Cape Canaveral, FL | August, 1958 | 05:28
May. 10th, 2010 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anekantavadaSix weeks had passed from the last time Kara Thrace had been at the Cape. She'd learned one hell of a lot about Earth in that short amount of time; waiting tables was often hard work, but it was a great way to keep her fingers on the pulse of happenings at Patrick Air Force Base as everyone from tourists to locals to the military families themselves passed through Cocoa Beach for one reason or another. She was even beginning to look and act like a native Floridian - during the hot summer, she'd gained a deep golden tan topped with permanently sunburnt cheeks, unlearned how to drive tooling around on straight, level roads on Al's motorcycle, and experienced a mounting dislike for people who were not from Florida. Other than those concessions to nativism, though, she led the same sort of solitary life she'd led in Delphi. Kara had taken a room in the inn where she worked, rarely socialized, and spent all her time learning the ins and outs of the base by any means necessary.
Aside from the general routine of life on a military base (something she already knew plenty about), Kara had picked up the fact Earth’s endeavor to go to space was indeed in its fledgling stage. Even if she’d spent her time simply watching television (almost laughably quaint compared to what she’d been used to on Caprica), she’d have gleaned that much – not to mention the fact the entire planet seemed swept up in it. Almost daily during her shifts, she heard some bit of news or another from NASA, and in Cocoa, NASA devotion was something of a religion. She also learned plenty about the politics of the place just from listening for tidbits about the space program. Here, countries fought with more vehemence than all the twelve colonies did. Overcrowding, Kara presumed – there were too many opposing ideologies to exist in such a small place. It was little wonder no one from Earth had yet stepped foot on the moon so close, if this had been the Caprica, it would have been close enough for a day’s shopping excursion.
One thing she hadn’t heard about, though, was Lieutenant Albert Calavicci. Normally, that wouldn’t have surprised her as most military personnel were just nameless, faceless protectors, but around here, those destined for space (the queerly named ‘astronauts’) were celebrities. She assumed Al was still in training and therefore had little time for photo opportunities or interviews, but still, she’d have liked to see him just once if only to know he was doing well. Her greatest fear was that, thanks to her and their little misadventure, he’d been knocked down to some desk jockey position and he’d never get to see the stars he dreamt of. She’d convinced herself that wasn’t the case, though, if only to keep him off her mind. After all, she had her pen in too many inkpots to get distracted for too long.
Kara had done a little legal research and plenty of not-so-legal reconnaissance work, and had begged, borrowed, and stolen to collect the most vital parts of her plan. She kept everything from plans to maps to spare airplane parts in a rented storage garage in Titusville. It was a larger city than Cocoa, and there, people paid a lot less attention to her. As an extra precaution, she always took a cab or a bus to the town, leaving the bike parked at the inn. A blonde in trousers stood out enough in this strangely backward place – if she rode in on the flashy motorcycle, she’d undoubtedly attract the wrong sort of attention. But late Friday night in August after a particularly grueling shift, she left Cocoa on the bike toting everything she wanted to take with her; she did not intend to return.
Her first stop was the garage. She collected what she needed, including the ill-gotten schematic of Patrick AFB. She’d gotten out of one drunk pilot that there was an off-limits hangar on the base, and Kara was sure if anything remained of her bird, it’d be there. She wasn’t stupid enough to let herself believe she’d be able to fly the thing out of Patrick, but if anything salvageable was left, she knew she could repair it given even a little time. She was likely deluding herself to think she could fashion a viable faster-than-light drive on her own, but if she could just get the parts and get the hell out of there with something with wings and an engine, well, she’d take care of fabrication and repairs in some little remote part of the United States. At least, that was if she didn’t get shot down attempting such an escape. There was no use worrying, though. She needed to do this, and she needed to do it now. The waiting was killing her, and even though she could probably remain on Earth, building a life for herself, trying to forget the people she loved and lost, she just couldn’t live without flying. Kara would rather die than remain grounded.
