New Mexico / June, 1958 / 07:22

[bingobangobongo]

When Calavicci awoke, it was early. Too early to mention. Morning loomed as a concept -- darkness lingering in the pre-dawn hours. The horizon was just taking on some color, showing the contrast between the earth and the sky.

The drinking the evening before, coupled with the ridiculously long day they had shared sent Thrace to bed early. Albert had followed rather quickly, draped just as unceremoniously on his matching, opposing twin bed. The bed and breakfast had turned out to be a fine idea; a quiet and discreet get-away that appeared to be empty aside from the two of them.

Wiping away the sleep from his eyes, the young Lieutenant took a glance at his newly-found companion and was surprised to see she was already awake. He could tell she knew he was up -- her posture changed and her back straightened. Al squinted at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

He nodded and dropped back onto the bed, inexpertly tugging the bed quilt over himself. Covered from shoulder-to-knee, Calavicci tried to think about how nice it would be to catch a few more hours of sleep, but he was deterred from his goal by a niggling feeling. He listened to Kara's breathing, much shorter and hardly even compared to her sleeping state. It left him uneasy -- enough so that he didn't think he could cater to sleep.

"...borrow your car?" Barely there, her voice lost much of its inflection and strength.

Al sat up and found she'd turned even farther away. Her hair obscured her eyes, expression, everything the minimal light in the room would have allowed him to see. He was no fool, though: Being the type to appreciate women also afforded him insight into their mannerisms, and he could tell that something was definitely wrong. He nodded, even if Starbuck couldn't see it. "Yeah, I'll get the keys." While he had no clue where she was going, the way she said it told him he'd been right: something was amiss.

The keys were where he'd left them, half hanging from an empty beer bottle by the opener. Palming the keys, he fretted over the idea that he might never seen his beloved Lisa, the shiny red Corvette, ever again. He doubted Thrace would intend to steal it, just worried she might borrow it for a lot longer than he would have liked. "Sure I can't talk you into breakfast?" It was a puerile question in lieu of the mystery he'd already unraveled, but he thought it might help to break the tension.

When the Captain didn't answer, Calavicci frowned deeply. She had her hand outstretched for the keys, but she just didn't seem interested or able to respond. He took several tentative steps towards her and asked again, "Are you--"

"Fine," she snapped through her teeth and jabbed her palm-up hand at him in solicitation of the keys.

Al avoided her arm, small movements bringing him around her bed. Almost immediately, he could see the problem. Her knee, already aggravated from her crash landing, had swollen noticeably overnight. So much so that he could tell even with her flight suit covering it. Probably agitated from the minor amount of walking they had been forced to do while being held captive. He sympathized, familiar enough with trying to escape when there was no clear exit.

"Here." The offer of the keys didn't come without some hesitation. "But before you go--"

Thrace shook her head. "Don't." Her tone was low, almost dangerous.

But Bingo was not one to be put-off so easily. He cleared his throat and sat down uninvited next to her. "Now hold on, hear me out, all right? I think if you're going to take my car, you'd at least better let me have my say." Immediately, he could tell Kara was uncomfortable with the idea, but she remained sitting, her free hand pressed into her thigh, just above the knee.

Al cleared his throat, but it didn't help him to sound any more awake. "I know you're probably going to just... just go, but I'd like you to consider letting me help. I'm no doctor, but I can help." He'd dealt with his share of injuries and knew the principles of first aid well enough to feel confident in what he was offering. "Peeling off into the desert as fast the those wheels will take you is only going to distract you for a so long." He was pretty certain that had been her intention, and when she turned her determined face to look at him, he worried he might have been exactly right. She looked like she was in a considerable amount of pain and he hated to see it, but he wouldn't press.

For too long, they shared the quiet and the dark. The young Lieutenant could feel that she was shaking. The pressure she was putting on her upper thigh looked to be all she could do against the aching, swollen knee aside from grinding her teeth. "I would like to help," he finally revealed, hoping to take some of the stress or the decision off of her shoulders. "I promise I won't enjoy it too much."

