters. In front of me was clearly what had once been a living organism flying a metalloid shell. When stabbed, the flesh oozed fluid.

Inside the Raider was a skeletal carcass. That the Cylon fighter was biological wasn't so bad once my air supply neared bingo oxygen. The Raider had once needed to breathe, I needed to figure out how.

Don't remember how much later it was when I found myself running short on breath. Zero O2. I was so close to death. Suffocating was worse than falling. I was like a fish out of water…I opened my mouth wide, wider, gasping, frantically straining to breathe, but there was nothing for me to take in. My chest was on fire, my lungs inflamed with pain, head spinning. Then, drowsily, a calm thought - I'm going to die. Another rush - no, no, no! Desperately, I slashed at a mass of cables. Gas was escaping out of one of the cut lines…oxygen. Just in time. I put the end in my mouth and inhaled deeply. Until then, I never knew a simple task like breathing could feel so good, never realized how delicious air really is.

Sucking on an alien oxygen tit, I studied my surroundings with renewed curiosity after plugging the hole in the head. As a pilot and former flight instructor, I looked for the four functions every aircraft possesses: power, pitch, yaw and roll. I found the controls through trial and error as someone determined to survive.

I knew I had to hurry before the fleet took me for dead and left. After I got used to the controls, the Raider actually wasn't so hard to fly. It has a relatively simple design, pull or push on various ligaments for a change in direction. It was strange but not radical, similar to a simplified Viper of sorts, but I was lying down instead of sitting in a cockpit. It's performance was comparable to a Mark IV, perhaps even better with regard to maneuverability. Guess the crescent shape, from an aerodynamic viewpoint, is pretty slick after all. But then again, the Raider was engineered by rebellious computers.

When I met up with the fleet, only one Viper engaged me. I had been expecting more, but it wasn't until later that I found out the rest had been maxed out on the search looking for me. I don't know how I knew, but I had this feeling in my gut telling me I was going against Lee. His reaction time was a little sluggish (found out later that he sacrificed his rack time to continue the search) and I was flying for my life, but he was an expert pilot in a Viper, while I and my banged up knee were steering an alien craft. Good thing the Cylon Raider is one hell of a flying machine. I managed to get close enough to flash my customized wingspan that I'd taped together before getting into the Raider in the first place. Yellow tape: My new best friend! (Well, maybe after Lee.)

Back on board, I was so happy I wanted to kiss Lee (giddiness could also have been a side effect of dehydration and near suffocation), but that along with smacking the deck would have been against protocol.

The Old Man came to visit, gave me a stogie. I wanted to cry. It meant so much to me and everything that happened - I knew it was all going to be okay. The Old Man and Lee had kept the search on longer than they should have. It was out of love for me. They and the rest of the crew cared that I had made it back.

Old Man says the Doc doesn't know how bad my knee is, but I'm going to make it through this. I'm gonna fight to live. The Old Man and Lee didn't give up on me, I won't either. 'Cause I should have died, but I didn't. I'm getting a second chance at life. It's what I've been needing all along.

Entry 6 - "Litmus"

These are scary times. A full-blown witchhunt has just been brought to a halt. Even now, no one knows who to trust.

It all started with a suicide bombing. The Cylon agent nearly cooked the Commander, but I think he was after Baltar and his work on the Detector. I saw the wounded in sickbay, the burnt flesh made my bum knee pale in comparison.

President Roslin revealed that Cylons look like people now. Scuttlebutt about humanoid Cylon models had been circulating for a while, but no one had really taken it seriously. Then to hear the President validate the rumor - shocking, to say the least.

Then the finger-pointing began. In the end, Specialist Socinus was thrown into the brig. I can't believe he's a Cylon agent. The Tribunal must have made a mistake. I don't know him too well, but he's only a kid! Responsible, respectful, one of Cally's friends. Frak, Socinus helped me with a ton of Viper repairs. If he was a Cylon agent, all he had to do was tinker with a couple of the engines and all of the pilots, myself included, would be dead. Then again, I heard that the Tribunal was trying to nab Boomer and Tyrol as well. If that's the case, then the Tribunal definitely was nothing but a witchhunt, because I know those two are innocent. So what if Boomer and the Chief were down each other's flight suits? Everyone knew and it's not as if they were the only ones. Boomer's a close friend of mine, and the Chief - hell, if the Chief wanted to kill us, we'd be dead even faster than if Socinus were out to frak our engines!