So she bundled what she’d picked up and departed Titusville, heading for the base. There were many checkpoints on the way, but she’d forged herself a passable enough fake to get through the first few on the bike, and just before the final guardhouse, she parked the motorcycle in a copse of sad-looking pines, stowing the keys with their seashell keyfob in one of the compartments. She prayed to any gods still listening the note she’d asked another waitress to send a few days after she’d gone found Calavicci before someone else found the bike, but if not… well, it was just another thing she couldn’t worry about.
She skirted the ragged treeline leeward toward the ocean. When she reached the calm, quiet beach, she kept low behind the shallow dunes, approaching the final guardhouse from behind. As she knew from listening carefully, there was a single guard on two-hour watch between one and three in the morning, and the man had to phone in regular reports every quarter hour, so she had a narrow but not unmanageable window to perform the necessary task of rendering the man unconscious. Gripping the heavy Browning pistol she’d gained in a less-than-legal manner in a sure hand, she watched and waited for the soldier to sight up and down the road into the base, then around the house. He lifted the receiver, filed a quick report, then resumed doing nothing. As she drew closer, she could see he was such a young man, probably no older than eighteen, and she felt sorry for what she had to do. Still, needs must, and Kara was used to doing things she didn’t want to do.
She closed the last few feet crouched low. When she crept around to the guard’s door, she sprang up, brandishing in the pistol with two hands. The poor kid’s face blanched, but he still went for his revolver. Noble of him, Kara thought, but she could hardly spare him now. “Hold it right there, kid,” she growled. “Hands on your head.” He hesitated, looking for a split second like he was going to try something heroic, but thought better of it. Even before his hands touched his head, Kara struck him with the handle of the pistol, swiped his keys, turned them in the lock to disengage the alarm, and opened the final gate. Keeping the keys and knocking over a few things so the kid would look like he’d gone down fighting, she proceeded on through. She knew the way by rote, but she consulted her schematic as she ran along the fence, then turned and began to zigzag through recently-erected Quonset huts and permanent hangars alike until she found the one she was looking for.
It was an unremarkable building, painted a utilitarian gray, but to Kara, it may as well have been the resplendent Oracle of Delphi. She jimmied the lock and slipped inside, finding a few ghostly looking hulks under sheeting, spare parts and tools scattered around, and half-finished projects complete on tables around the room. This was a bird chop-house the likes of which Kara had seen before, and for a moment, she just breathed in the comforting fug of sweat, metal, and machine grease. Gods, how she’d missed that aroma.
Of course, Kara didn’t really have the time to stand around, basking in nostalgia, so she began searching for anything familiar. She didn’t have long to look as it turned out. In the center of the room, partially uncovered, sat what remained of her beautiful Viper. What hadn’t been sacrificed to the ground during her disastrous re-entry and miraculous crash-landing had been stripped. All that remained were its bones and thousands of pieces and parts scattered around it on the cement floor. Despite the veritable holocaust, Kara couldn’t help grinning – it was plain to her that no one had been able to make heads or tails of much of anything. Her grin faded a bit as she realized she wasn’t going to be taking much of her bird with her, though, so she stepped away from the Viper hesitantly and began dragging sheets off the other damaged planes in the hangar.
All told, there were about six and a half birds there, and if mended properly, there might have been two viable for flight. She chose the plane requiring the least repairs, a broken-down old mid-engine fighter with a front prop. She could tell in its day, it had been a gorgeous plane, but it was lacking in anything even remotely resembling the turbocharged engine she’d need to break atmosphere. The shape, as well, was all wrong, but those things could be overcome. Hadn’t she singlehandedly piloted a Raider back to Galactica once? And that thing hadn’t even had appreciable controls, just sinew and something like blood.