Starbuck laughed, but it was more than that. Gasp, groan, hiss? All of it came out, pushed to the surface by his ridiculous comment. She only looked over for a second, but it was as clear an answer as Kara could give at the moment.

///

Preparations rarely went so smoothly. Calavicci took the steps in stride and precisely planned his shopping trip through the more intimate rooms of the bed and breakfast. He begged some Bufferin (a poor choice for this application, but better than nothing) from a locked downstairs bathroom, borrowed a tea towel full of ice, and outright stole a bottle of liquor from the cabinet, two glasses from the minibar, and a pair of shears from a kitchen drawer. It left him far too thrilled for his own good.

Hurriedly, he closed the door, noting the Captain had moved. She was pacing. Al deposited his provisions and fixed her with a look, dark gaze traveling up, lingering on the knee in question. Their eyes met and Kara lifted her chin. Needing no translation, the Lieutenant held off on any thoughts of lecturing.

"I've brought some things that should help." It wasn't so much a reminder of his intent as it was a reassurance that at least some relief was at hand. He took to emptying his pockets, dropping the bottle of Bufferin onto the bed.

Kara held her position. She didn't really like the idea, but she required Calavicci's help. She could have taken the car while he'd been gone but he was right: Even if she could drive, the throbbing pain in her knee was one hell of a distraction when she was at rest. She didn't quite know how to respond. "Uh, thanks."

Bingo busied himself with prep work, silent and dutiful in his task. His mind was wandering. He heard her shuffling behind him and it struck chord. That was a certain amount of stubborn bullheadedness there, wasn't there? He recognized that in the Captain as he sometimes did in himself. It would solve itself soon enough, he imagined. For as much resting as she had done, the pain appeared to have deepened. Rest would be a necessity.

His first step was simple. He lit a cigarette and immediately passed it off to Thrace. She took it, hit it, kept it and watched him. Calavicci then plucked up the bottle (it was whiskey) and poured two hearty double shots, each in a borrowed glass. He offered one and she accepted it with her other hand, leaving her without those extra balance points.

"It's a good pain reliever," Al explained.

Starbuck, hands shaking, dropped back the alcohol without a pause. She ran her arm across her chops and finally she sat. "You in pain?" Since he was drinking, she thought she'd ask.

"I'm here, aren't I?" He shook his head, an unfortunately short row of laughter escaping him. "It's a shame to have to drink alone."

Thrace nodded and watched him drink it down slower and smoother. And then he collected her glass and coupled it with the other.

Next was the Bufferin. He gave her two, but he didn't have any water. No matter, she took them dry, swallowing and succeeding to get them down unaided. Kara didn't know if it was the alcohol or his approach, but she noticed some relief. Only now remembering the cigarette, she ashed it in her free hand and took another hit. It seemed absurd to act so normally.

"You're going to have to let me get a look at that knee." Al's voice, low and gritty, was not commanding at all. It was curiosity, in part, but he also felt she would assess the damage done much differently than he might. If the roles had been reversed, the Lieutenant would have been professing his ability to run a marathon and dreaming of crutches in between his words.

Kara had been expecting it. "Yeah, fine." She hadn't looked in a while, anyway. Bingo held up the scissors, but she shook her head and passed off the almost dead cigarette before maneuvering herself halfway out of the flight suit. If it was all she had left of her old life, she wanted to preserve it.

Al tried hard not to look too intently. Under most circumstances he would was stared rather unabashedly, but he knew there was a time and place for such things and this was not it.

His first glimpse of the damage was a redness at her thigh where she had been pressing for who knows how long. It wasn't anything serious. Below that, the damage was more extensive. Her knee was angry and bruised but mostly just swollen. He could tell there had been troubles there before but he didn't need to tell her that. "It's pretty bad," he told her in the most sober of manners.

She didn't respond but she knew he was right. It would have been nice to have good, old, familiar Doc Cottle there but that was far too much to ask.