This is insane. Thank the gods we have the Old Man. He's the reassurance that things like this don't get out of hand. Hope Lee comes to visit me soon. Don't think I can stand the moaning of the injured guys with no skin much longer.

Entry 7 - "Six Degrees of Separation"

Well, things have been interesting, lately. For one, some long-legged blond named Shelly Godfrey accused Dr. Baltar of treason. She had some evidence against him, but it turned out to be fake. Baltar said she was a Cylon, but Godfrey disappeared. Really pissed the Commander off. I know 'cause the Old Man made us search the entire fleet for her when I could have been enjoying some well-earned sleep after experimenting with the Raider all day. Couldn't find a trace of the woman.

Made me wonder, though. How could any human betray his race to the Cylons? Is it even humanly possible for a person to help plan the Holocaust? I mean, why the hell would you want to bring about your own destruction? You don't even need a conscience, or half a brain, to realize that would be suicide. And Baltar is a genius. He's innocent, so that answers my questions.

But that brings up some other ones. Especially about that Godfrey lady. How could she, Cylon or not, simply vanish into thin air? We're not even sure she is a Cylon - wouldn't it be easier for a Cylon to just kill Baltar rather than break cover to accuse him of treason with fabricated evidence? What's the point? Why now, not before? Maybe she was a vengeful former girlfriend. Baltar may be a genius, but he can also be an arrogant narcissist. Seems to fit the egocentric 'player' label pretty well.

Like I said, I spent the day with the Raider. Well, a while at least. Tigh dropped by sickbay to taunt me, I asked him if he actually thought all that reverse psychology crap was gonna work on me. He followed it up with more reverse psychology crap. I guess it worked. Bet Lee put him up to it, too. Earlier, Lee actually handed me my "crutches of death" telling me to "use them wisely." He and Cottle were more annoying than helpful. It's just - I've always prided myself on being in control, being as strong as any of the other guys. The busted knee didn't just hurt like hell physically, 'cause pain is not the issue. It hurt mentally - not being in control of my body, that's...I'm going to have to work on that.

I finally hobble over there, and Lee's glad to see me. So's the Chief, Cally and my Raider. I'd forgotten how much she stank and rotting insides weren't helping any. Chief says to think of her like a horse. I thought goat would be better. I like horses, but goats are smaller, more manageable. She responded to 'giddy up' though. Maybe she wants to be a horse.

I'm kinda glad I hate Tigh. He made me angry enough to get out of bed so I could start playing with my Raider and figuring out how she ticks.

Lee and the nuggets better beware my Crutches of Death.

Entry 8 - "Flesh and Bone"

I'm screwed. I really am. I...prayed for the Cylon - Leoben Conroy - for his soul, if he had one, to make it back to God.

I'm insane. Mentally frakked. I know it, but I can't do anything about it. 'Cause now I'm confused, and no one can give me the answers I'm looking for.

Old Man wanted the Cylon executed right away, Roslin ordered the interrogation instead. So the Old Man sent me to perform the task, because I complete my missions and I can be cruel if I have to be. He warned me not to be manipulated. I was cruel. Frak, I had the living crap beat out of Leoben and nearly drowned him in a bucket all because he made up some story about a nuclear bomb someplace then wouldn't elaborate on the location. I didn't believe him, but CIC wasn't so sure.

I was trained to shoot to kill. Torture and death don't bother me. Yet I was not prepared to watch as President Roslin had Leoben thrown out an airlock. It...bothered me. I felt as if a person, not a Cylon, was being executed.

It wasn't because of the Cylon's religious rambling or even the blood, the sweat, the fact that they look just like us. It's because they act human, are as human as we are. The Cylons feel, the Cylons think, just like people. They know the same hunger, the same fear that we face. The Cylons are sentient beings. They shouldn't be. But they are.

War's supposed to be the good vs. the bad, and we're the good guys and they're the bad guys. But life's never that simple, nothing's ever clearly black and white. We're supposed to be the heroes, the last hope for humanity. The Cylons are supposed to be evil, giant toasters to be destroyed without a second thought. But we're not, they're not. Everything's a shady gray.