Kara rolled up her sleeves both literally and metaphorically and set to work, using as little light as she could, careful of the amount of noise she was making. Both made even the simplest fixes slow-going, but by the time the sun was beginning to stream through the hangar’s upper windows, she had herself a mostly-able bird. It would be one hell of a thing to try to test it for flight on its first go, but she didn’t have any choice. As with her daredevil escape from that terrible moon, she was only going to get one chance to do this, and it had to work.
She gathered up what she’d need to retrofit the plane with an FTL-drive and secured it behind the cockpit. She still had no idea where she’d get the power to break atmosphere, but those concerns were too much to think on at the moment. For her part, it was going to be all she could do to get out the hangar doors and up into the air. The rest, she hoped, would come later.
Without a proper flightsuit or even the assurance she’d have enough oxygen to sustain anything longer than a twenty-minute flight, Kara bravely climbed into the cockpit. She wanted to maneuver as close as she could to the doors, so when she opened them, she could be down the runway before anyone thought to chase her. Just as she laid her hands on the stick and began basic pre-flight, her good luck ran out. The door opened, and below, she could hear exclamations of surprise. She hunkered down in the seat, sliding almost to the floor, but it was no good. The mechanics who’d turned up to pick up wherever they’d left off the night before spotted the fully-functional plane right off.
“Holy shit, Carl! Lookit that! The Airacobra looks like she’s been reborn over night.”
A laugh answered the first voice. “Don’t be an idiot. Strickland musta left it uncovered last night.”
Kara heard footsteps cross the concrete and she frantically searched for the Browning. Damn her arrogance for thinking she was in the clear! She’d just located it when she saw a shadow fall across her.
“Carl, you’re never gonna believe what’s up here,” the first man said, incredulous. Kara knew she was good and caught, so she lifted her gaze to the startled looking man looming over her. He blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment, then shouted down, “It’s a goddamn woman!”
Aside from the general routine of life on a military base (something she already knew plenty about), Kara had picked up the fact Earth’s endeavor to go to space was indeed in its fledgling stage. Even if she’d spent her time simply watching television (almost laughably quaint compared to what she’d been used to on Caprica), she’d have gleaned that much – not to mention the fact the entire planet seemed swept up in it. Almost daily during her shifts, she heard some bit of news or another from NASA, and in Cocoa, NASA devotion was something of a religion. She also learned plenty about the politics of the place just from listening for tidbits about the space program. Here, countries fought with more vehemence than all the twelve colonies did. Overcrowding, Kara presumed – there were too many opposing ideologies to exist in such a small place. It was little wonder no one from Earth had yet stepped foot on the moon so close, if this had been the Caprica, it would have been close enough for a day’s shopping excursion.
One thing she hadn’t heard about, though, was Lieutenant Albert Calavicci. Normally, that wouldn’t have surprised her as most military personnel were just nameless, faceless protectors, but around here, those destined for space (the queerly named ‘astronauts’) were celebrities. She assumed Al was still in training and therefore had little time for photo opportunities or interviews, but still, she’d have liked to see him just once if only to know he was doing well. Her greatest fear was that, thanks to her and their little misadventure, he’d been knocked down to some desk jockey position and he’d never get to see the stars he dreamt of. She’d convinced herself that wasn’t the case, though, if only to keep him off her mind. After all, she had her pen in too many inkpots to get distracted for too long.
Kara had done a little legal research and plenty of not-so-legal reconnaissance work, and had begged, borrowed, and stolen to collect the most vital parts of her plan. She kept everything from plans to maps to spare airplane parts in a rented storage garage in Titusville. It was a larger city than Cocoa, and there, people paid a lot less attention to her. As an extra precaution, she always took a cab or a bus to the town, leaving the bike parked at the inn. A blonde in trousers stood out enough in this strangely backward place – if she rode in on the flashy motorcycle, she’d undoubtedly attract the wrong sort of attention. But late Friday night in August after a particularly grueling shift, she left Cocoa on the bike toting everything she wanted to take with her; she did not intend to return.
