Postscript to Starfall by Rainbow Chicken
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Author's Notes:
This is a sequel to Starfall, which is a crossover of TAT & BSG. It will probably confuse you if you try to read this one first.

Warnings : Starfall is a silly piece of fluff & this isnít any better. ;-) No sex, but a little violence.
Hannibal downed the last of his beer. “So how’s married life treating you?” he asked awkwardly.

The three men around the table smiled broadly.

“Just fine, Colonel,” Murdock drawled.

“Even better the second time around,” Starbuck answered, looking fondly at his two lifemates.

For answer, Apollo just smiled and nodded in agreement with the other two, still not totally comfortable around his loves' CO for the past nearly seventeen yahrens.

“So, you got a case for us, Colonel?” Murdock asked.

“Nothing yet. I thought I’d let you three enjoy spending some time together for a while and let Face’s leg heal. How *is* your leg, Lieutenant?”

“Good as new. Cassiopeia’s really been working on it, trying to get the strength back.”

“And how is the lovely doctor? She and Decker still an item?”

Apollo and Murdock laughed as Starbuck squirmed. The thought of his former lover being with their old nemesis made him uncomfortable.

“Yeah, they’re still hot and heavy,” Murdock teased. “Poor ol’ Faceybuck here doesn’t seem to like it too much.” He laughed again. “And Decker ain’t exactly happy seeing us there all the time either. He can’t quite figure out if he should turn us in or accept us as members of the family now.”

Hannibal smirked. “Great way to keep him off our backs, make him a member of the family.” Returning to the subject of missions, he asked, “So you’re ready for me to start checking out new cases?”

“Sure! Just what we need to liven things up,” Murdock crowed.

“Everybody ready for another round?” Starbuck asked.


The blond rose and caressed the heads of his two lovers before heading over to the bar. As he passed one table, he overheard one of men sitting there, a big, red-faced man, mutter something about, “Queers!” A little irritated, he nonetheless ignored the insult and continued on to the bar.

On his way back, one of the other men at the same table raised his voice a little, admonishing his red-faced friend. “Aw, don’t you worry none about that little pansy faggot. I bet he even drinks imported beer.”

The rest of the table laughed.

“Excuse me, what did you call me?” Starbuck asked politely, balancing the tray on one hand while picking up a bottled wine cooler with the other, taking a cautious sip.

“He doesn’t even drink beer,” one of the others laughed. “The pansy faggot drinks *wine coolers*!”

“That’s the second time one of you has used that term and I have to tell you, it’s not strictly accurate.”

“You trying to tell me you’re not a faggot, pansy boy?”

“Oh no, I’m a faggot, it’s your choice of adjective I object to. I am *not* a ‘pansy faggot’.”

Noticing the exchange, Apollo nudged his companion. “Uh-oh.”

“We’d better go rescue him.”

“Wha’s goin’ on?” BA asked as he returned from the rest room.

“Faceybuck’s about to get us in a fight.”

“We better go keep them from killin’ him.”

"What kind of faggot are you then, pansy boy?" the bully said in a threatening tone.

Back at the other table, Starbuck said in a low voice, “I’m a Green Beret faggot, asshole.” He gestured as he felt his friends draw close behind him. “Permit me to introduce the rest of my Team: Lt. Col. John ‘Hannibal’ Smith, Capt. HM ‘Howlin’ Mad’ Murdock, Sgt. BA 'Bad Attitude' Baracus, and Major Apollo of the battlestar Galactica. And I’m Lieutenant Templeton Peck. You might have heard of us before; we’re known as the A-Team.”

“They let pansy faggots in the Army now?” the one who’d spoken first said sarcastically, then rose and launched a fist at the blond’s head. Starbuck used the tray he still held to block the punch, scattering beer and glass all over the floor, then threw a punch of his own that connected with the other man’s jaw.

As if the first man’s action had been a signal, two other tables of men rose and launched themselves at the five. The other patrons of the bar moved out of the way as quickly as possible, apparently accustomed to brawls.

Within ten minutes, the attackers lay in groaning heaps around the bar. The other patrons saluted the Team with their drinks and calmly resumed their seats. The seats that were still intact anyway.

The bartenders “helped” the fallen men to their feet and into a back room, then brought the Team another round of beers. “We’ll keep them back there for a while. We saw them throw the first punch.” Turning to BA, “Say, we could use a good bouncer around here. You interested?” the man asked, then backed down as BA just snarled in answer.

“How’s the leg?” Murdock asked as the bartender beat a hasty retreat.

“Held up okay, but it hurts,” Starbuck answered, rubbing his left thigh.

“We’ll get Cassiopeia to take a look at it when we get back to the settlement,” Apollo soothed.

“And have her lecture me about fighting again? No thank you!”

Hannibal pulled out a cigar and lit it with a flourish and a smirk. Looking at Apollo, he said, “Trouble magnet, I think you said?”

Apollo laughed as Starbuck spluttered.
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