Leoben knew a lot about me. He guessed my callsign, brought up my troubled childhood. My mother abused me, beat me. I gave Leoben more of the bucket for that, but in the back of my mind, I was wondering how I could be inflicting the same pain upon someone, or something, else.

I wish it were just a video game - shoot as many enemies as you can, then it's game over and you win.

I don't know. The Old Man and the President have to be right. They have to be. Then why does it feel like we're not fighting a war against machines, but rather battling against other people, against ourselves?

Entry 9 - "Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down"

The bitch is back! No, I'm not referring to myself, though Lee and the Old Man might think so. :) Ellen Tigh, serial adulteress and master (or mistress) groper, is back on board Galactica. It's a shame, really it is, that of all the people the Cylons nuked, they had to miss Ellen.

Apparently, she got her hands on Apollo's ass a little too soon. That woman does not know how to bid her time. (If you haven't noticed, I'm a pretty sarcastic person). Ellen will attempt to seduce anything with a penis. Poor Lee, I found him traumatized in the empty Rec Room.

He finally told me Ellen had foot-groped him over dinner. I had to laugh. Poor, poor Lee, stuck with a friend like me. I could just imagine the look that must have been on his face during the incident - Lee has always been proper and well-mannered. I wouldn't venture to say he's innocent, but he's not the type to - oh Ellen, what a dirty trick.

Lee asked me what I would have done.

"Foot-twist followed by a right-hook."

He raised an eyebrow. I couldn't resist teasing him.

"Oh wait, I forgot the proper dipstick Apollo doesn't have the balls to hit a girl."

He glared. "You mean hit an old lady who also happens to be the XO's wife so I end up in the brig."

"Oh sorry. Forgot about proper dipstick Apollo's perfect record."

That's the thing between Lee and I. We make things better by verbally sparring. Back in the Academy, I was always landing in the brig for one reason or another, and Lee was always there to bail me out. Usually. Sometimes he'd think leaving me in there would teach me a lesson, but he'd feel bad and get me eventually. I don't think Lee's ever been stuck in hack once. Guess that's why he's CAG; a perfect dipstick record along with a proper personality must be one of the qualifications. I like Lee though, he's gotten me out of more sticky situations than I can count, and I've saved his ass in space more than once. Guess that's why we're best friends. We balance each other out.

I wanted to cheer him up, so I kept at it a while longer.

"Maybe what you need is a girl."

He looked at me. "Starbuck, I've had more than enough experience with girls who throw mean right-hooks."

"Are they disobedient and insubordinate?"

"Yeah, but they're also damn good Viper pilots with pretty green eyes."

We laughed. We played Triad for a while. I kept winning, but Apollo's a good sport. So we played some more.

Then he asked me about the Raider. While Ellen had been busy trying to molest Lee under the table, I was with Gaeta and Tyrol in CIC recording the signals a lone, injured Raider was giving off. We got a whole lot of info - we're pretty close to figuring out the FTL drive. Very cool. Course, fortune goes both ways; the Raider had been playing us all along, and now the Cylons know a whole bunch about our ship too. We almost got nailed by the bird on a suicide run as well, but luckily Tigh had Lee launch the Alert fighters in time.

I don't know what to think about Tigh anymore. He's hated me almost as long as I've known him, but he may have been best friends with the Old Man since before I was born (maybe that's a little exaggerated, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's true). Everyone knew Tigh loved Ellen deeply - but everyone also knew Ellen was frakking half the ship behind his back. I've only met her once or twice, and both times she was drunk. I think that's where Tigh picked up his drinking habit. Ellen drunk is a bad thing. Tigh drunk isn't good, but Tigh at least still has his head on straight. Like launching the Alert fighters on a hunch, that's good thinking. I hate to say it, but I have to admit that Tigh is an all-right XO. He has his problems (a lot of them) but so do I. Doesn't mean I like him though. I wouldn't feel too bad if he, I don't know, fell out an airlock or something, but at the same time, I wouldn't push him out of one. Call it respect for your enemy.