Her first stop was the garage. She collected what she needed, including the ill-gotten schematic of Patrick AFB. She’d gotten out of one drunk pilot that there was an off-limits hangar on the base, and Kara was sure if anything remained of her bird, it’d be there. She wasn’t stupid enough to let herself believe she’d be able to fly the thing out of Patrick, but if anything salvageable was left, she knew she could repair it given even a little time. She was likely deluding herself to think she could fashion a viable faster-than-light drive on her own, but if she could just get the parts and get the hell out of there with something with wings and an engine, well, she’d take care of fabrication and repairs in some little remote part of the United States. At least, that was if she didn’t get shot down attempting such an escape. There was no use worrying, though. She needed to do this, and she needed to do it now. The waiting was killing her, and even though she could probably remain on Earth, building a life for herself, trying to forget the people she loved and lost, she just couldn’t live without flying. Kara would rather die than remain grounded.
So she bundled what she’d picked up and departed Titusville, heading for the base. There were many checkpoints on the way, but she’d forged herself a passable enough fake to get through the first few on the bike, and just before the final guardhouse, she parked the motorcycle in a copse of sad-looking pines, stowing the keys with their seashell keyfob in one of the compartments. She prayed to any gods still listening the note she’d asked another waitress to send a few days after she’d gone found Calavicci before someone else found the bike, but if not… well, it was just another thing she couldn’t worry about.
She skirted the ragged treeline leeward toward the ocean. When she reached the calm, quiet beach, she kept low behind the shallow dunes, approaching the final guardhouse from behind. As she knew from listening carefully, there was a single guard on two-hour watch between one and three in the morning, and the man had to phone in regular reports every quarter hour, so she had a narrow but not unmanageable window to perform the necessary task of rendering the man unconscious. Gripping the heavy Browning pistol she’d gained in a less-than-legal manner in a sure hand, she watched and waited for the soldier to sight up and down the road into the base, then around the house. He lifted the receiver, filed a quick report, then resumed doing nothing. As she drew closer, she could see he was such a young man, probably no older than eighteen, and she felt sorry for what she had to do. Still, needs must, and Kara was used to doing things she didn’t want to do.
She closed the last few feet crouched low. When she crept around to the guard’s door, she sprang up, brandishing in the pistol with two hands. The poor kid’s face blanched, but he still went for his revolver. Noble of him, Kara thought, but she could hardly spare him now. “Hold it right there, kid,” she growled. “Hands on your head.” He hesitated, looking for a split second like he was going to try something heroic, but thought better of it. Even before his hands touched his head, Kara struck him with the handle of the pistol, swiped his keys, turned them in the lock to disengage the alarm, and opened the final gate. Keeping the keys and knocking over a few things so the kid would look like he’d gone down fighting, she proceeded on through. She knew the way by rote, but she consulted her schematic as she ran along the fence, then turned and began to zigzag through recently-erected Quonset huts and permanent hangars alike until she found the one she was looking for.
It was an unremarkable building, painted a utilitarian gray, but to Kara, it may as well have been the resplendent Oracle of Delphi. She jimmied the lock and slipped inside, finding a few ghostly looking hulks under sheeting, spare parts and tools scattered around, and half-finished projects complete on tables around the room. This was a bird chop-house the likes of which Kara had seen before, and for a moment, she just breathed in the comforting fug of sweat, metal, and machine grease. Gods, how she’d missed that aroma.
Of course, Kara didn’t really have the time to stand around, basking in nostalgia, so she began searching for anything familiar. She didn’t have long to look as it turned out. In the center of the room, partially uncovered, sat what remained of her beautiful Viper. What hadn’t been sacrificed to the ground during her disastrous re-entry and miraculous crash-landing had been stripped. All that remained were its bones and thousands of pieces and parts scattered around it on the cement floor. Despite the veritable holocaust, Kara couldn’t help grinning – it was plain to her that no one had been able to make heads or tails of much of anything. Her grin faded a bit as she realized she wasn’t going to be taking much of her bird with her, though, so she stepped away from the Viper hesitantly and began dragging sheets off the other damaged planes in the hangar.