When he went to retrieve the tea towel and ice, Calavicci came back to find that Thrace had relaxed back a little more. The Bufferin was probably working some of it's magic and the ice would help even more. As carefully and gently as he could, he pressed the makeshift coldpack against her knee and winced in empathy when she did.

It was strange for him to be so close to a woman without being in a more intimate position. His fingertips touched her leg in one place or another while he held the pack; Al could tell just how rough his hands were in comparison. On another occasion, he certainly would have taken the time to show his appreciate for the female form but he, for once, couldn't put his mind of the sexual nature that could be gleaned from such proximity. Factually, he couldn't even relax until he felt that extra tension, caused by his application of ice, leave her.

Kara placed a hand next to his on the tea towel, taking charge of her own care now that he had provided some relief. Their hands didn't touch, but the contrast was enough to gain both their attentions. Al, olive and tanned, stood out against the tea towel and made Kara's pale hand look somehow smaller.

Calavicci felt like it was a quiet moment of understanding. They weren't all that different -- similar in principals and thrills, ambitions and expectations. When he finally removed his hand, he saw the look of appreciation in Starbuck's tight smile. But really, he didn't think it was anything she wouldn't have done for him.

Comments

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She waved him off, pouring two... make that three fingers of liquor into the other tumbler. Sliding it a little closer to Calavicci, Kara gave him a sidelong smile.

"We can stop somewhere." It couldn't hurt, not much anyway, and Kara probably needed a lesson in local culture if she were to detach herself from the unlucky lieutenant's hip any time soon and fend for herself.

She leaned closer and plucked the cigarette from between her lips, took a quick drag, then offered it back. "Where to from here? Not that I'm complaining, but I don't think I should linger too long around here."

Her initial instinct was to return to her Viper and begin to nurse her bird back to life, but a smaller voice nagged at her brain and made her reconsider. She needed to get out of sight for a bit, do some research, and plan her escape. And she planned on doing so alone - she'd hobbled along far enough with the young pilot's aid.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

The way she was moving around, Bingo was going to be hard-pressed to want to leave. If nothing else, he recognized his spirit in her and that alone was enough to make him feel alive and interested. He took a long, thoughtful drag and held both the smoke and the booze leisurely as he relaxed on the bed. "Well, Captain, I think our next move should be civilization. Las Cruces is probably too close, and as much as I enjoy touring you around the deserts of the southwest, I think I could use a change of scenery. Not sure how far you're lookin' to go, but I've got some connections in Alamogordo and a few more in Albuquerque." Loose connections, but better than nothing.

When he offered the cigarette back, he turned his attention to the drink. It took three tips, but he finished it right quick and set it aside with the intention that enough was enough (especially if he was going to be driving in the daylight.) "Unless you're thinking lingerin' might reveal the real excitement hidden in this little dust bowl." If they kept drinking, he thought it would definitely be possible.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Excitement? Kara laughed and accepted the cigarette, keeping it between her lips and reclined into the pillows. Addressing herself to the ceiling, she replied, "Whichever one's farther away." The larger the distance she put between herself and the Air Force base, the better.

She took another drag and passed the cigarette back. Having had plenty of time to think while she tossed and turned in the wee hours, she'd considered what she could tell the lieutenant to earn the trust he seemed place in her.

"I know what I have tell you isn't going to make much sense to you, because honestly it doesn't make sense to me either." She shrugged needlessly and glanced at him sidelong. "But I'm not from around here, really not around here, and I dunno if I can get home or not." She paused and sat up on her elbow, taking a sip from the tumbler, draining it.