Ellen, though, is another story. She has Tigh wrapped around her finger, and she's the heartless 'milk-them-for-all-they're-worth' type. Tigh loves her blindly, even bought her story about being in a coma and has been spewing crap about them 'starting over.' I don't believe any of it. For Lee's sake and that of Galactica, I hope he's right.

Entry 10 - "The Hand of God"

What can I say? I flipped through my earlier entries and noticed most have consisted of me venting, griping about one thing or another. Well I have something positive to write about for once. We've got enough tylium ore to last a couple of years, all thanks to that magnificent bastard Apollo.

Frak him, frak me, thank the gods. I'm writing this alone in my rack now, everyone else is still out getting drunk on champagne. Damn, no one's been this happy since I flew that Raider home - which is actually the reason all of this happened. While I was stranded on that moon, the Old Man and Apollo burned a crapload of fuel looking for me; now we're paying for it. Or were, actually.

I'm not going to go into detail, but basically the fleet was just about down to bingo fuel. Boomer and Crashdown find a huge chunk of rock full of the stuff, but of course it also happens to be a Cylon base. It's either attack n' go-get-it or run dry n' die, so the Old Man plans an Op.

I still can't believe we pulled it off. It's a miracle we are still alive. Baltar told us where to hit and I was recruited to "think outside the box," but it was Lee who carried it out.

Lee. That magnificent bastard. I doubted him. I'll admit, I have a pretty big ego, and it was always accepted that "Starbuck's the Top Gun, Apollo's second best." I doubted him, but it wasn't so much because of his ability. Heck, he proved today that he is every bit the fighter pilot he was trained to be. He's been crowned everything from 'Apollo the Ace' to 'King of the Skies' by intoxicated crewmembers since he got back. I was tempted to put in a few words myself, but I kept my snide remarks to a minimum out of a combination of guilt and joy. I mean, I'm glad Lee accomplished his mission. I was...genuinely afraid for him. I thought I had lost him once before, and if anything ever happened to him, I don't think I could bear it. I just... The last thing I told Lee before he left was not to frak up by overthinking. Hardly supportive words from a best friend. I tried to sound reassuring, but when he challenged me, I snapped. We've never been able to hide much from one another. He saw the uncertainty in my eyes, my lack of faith, and it hurt him, made him angry. His being angry made me angry and that was the end of any attempts at reassurance. I'm not sure why, but between Lee and I, concern more often than not manifests itself as anger in our relationship. If something had happened to Lee, I would have had to live knowing that argument was the last time we spoke. He made it back, so I made it up by smiling and biting my tongue. Besides, he's probably too tipsy to comprehend much more than "You did good" anyway.

So I couldn't find it in me to believe in Apollo because I was angry and concerned. That, and I was jealous. I wanted to run the party, even though my knee clearly wasn't up to it. Over the years, I've gotten accustomed to being the best and being treated as such. It was a blow to realize that's not always the case. In the back of my mind, I knew my body wasn't up to it, but I couldn't accept it. It took the Old Man to force my eyes open. I want to say I'm not a control freak, but then I'd be lying. I need to be in the cockpit, to have control. When I'm sitting on the sidelines, even if I'm calling the shots, I feel so helpless. On the sidelines, there's nothing to do but wait. It's a horrible feeling, waiting. Must have been how Lee felt when I was stuck on that moon. Must've been why he went to look for me, because he had to do something.

I came back that time. And today, Lee came back too.

Some...weren't so fortunate. We lost a bunch of pilots today, including Chuckles. I guess that's the real reason I'm alone writing instead of out celebrating. I downed a few shots, but I can't get drunk knowing people died out there.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we shouldn't be celebrating. Hell, if anyone deserves a party, it's the pilots and Apollo - he did good. I know it's a miracle that we still have Lee, that the fleet still exists. But frak, the pilots who didn't make it home died carrying out my plan, and I can't stop thinking about it. I wasn't kidding when I told the Commander I never wanted this kind of responsibility. 'Cause in one sense, you have no control sitting on the sidelines, even if you are calling the shots. You have the objective in mind and the plan of how to get there, but you can't really do a thing to make it happen. You sit there, helpless, and that's the hardest part - waiting. You come up with something on paper, hope nothing goes wrong even though you know something will because that's how it is in life, and when it does, you pray it still works out all right. In another light, sitting on the sidelines calling the shots gives you too much control. You sit back and roll the dice over the lives of the men and women you send out there on the mission. It's your plan, and those guys will give their lives to carry it out. Gods, I know I'm not making any sense. But that's how it is, that's why it's just so much easier to be in the cockpit...