All told, there were about six and a half birds there, and if mended properly, there might have been two viable for flight. She chose the plane requiring the least repairs, a broken-down old mid-engine fighter with a front prop. She could tell in its day, it had been a gorgeous plane, but it was lacking in anything even remotely resembling the turbocharged engine she’d need to break atmosphere. The shape, as well, was all wrong, but those things could be overcome. Hadn’t she singlehandedly piloted a Raider back to Galactica once? And that thing hadn’t even had appreciable controls, just sinew and something like blood.
Kara rolled up her sleeves both literally and metaphorically and set to work, using as little light as she could, careful of the amount of noise she was making. Both made even the simplest fixes slow-going, but by the time the sun was beginning to stream through the hangar’s upper windows, she had herself a mostly-able bird. It would be one hell of a thing to try to test it for flight on its first go, but she didn’t have any choice. As with her daredevil escape from that terrible moon, she was only going to get one chance to do this, and it had to work.
She gathered up what she’d need to retrofit the plane with an FTL-drive and secured it behind the cockpit. She still had no idea where she’d get the power to break atmosphere, but those concerns were too much to think on at the moment. For her part, it was going to be all she could do to get out the hangar doors and up into the air. The rest, she hoped, would come later.
Without a proper flightsuit or even the assurance she’d have enough oxygen to sustain anything longer than a twenty-minute flight, Kara bravely climbed into the cockpit. She wanted to maneuver as close as she could to the doors, so when she opened them, she could be down the runway before anyone thought to chase her. Just as she laid her hands on the stick and began basic pre-flight, her good luck ran out. The door opened, and below, she could hear exclamations of surprise. She hunkered down in the seat, sliding almost to the floor, but it was no good. The mechanics who’d turned up to pick up wherever they’d left off the night before spotted the fully-functional plane right off.
“Holy shit, Carl! Lookit that! The Airacobra looks like she’s been reborn over night.”
A laugh answered the first voice. “Don’t be an idiot. Strickland musta left it uncovered last night.”
Kara heard footsteps cross the concrete and she frantically searched for the Browning. Damn her arrogance for thinking she was in the clear! She’d just located it when she saw a shadow fall across her.
“Carl, you’re never gonna believe what’s up here,” the first man said, incredulous. Kara knew she was good and caught, so she lifted her gaze to the startled looking man looming over her. He blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment, then shouted down, “It’s a goddamn woman!”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 02:10 am (UTC)She let his questions hang between them for a moment, mulling them over - it was quite a departure from the tone of the day. At long last, she turned to look at him. "I really don't know," she confessed neutrally. In bringing Bingo to her cell, they'd finally out-maneuvered her. Kara had really not seen it coming.
It was nothing she couldn't handle, though, and she have him a half-smile. "I'm not gonna complain if you're not, though. 'S been a long day, and a familiar face is..." she left it dangle, shrugging. If he was still the man she'd met six weeks ago, he'd know what she meant.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 02:38 am (UTC)Al felt tired. Felt like curling up in the bed in Nashville and waking up in the sun. Felt like sleeping anywhere, and holding her sounded like a really great idea. A woman, soft and (in this case not) sweet, could chase away about any trouble he might think of. Settling for what he could get for now, he maneuvered until he could reach an arm around her shoulders, offering the cigarette again. "We got a couple legs to stand on, Kara. I can make this right."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 03:06 am (UTC)"No," she replied soberly. "You just need to find a way out of here, and keep out for good." She shook her head, turning so she could see his profile. There was a tension in his face that hadn't been there before now, and it tugged at her heart. She'd never regret having met him, but Kara couldn't forgive herself for bringing him down with her now.