With a small sigh, she went on. "So if you just get me a little farther from here, you can continue on your way and forget you met me, okay? 'Cause I'm not your problem." And she hoped she sounded more sure of herself than she felt. Kara Thrace prided herself on her ability to thrive in any environment, but she was the ultimate stranger in a strange land at the moment, and panic was beginning to blur the edges.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

It looked like they were going to Albuquerque. But not yet. Kara's revelations piqued Bingo's interest in such a manner that he lifted from his lazy position and turned to side on the side of the bed. "Ah, Kara..." He hoped he'd earned that much. "I don't know why you would believe for a moment that I could walk away from this, because we've caused some trouble. Together. Whether we part ways or not, someone's going to come and askin' me questions. They've got your plane and my information. It's only a matter of time." He certainly wasn't speaking his mind because he wanted to scare her, but the thought he was even beginning to unsettle him. He was going to his cool, though.

"'Course, that doesn't mean we're sunk. I think I can find you some help with that knee and even if we can't get your plane back, I'm sure there's someone who can fly you back home. I know a whole buncha guys from back in the Academy days -- someone'll owe me a favor." But, of course, Al just wasn't quite getting the big picture -- the universally epic nature of her words.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

"No one from my home'll be asking you any questions," she reassured him, a bit of steel inserted into her voice to keep it even. Her gaze strayed to the window. "And I'm father than a plane-ride home."

She looked away from the bright blue sky and eyed the bottle perched on the nightstand, but only for a moment. She couldn't keep at it no matter how much it eased her aching knee and the pain in her breast - at least until she was somewhere where she felt safer.

She swung her legs off the bed and put her bare feet on the floor. Stripping a pillowcase from one pillow at the head of the bed, she used it to collect her meager belongings (along with anything she might later find useful, like the tiny bottle of shampoo and a pen and pad of paper). Once she was through, she turned to him at last.

"It's nice of you to offer, but the less you have to do with me, the better." It was certainly true that she tended to be a bad luck charm, but she didn't exactly want to go into why; she hoped he'd just leave it at that, but she doubted he would.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Farther than a plane ride? All right, well, maybe he was now assuming that she must have come from some very remote place. Perhaps the middle of the jungle? Hell, he was starting to think he wouldn't be surprised if she told him she was from the South Pole.

Al saw Kara's contradictions; she acted as if she didn't want him around, but looked pretty spooked any time it seemed like he was going to leave. Hoping to settle it for good, he told her, "Hey, I'm here, I'm helping. What good is it to drive me away now?" The way he saw it, he was about the friendliest face in a military uniform she was going to see on American soil.

He would let her make the call, but damn did it take a mile of work to gain an inch of progress with this lady. Calavicci offered over the almost-finished cigarette and then poured himself another shot when his hands were free to work again. The alcohol he offered over second (since he'd likely end up driving in the eventually that they made it out the door,and it would probably do her more good than him, anyway.)

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Drinking alone was only good when there was no one else to drink with, so Kara accepted the shot and poured Calavicci one as well - just a single this time, though. She clinked her tumbler against the rim of his glass, a silent toast to make sure her didn't leave her hanging.

The familiar warmth of the liquor infused her with a little more confidence, but seemed to erase whatever sense she'd been following until then. "'S your funeral," she told him, gesturing with her empty glass. Laying it aside, Kara shrugged and fixed the pilot with an even look. If he wanted to cast his lot in with hers, well who was she to stop him? He'd either wise up or he wouldn't, and she was still banking on the fact he'd need to report to the Navy sooner rather than later anyway.

At any rate, Kara was glad she wouldn't be entirely on her own. It was easier for now to follow his lead and let him do the talking. Without a car of her own or any idea of whatever the United States of America was comprised of or even a pair of shoes, she'd be pretty screwed. At least with Calavicci's help, she could perhaps make it to a city (assuming Albakerkey wasn't just another desert outpost), and she'd be better situated to make some decisions. It hurt her heart to leave her Viper to the ravages of the heat and wind and sand, but there was nothing to do for it right away - and if Kara was telling herself the whole truth, she'd realize the local military had probably already claimed the bird as theirs. If that was the case, they'd really be after her once they sorted the signal the plane sent up was nothing recognizable as American.