We knew going in my strategy was going to cost us. But that didn't prepare me for the screams, the shots, the static as our attack force was cut to ribbons. In the cockpit, you are given orders and it is your job to fulfill them to the best of your ability without getting your ass shot off in the process. As a pilot, you have the right to celebrate, to be the hero. But the one who issues the orders, who comes up with the plan, is the one who reflects and wonders if anything could have been done differently to prevent loss of life. I don't know how the Commander is able to live with this every day - it's so difficult for me, knowing, wondering…

The worst part is that I knew all of the pilots who perished. I've been building up emotional walls since childhood. It's a self-preservation tactic; act like you don't care about anyone but yourself so you never get hurt. But when there are only 50,000 people left, and only a handful of pilots, you end up getting to know people without meaning to. I mourn for all of the dead…Fireball…Stepchild…and all the rest of the friends and comrades I knew, but especially Chuckles. He was one of the nuggets. Not long ago, he was sitting in the first row with Kat and Hot Dog as I instructed the class on evading Cylon missiles. I was the one who gave them their call signs, the one they looked up to. I dubbed Costanza 'Hot Dog,' Katraine 'Kat'…and Perry 'Chuckles.' Would having spent a little extra time helping him during training have saved him?

I never wanted this kind of responsibility.

Entry 11 - "Colonial Day"

Politics is its own battleground. Never liked it, never quite understood it. Politicians are even more cutthroat than warriors. It's amazing, the way they smile for the vote while shaking hands, all the while plotting the demise of their opponents.

One upside though; they definitely know where to plan their Quorum. Cloud 9 is one sweet ship. As part of President Roslin's security detail, Lee and I were allowed to take a long look around. Between tanning under the artificial sun and drenching Lee with a hose, it was almost like we were back on Caprica again.

Well, until the bar fight, anyway. Surprisingly, it was Lee who started it, not me. I did get into it though. Banged my knee up, again. But of course, since Lee was the one who started it, something good had to come out of it. We caught an assassin, Vallance.

Guy was a bundle of nerves. I mean, the way assassins are portrayed in movies and junk, you'd think they'd be all cool with super sniper rifles or something. No, it was just some sweating bastard with a ceramic gun and silencer. Didn't make the threat any less dangerous though; it would only take a single bullet to bring down the President - possibly the government. Vallance might have been a sweating bastard, but he wasn't talking. Made Lee angry as heck, which surprised me. Maybe my bad influence is rubbing off on him or something. :)

Realistically though, I think Lee was frakkin' frustrated. We both knew Zarek had hired Vallance, but there was no way to prove it if Vallance wouldn't admit it. We left Vallance under guard, only to come back and find him dead, blood pooling about his slit wrists. Ironic, how he was sent to kill, only to become a loose end himself. Only meant more trouble for us. See, in the political arena, everyone has dirt on them. The trick is to gather as much of it on your opponent as you can while hiding your own. Big, messy things brought to light, like recruiting a hitman for example, can ruin a political career before it even begins. That's what happened to Zarek. He made a mistake, and he was cleaning up after himself by erasing any evidence that might tie him to Vallance. Thing is, he had to have connections to get rid of someone in our custody. Who the hell on Galactica would be sympathetic to Zarek's cause? Everyone has a hidden agenda, and that's what frustrates me.

Lee's taking all this personally. Now, more than ever, I wish we shot Zarek when we had the chance. Lee had the perfect opportunity back on the Astral Queen and it seems he is regretting not taking advantage of it. Zarek narrowly lost the vice presidency to Dr. Baltar. Too close for comfort. Zarek is a power-hungry bastard and the only person he's looking out for is himself. But he's got charisma, a way with words, that will ensure his existence as a thorn in our side for a long time to come.