"Lie to them," she went on, her tone more vehement than she'd intended. "Tell them anything. It doesn't matter about me." And she wasn't being a hero - she truly meant it. She was through, or best case scenario, she was out of there. Forcing herself to calm down, she relaxed against him once more, forcing a smile. "I'll be all right. I keep surviving, don't I?"
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 07:18 am (UTC)"I didn't leave you out in that desert and I'm not going to leave you now." He leaned his head so he could try to catch her eye. "Got it?" She might as well put that right out of her mind. Sure, Al could be just as self-serving as the next guy, but when it came to his friends, he was as loyal as loyal can be.
Pressing his face into her hair, Bingo was immediately struck with the rushing memories of their time together. It felt distant, far from this place and time thanks to a rigorous schedule he'd maintained for the six weeks since. Not so idly, he wondered what Kara had done with her time. Obviously she'd kept herself busy.
And, because he was intensely curious: "You really make all those repairs that quick?" He was impressed. More than impressed, in fact, since he'd been informally debriefed by Stern earlier.
[[*Memphis up there <.<]]
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 10:12 am (UTC)"You know more than I do about what I may or may not have done, Bingo. Why don't you tell me?" Because hearing from him what his commander had told him about the circumstances under which she'd been caught and taken into custody would help her a whole lot. It would at least give her some clues as to how to proceed as they continued to question her, which they surely would.
((ooc: I hadn't even noticed XD ILU for correcting it, though!))
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 04:22 pm (UTC)And what else? Oh, yeah. Calavicci cleared his throat. "Mm, and they're sending in a specialist tomorrow to evaluate the parts you took from your old bird. Guess they figure now that they know which are important, they can try to cobble 'em together and figure out what the heck they're for." One thing was certain: Al'd never seen a lot of the parts she was messing around with. It was just as much a mystery now as it had been the day they'd met.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 10:25 pm (UTC)She wanted to press for more, but seeing no real reason to hurry, she ground the cigarette out on the cement wall and tucked the butt behind the leg of the cot. Leaning back up, she resumed her place at his side. "So what about you? How's the training?" Though her tone was teasing, there was genuine curiosity there. She wanted to know what he'd been doing for the six weeks since he'd handed over his keys, gave her a kiss, and returned to his life. Though she'd had plenty of things to keep her mind occupied in the time intervening, he was the sole person on the entire planet she felt any connection with, any really affection for, and Al Calavicci was never far from her thoughts. And anyway, she'd just spent almost fifteen hours dodging questions - she couldn't really deal with any more, even those unspoken ones in those dark, expressive eyes of his.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 12:16 am (UTC)Without hesitation or prelude, he curled his fingers in between hers. "We did some flight training." Al had argued at one point that he should be allowed an automatic pass but Stern had only sighed and walked away. "We trained some on command and command structure, learned some about our backup roles... Ate some terrible food." He laughed. "And we got to use this- this simulator! It was the command module and the buttons..." His eyes widened and he practically buzzed with enthusiasm, focus distant as he turned a little toward her. "So many buttons..."
"It was four days. Or four days worth of hands-on, and then the test. We had to label every button. Ninety-six percent or below?" He whistled along with the bombing gesture his unoccupied hand played out.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 12:40 am (UTC)Kara shook her head, clearing it, and forcing herself into the present. "Will you take it again?" she asked, giving a little humorless laugh and gesturing to their cheerless accommodations. "That is, if you can stand to leave all this?"
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 12:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 01:06 am (UTC)Unselfconsciously, she turned into him a bit more, resting her head on his shoulder. It was blatantly needy, a gesture she hadn't resorted to in years, even with her husband. But frak, if anyone deserved it, Kara did. She'd been embattled for... well, for most of her life, but the last six weeks had been one hellish test. At least fighting a war against the Cylons, she knew (mostly) who the enemy was, and she could fly. Stranded on Earth? Completely alone? Kara was going a bit mad living inside her own head, and if someone would simply sit with her, trading jokes, draping a heavy arm across her shoulders? Well, she was going to relish it while she could.