That realization made Kara stand once more. Her knee was doing better (or she was just getting used to favoring it), and she crossed the room with a little something of her long-legged stride. "If we're gonna go, let's go before its too hot." Even the slight note command that sneaked into her tone heartened her and she managed a real smile. "And if we're going more'n an hour away, better bring that along," she added, pointing to the half-full bottle of booze.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Calavicci tossed back his drink as he stood. "It's a bit more than an hour." That is, if he drove the speed limit the whole way.

Now that he was on his feet, Al felt good that they were moving on. For as sweet as the little bed and breakfast was, the town was beginning to feel a bit stale and his company was getting restless. He offered over his rucksack (half packed with clean clothes separated from his dirties by a grocery bag doubled over.) "You use my bag if you don't want to carry all that stuff." He figured he might as well let her use it.

Because he was well-trained, Al went about straightening the sheets on the bed and at least gathering what he could of their mess before squeezing past Thrace and out of the room. "I'll bring the car around if you want to meet me down there."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She shook her head immediately. "I'll walk." The prospect was a grim one, but in this case, she honestly didn't want to be spotted on her own. Even though Kara usually didn't care what she wore (as the only company she kept issued uniforms to her or was clothing-optional), she could tell she stuck out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb in men's pajamas.

There was nothing to do for it, though, so she eased down the porch step and nodded for him to lead. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to remind him they needed to hurry - well, hurry as fast as Kara could go. Thanks to the pills Calavicci had brought her along with the waning heat of the liquor in her veins, she was doing pretty well, but both would wear off soon enough.

The walk to the car earned them a few looks, but none of them lingering. To most of the town, she probably looked like a walk of shame in progress, and that was fine. Pilots carousing was just a fact to the people who lived near or on-base, and no one would remember a young blonde toddling along after one at mid-morning.

They arrived at the car without incident, and Kara gratefully sagged into the passenger-side seat as soon as Calavicci opened it for her. Normally, she'd have commented on so much chivalry in such a short amount of time from a guy who clearly didn't mean to sleep with her, but as it was, she merely nodded. Kara felt sweat trickle down her neck, and she knew it didn't have everything to do with the heat - she was breathing heavily and she had to concentrate on not throwing up. She wondered in a vague, distant way is she was experiencing land-sickness.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

In the desert, especially in June, the air began to heat early in the morning. By noon, it would be hot. By late afternoon, it would be nearly unbearable. At least they'd be on the move. If they were lucky, they'd make it to Albuquerque before lunchtime. "So long, San Pablo," the Lieutenant said ritualistically and turned over the ignition on the car. The engine purred excitedly, even with the sun beating down from the clear, vast sky.

Very little stood between San Pablo and Albuquerque. In fact, very little resided in New Mexico at all. No matter. It wasn't like they were spending a lot of time looking around at the scenery.

Feeling in the sharing mood, Al pulled out his sunglasses and placed them on his face before glancing over at Thrace, an unmistakable grin gracing his features. "I gotta say, Captain, from where I'm sitting, I'm either a very lucky man, or a very unlucky man." He wouldn't allow her to take his comment as she would initially, but instead filled in his thought. "I'm just thinking -- not accusing, just thinking -- that you're definitely some sort of... scout, or something." Bingo shook his head. He looked thrilled at the "hunt," and while he wasn't particularly considering Kara prey, the chase felt the same. "You haven't killed me yet, so at least I can assume you're not a spy," he joked lightly.

Already, they'd made it outside of San Pablo. The desert stretched before them, long and looming off into the distance. "'Course," he mused, "you could just be biding your time."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Once they got going, the nausea passed, and Kara was able to relax and appreciate the breeze through the windows. She kept her eyes on the desert whipping by, looking for landmarks or something to give her perspective on the place she went down; the desert revealed nothing, though, and Kara felt as if she didn't even exist.

"A scout?" she repeated, sounding incredulous. The presumably wild guess made her wonder if it was wartime in the United States. If the rest of the place looked anything like the barren land through which they were passing, though, she wasn't sure why anyone would have quarrel with the country she'd landed in. There didn't even seem to be people to fight.