Zarek has been bad news for the President since day one. She might not be worried about her personal safety, but Lee and I are. If Zarek had the nerve to make an attempt on her life once, he will almost certainly try again. Only next time, he'll be more careful. Roslin is somewhat of a motherly figure to Lee. I remember seeing Lee and Caroline Adama at Zak's funeral. Lee may not have been close to his father, but he was very close to his mother. I guess Lee and Roslin have continued that bond. The way I see it, our rag-tag colonial fleet needs a civilian leader as much as it needs a military leadership because maintaining order among the civilian populace and shooting Cylons out of the sky are two totally different games of hardball. President Roslin isn't perfect, but she's a strong person and wants the best for humanity's future. If Zarek were in charge, I doubt we would have made it this far.

On a less philosophical note, I'm supposed to be getting ready for the Colonial Day celebration in half an hour. Lee made some snide comments earlier about my hygiene. I'm going to shut him up with this stunning blue dress I got a hold of. Ha! Me in a dress...it really is the end of the world. With the hell that's been going on, I'm determined to forget about it all for just a moment. Yeah, Lee and I are gonna dance the night away.

Entry 12 - "Kobol's Last Gleaming, Part I"

I'm a screw-up and a whore. I've never been able to do anything right, and now I'm paying for it. Funny, how one moment Lee and I are jogging laps around the battlestar, the next we're throwing fists. I punched him, he hit me back, hard. It stung, but it stung good. Because I deserve it. I frakking deserve it.

Crazy. I'm crazy, this whole frakking shit-hole of a ship is crazy. I guess that's what war does to you. It snaps you, it cracks you. 'Cause I used to believe that there was good and bad in the world. That there was goodness and hope and love would prevail. Well I finally opened my eyes. I now see the situation as it is. I see the insanity; hell, I'm a part of it.

Everything I believed in, everything I thought was true, is a lie. Roslin's delusional, but at this point, I have more faith in her hallucinations and frakked up prophecy than in the Old Man or anyone else. All this time, I believed him. He's the closest thing to a father that I've ever had in my life. His words kept me going, gave me something to work for. But all along, he was playing me the fool. The Old Man doesn't know where earth is.

And Lee - Lee doesn't understand. Maybe it's cause he doesn't know. Lee doesn't know the only reason I frakked Baltar was because I love Lee but we'll never be able to be more than friends. Now we don't even have that. We used to be best friends. We'd balance each other out. He helped me live through Zak's death. Then the war forced us to become codependents for emotional support. I love Lee. But that's against fraternization regulations and Lee's off-limits, the CAG, Zak's brother, the Commander's son. Always has been. Lee doesn't know that with every man I've slept with, in my mind I was making love to him - Lee Adama. So that's the reason I'm a whore.

Boomer shot herself. I know her story about forgetting to check the chamber isn't true. It was attempted suicide. I know because I feel her pain; I'm in the same sinking boat. Crazy. She shouldn't have done it, 'cause then screw-ups like me start getting similar ideas.

Leoben said we would find Kobol. That it would lead us to earth. Why shouldn't I believe a Cylon who was just as human, just as crazy, as everyone else on this damn ship?

We found Kobol. Me and Raider boy are gonna get the arrow to find earth. If I make it, then at least I'll have been good for something. If I die, Lee won't miss me.

Entry 13 - "Kobol's Last Gleaming, Part II"

Frak it all to hell. Frak it all to hell. I don't frakking know what to believe anymore.

Boomer is a Cylon. Boomer. Is. A. Cylon.

I mean... Oh gods, the world is frakked up. Frakking crazy!

Everything I thought I knew, everything I believed...

Lies, illusions. All of it.

As of only a few days ago, Lee and I were best friends. I...I've been in love with him for a while. Then I had to go screw the vice president, all the while wishing it was Lee I was frakking, and now he and the Old Man are light-years away wishing I were dead. So much for true friendship. It's all my fault, anyway. That's screw-up Starbuck for ya.

And the Old Man...the Old Man. He was a father to me, and I trusted him, and I believed him. I could understand him telling the others for hope, but then he lied to me. To my face. He looked me in the eye, and he lied to me. The President had to tip me off. I would never have known otherwise. He played me like a fool. A frakking damn fool. He told me he loved me like a daughter. He said not to fence with him, that he deserved better. So I told him about Zak. It hurt like hell, but I told him. He didn't do the same. He said he loved me like a daughter and then he lied to me.