"So what's next?" she asked, closing her eyes and readying herself to just listen to the rumble of his voice. "After wilderness training in... in Maine?"
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 01:28 am (UTC)"And then, suits, which sounds like it's going to be a blast. Heard they're trying out some new designs with much higher mobility." It filled Al with a whole bunch of pride he knew he shouldn't dwell upon, but damn, it felt good sometimes.
He moved to kiss the top of her head and then resumed his previous position. "But, anything resembling actual space flight is years off. I've got plenty of time to fuck up between now and then."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 02:01 am (UTC)She couldn't tell him how close it was, though; he might not believe her for one thing, and for another, she just couldn't give anything over for fear they'd get it out of him somehow. The loss of his career was one thing, but if someone did something more drastic than issue a formal reprimand for his lack of cooperation, well... she'd been down that road once, hadn't she? And worry and prayer had gotten her nowhere.
Kara could easily be lulled by his even breathing and warmth. Despite the hot, sticky night air hanging in the cell, she didn't want to let go. "What do you think happens to me?" she asked evenly, wanting to hear his opinion on the matter. Her own thoughts were too bleak to dwell on, so she hoped Al would have some good news for her.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 02:33 am (UTC)It wasn't like there weren't options. He could definitely find a loophole with enough time. Too bad time was of the essence.
"You know, they actually made Gibbons stay behind? The guy that brought me in? He's like my... saddlebags. Guy's smart but..." Al smirked. "Bunch of nozzles, you know? Making Gibbs wait for me just isn't right. Can't blame the guy for being sore." He stopped for a moment, reflecting, and when he went on, he sounded a bit more tired than before. "I mean, he's on the line. Don't think he'll make it up there without me, but taking away his chance to try just to make me feel rotten." And he did, no doubt because the U.S. Navy wanted it that way.
But, Calavicci wasn't to be deterred. "Doesn't matter. I can fix it." So confident!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-16 02:13 am (UTC)"What's your brilliant plan to save everyone, Lieutenant?" she asked, her tone wry, but she was really hoping he had one; so far, her tactical strategy of deny, deny, deny had gotten her nowhere, and would likely leave her in the same place. If Al had any insight on how they could escape unscathed, she was all ears.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-16 02:54 am (UTC)The cot was hardly large, but Al thought they'd be able to share, and since he doubted Thrace would mind being close, he urged her to move so they could readjust their positions. It bought him a little time (even if he wasn't dumb enough to assume Kara didn't recognize his need to stall.) Thrace obliged the move and Al thought she really looked like she could use a good night of sleep and a decent meal.
"Give me the night, yeah? I'll tell you in the morning," he finally replied, settling himself between her and the wall. It was a little awkward, but Calavicci weighed the benefits and decided that discomfort and the company of a woman would probably always win over comfort and sleeping alone.
One arm pulled pillow-duty and he used the other to stroke at her hair (as much for his benefit as for hers.) Maybe she'd sleep and he'd be able to set his mind solely to the task at hand. Or, knowing Bingo, he'll get cozy, fall asleep as well, and come up with something while on his way to pull off said "something."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-16 03:33 am (UTC)When she woke, for a long, wonderful moment, she thought she was home, in her bunk aboard Galactica - the bed was certainly uncomfortable enough. Of course, a blinking look around the cell reminded her of everything that had led her to this point, and that Calavicci was gone did little to cheer her. She didn't expect anything else, but still, Kara would rather have woken up beside him than alone.
She stood and stretched leisurely, crossing to the door and straining to see anyone on hand. As if on cue, footsteps approached, the sound followed shortly by the appearance of Foster, grinning darkly at her. She was glad to see, despite the man's apparent cheer, he was wearing a plaster on his chin.
"Morning, sir," she said, popping a cocky salute.
"Save it, Thrace," he returned, moving to open the cell. "You have a meeting with the Commander this morning, and you better start practicing your curtsy."