While Kara still didn't want to give too much of herself over, she couldn't have Calavicci taking her for an enemy combatant (not that it seemed to bother him one way or another). "No, I'm more... missing in action." She waved off further guesses as to her origins, deflecting back onto him. "And anyway, what would you even have to not tell me, Lieutenant Calavicci?" She turned to look at him then, arching an eyebrow. He looked young to her, but her perception was undoubtedly skewed - in the relatively short time since the attacks, Kara felt like she'd lived fifteen years.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Calavicci turned his head long enough to connect eyes with her, and then focused back on driving. Despite their somewhat rocky start, he thought Kara was turning out to be an interesting distraction from his usual pursuits. "I think you'd be surprised, Captain." But he wasn't exactly giving up the information, now was he?

"So, you fly." Obvious Al is obvious. "What else do you do? Drink," he filled in, because she certainly took her drinks like a pro. "But, what else?" It wasn't a long drive to Albuquerque, however Al thought the time would pass even more smoothly with a little conversation. Maybe taking some of the pressure off of her current situation would allow Thrace to relax a little.

[OOC: Short tag is short and you are SO much more deserving. Still, ILU! <3 ]

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

So deflection did her no favors. She begrudgingly gave credit to Calavicci for turning her own obvious tactic against her. Still, she wasn't going to give over without a little bit of needling. "Remember that thing about not asking questions? Still stands." She smirked at him, but it was a wasted effort as the man had his eyes on the road unfolding before them. She rearranged the position of her sore leg, taking the moment to think of a way to answer.

What did she do? She was a pilot, and most days, that was all there was. And yes, she drank like a champ, smoked, gambled - but those little breadcrumbs had already been dropped, not to mention they were fairly standard traits among most of the military personnel she knew. Recently, all she'd been doing was trying to ruin every relationship she had, and when Kara tried at anything, she usually succeeded. She thought back to the moments before she'd followed that Raider into the storm and Lee's panicked demands that she pull up. Icy fear wound its way around her chest and pulled tight - frak, she hoped he hadn't try to follow her. That would be a very Apollo thing to do, and let's face it, he'd have never stuck a landing coming off an entry the way she had. Thoughts of Lee gave way to vague guilt over Sam (as usual), and she wondered if he'd miss her if she never returned. Not that she planned on staying in this godsforsaken desert longer than necessary.

"I'm just a pilot," she said at long last, addressing herself to the passenger side window. The corners of her mouth lifted into a grin before she could stop it. "The best, actually." In that, she wasn't exaggerating, though she didn't expect Calavicci to believe her. After all, from his perspective, she'd just crashed her bird and ducked military involvement. She was hardly going to trying to explain any of that away, though, and since the other pilot seemed equally reticent to give over, they'd reached detente. Still, Kara wasn't going to stop trying to steer the conversation away from herself, because lying was tiresome, and the truth was... inconceivable.

"What about you? You can't spend all your time on leave looking for trouble." But of course he could, Kara!

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

The desert zipped past them, shot through by the car, a blur of red against the brown and tan landscape. Calavicci didn't spend a lot of his spare time looking for trouble. More accurately, he spent a good portion of his time making the most out of the trouble that found him. Thrace and her plane were a perfect example. "Let's just say I'm a man that likes opportunity." He was a good boy sometimes. Not often, but hey.

"I like to go to the coast, check out the boardwalk. Atlantic City's a lot of fun on a weeknight; Anyone with real obligations is usually in bed so you can find some really interesting nightlife. Suppose that's what you'd call 'trouble,' though." Al rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. He didn't think he'd have so much trouble thinking of hobbies that weren't completely irresponsible and sometimes dangerous.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at Thrace. "I like to take a turn in the ring once in a while. Work off a little steam."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

If Kara had been looking for a topic to distract herself from her present plight, she couldn't have hand-picked a better one. "You box?" She sized him up sidelong; he could be a middleweight, Kara guessed, but of course, she could be overestimating - after all, she was wearing his pants, and she wasn't exactly swimming in them.