Before I jumped, the Old Man said not to do anything I'd regret. That's a laugh. Me not do anything I'd regret? Hell, my entire life has been a regret.

I don't know which hurts more, losing Lee or losing the Old Man.

'Course, I'm one heck of a basketcase right about now. If I weren't bawling my eyes out, I'd laugh at myself. Must look something pitiful, but that's to be expected after you've had the crap beaten out of you. At least Helo and - Boomer - aren't saying anything about it.

Frak. Everything's screwed. If I thought things were bad before, then things have officially gone to hell. I'm not making any sense, but if I don't write things down, get them out quick, I'm gonna explode. Go even more frakking crazy than I already am. Hell, I just had a nervous breakdown in Helo's face.

Things were nuts before, but nearly getting killed by some blond bitch Cylon all for some stupid arrow carrying the callsign of my ex-best friend and almost-could-have-been-lover at the request of a delusional 'lost her marbles' President on drugs and then finding out my only other friend is a Cylon - that, I think, was understandably the last straw. I can't take it anymore. I just can't.

Look, I knew the Cylons look like humans and after that incident with Leoben... But still, to find out my closest friend, after Lee, is a Cylon and has been since we met... Oh gods. Zak thought I was afraid of commitment. I think... There's a reason the way I am. I keep others at bay, at arm's length, behind an emotional wall, because of just this. I'm afraid of getting hurt. Well I've learned my lesson the hard way.

I can't trust anyone.

Ever again.

My mom used to beat me up. She hated me and I never had a true family. So the Adamas took me in. I got engaged to Zak, gave him my heart and got him killed. I trusted Lee, my best friend, with my life. I'm just a "pilot who can't keep her pants on" to him. I believed in the Old Man, told him the truth, would have given anything to make him proud. He never hesitated once as he lied to my face. And now, I have to deal with knowing the other person I would have trusted with my life is a Cylon. It gets better. She's pregnant with Helo's baby. Gods, I'm gonna break. It all makes sense, though. In a twisted way. The ruptured water tanks, the suicide bomber... It clicks now. Boomer, Sharon, my friend, she did it. I knew the Cylons looked like people, but I never thought my friend would be one of them. On the Galactica, whenever I couldn't talk to Lee or the Old Man, or if it was a "girl issue," I went to Sharon. She was always understanding, supportive, I could trust her with my secrets. I never would have guessed, not in a million years. Gods, and she was the enemy hidden within all along...

Makes me wonder now. That Cylon bitch who really roughed me up... Not to be arrogant, but I'm a pretty good fighter and a damn accurate shooter. I'm fit and am stronger than most women. Even a lot of men. Since my knee stopped bothering me so much, I'm a force to be reckoned with. I've always been able to take care of myself. Doesn't mean that I don't get myself into fights I shouldn't be in, but I can handle myself pretty well.

Against that Cylon woman, I didn't stand a chance. She was as strong as three men; her punches sent me reeling backwards. It didn't matter that I had a gun either. She outran my aim; wasn't that I missed, I couldn't get a lock on her. Those Cylons are superhuman. They've got an ego to match, too. Just luck that I managed to knock her down that hole in the ground. Frak, I've always been lucky. It's why I've got my callsign. Lucky, lucky Starbuck. Lucky at cards, lucky at life. Always been able to one up the odds. One of these days, my luck is gonna run dry, and it's gonna kill me.

Sorry if any of my blood smears these pages. At least I've got more bruises than cuts. Bruises don't bleed. I'm going to be sore as heck later. My pride's hurt even more.

I can't stay calm. I'm so frakking mad. Who at? I don't know. Probably myself. I'm such a frakking idiot.

Then again, I'm not totally to blame. It's just as much the toasters' faults as it is mine. 'Cause damn them, Lords know my life wasn't pretty by any stretch of the imagination before the Holocaust, but it was bearable. Then the evil machines show up, nuke Caprica and the human race to the sky, and it goes downhill from there. Yeah, I'll blame them for the frakked up situation I'm in. Hey, irrational anger's been the reason I've survived so long. Gives me a reason to live. Gotta survive to beat the living crap out of whoever had the gall to mess with me. Why not now?

I know I'm destined to fry in hell. But I swear I'll make sure the Cylons are cooking along with me.