She redirected her gaze out through the windscreen, smiling vaguely. "You clearly don't know it, but you're accompanied by featherweight royalty." She knotted her hair and held it off her hot, sticky neck, remembering fondly her many, many victories in Galactica's ring. "Unofficial royalty, maybe," she added, grinning.

She glanced back to him, trying to tell if his cheerful acceptance of her and the various problems she was carrying around with her was just a facade. If there were reservations there, she just couldn't see them - Calavicci's ease bespoke of the best pilots she knew. A true ace stuck by other pilots no matter what the cost; she'd seen many of her friends take the heat for her, and she'd done the same for them, after all. The realization the man beside her wasn't going to drop her as soon as he realized she had no interest in sharing his bed settled at least part of her worries, and she relaxed back into the butter-soft seat.

"You have any titles, Lieutenant?"

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Al grinned. "Golden Glove. City-wide." Which had felt like quite a feat to the sixteen-year-old. "Had a shot at Nationals, but it turned out it was on my sister's birthday and I'd already promised her I'd spend the day with her, so I skipped it." The way he spoke, the young pilot obviously didn't regret his decision, then or now.

He pressed his foot on the accelerator, always enjoying the thrill he felt when the car gave a tug and roared in response. Now that they had found something less... classified to talk about, he found himself enjoying the little unscheduled trip through New Mexico on the way trough to Albuquerque. "Unofficial royalty," he repeated, nodding in appreciation. He liked the title. "And a hot-shot pilot, to boot. It's good to know we've got that much in common." Half boast, half acceptance, Calavicci snickered and tossed a dark-eyed glance in the Captain's direction.

"I suppose now you're going to tell me you play ball?" He questioned her in a half-hearted manner, obviously not expecting any real confirmation. It wasn't that far-fetched (especially since pilots often proved themselves excellent at tasks that required accuracy, agility, and adrenaline) but the odds were understandably slim.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She couldn't tell if Calavicci was just telling tales about the sister thing, but her instinct told her he was telling the truth. Kara had always been quick to trust, and even now, when she could ill-afford a misstep, she allowed herself to believe the young lieutenant could (and would) really help her. Going beyond that, the guy certainly had a sincerity about him that Kara didn't think could be so successfully faked for so long.

At any rate, he seemed to have a good ear for what she had to offer in terms of fact and fiction. He'd certainly believed that she was a gifted pilot but hadn't bought her (albeit thin) fib about being a test pilot. And where most guys who'd never seen her box would have scoffed at her self-aggrandizing title, he seemed willing enough to believe she could have earned of the honorific.

Rolling with both of his votes of confidence, Kara was more than glad to boast a bit more about herself. "I do. Almost went pro before I tore my knee out." Her fingers sought out the recently-aggravated knot above her knee. At the moment, her leg felt stiff but she wasn't in any obvious pain. Hopefully, there'd be more of those chalky white pills in her future to keep it that way.

Thoughts of Pyramid reminded Kara forcibly of Sam, and there was a pang in her heart as she thought of the many games they'd played to distract themselves on New Caprica. She could hardly believe she considered those days an idyll to what she'd experienced since. And compared to right now, when she was stranded and alone?

There was no sense in going down that road, though. Self-pity never led Kara anywhere but through a very bleak night that resulted in an extended stay in Hangover Town. Tearing her thoughts back to the present and trying to consider herself lucky to even be alive let alone to have found a human with whom she had so much in common, she glanced at him once more.

"And you? I'm guessing... what? Is it one national pennant or two?" She was only half-joking, really. The more they talked, and the more she found they shared, the more willing Kara was to believe whatever presumably far-fetched story the man could tell. If nothing else, it was a better distraction even than cards.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Naw, nothing so impressive." He waved off her tease, never the type to take credit that he didn't earn. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't going to embellish his own achievements, given the the opportunity. "'Starting pitcher' was about the best title I ever got out of that. Not that I didn't enjoy the game, but the Navy's got a way of takin' the fun out of things, y'know? If we we didn't pull off a win, half the team would spend their nights moping around like it was the end of their careers or something." Such things didn't matter to Calavicci, of course; Any night he survived without court martial was a good night, loss of game or not.

Mind weighing heavily now on thoughts of Thrace's knee, the young pilot glanced over and was glad to see there were no rituals involved to relieve the pain. At the very least, the combination of booze and pills must have been enough to help. Good. He hated to see a person in pain -- especially a lady. He knee issue still needed to be resolved, but for now he'd take what he could get.

"Don't hear about a lot of knee injuries in baseball..." It was one heck of a leap, and the way he left the statement hanging would likely tell Kara he was expecting her injury from a different sport, or that she would at least correct him about its origins. The way she handled pain hearkened of many nights surviving it.

Just by the looks of her, Al would have guessed basketball; however, considering what he'd gleaned about her thus far, he wouldn't be surprised if she was the quarterback on some rough-housing women's team (and boy would he like to get his hands on the rest of them, if that really was the case.)

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Baseball? Oh, right, of course - for a single moment, she'd been able to forget she was a stranger in a strange land. How the hell was she going to lie around this one? She couldn't just invent a game she'd nearly gone pro in, could she? Gods damn her and her big mouth. Still, Kara was quite gifted in the art of storytelling (what some might crassly refer to as 'lying'), and from Calavicci's, cues 'baseball' sounded like some sort of approximation of rounding. At least, there were pitchers and bases in rounding, and of course, there was a ball. She figured she could fake it for now and hopefully change the subject.

"I tore the ligaments sliding into second," she said, trying to keep her voice flip. Praying to any god listening there was a second base, she shrugged. "I was hardly the first, though." She looked pointedly at the young lieutenant, attempting a mix of disapproval and good humor to cover her worry. "I mean, I know I play kinda rough, but c'mon - you never saw anyone get hurt?" She smirked. "Of course, you are Navy - the pros are a bit different."

Her smirk turned into a sincere smile as she (prematurely) congratulated herself on a nice save. Still, she wasn't just going to leave the subject open - any more probing questions, she'd probably be completely of clever lies. Instead, she turned her attention to the desert slipping by the window. "How much further, do you think?" Not that she was in any real hurry. She felt relatively safe where she was, and Kara wasn't eager to trade even an ounce of security for any sort of trouble. At least, not yet.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo held up a hand, almost excitedly. "Now, hold on, Captain. Hold on, hold on," he urged, his left hand doing the talking while his right did the driving. He had to go back -- to address her earlier point. In between thoughts, he reminded himself she had asked another question (one he intended to answer when he'd gotten his point across.) "I've seen plenty of guys put out for a season over injuries. Just not... knee injuries. Elbows, sure." Al had some experience with that. "Concussions, broken jaws, and ankles more often than you'd guess. But knees?" Al laughed and shook his head. "Only a girl would think to take a slide knees first." Had it actually gone that way? Calavicci didn't and couldn't know for sure. For the sake of his amusement, he had pictured it that way.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara really hoped he hadn't anticipated for her to blush and get flustered - she was really not that sort of woman. It was good to know that he could give as good as he got - another trait she valued along with the ability to lie on the spot and loyalty. So far, the lieutenant was three for three.

"I got the base and a runner in," she put in smugly, absently rubbing the outside of her knee. Truth was, she'd taken on hell of a foul on the outside during a scrimmage game - the damn game hadn't even counted.

Waving a hand toward the receding landscape, she repeated her question. "How far?"

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Their altitude was raising gradually. "We're making good time," he replied. "Won't be much longer now." It was his way of giving her an response without having to be too specific, a tactic taught (and taught well) by the Navy.

He had expected at least some of a fight from her, but had to give her credit for not striking back. And for the runner. It was, after all, all that mattered in baseball outside of the pitching. But, of course you'd think that, Al.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara rolled her eyes - she'd heard the same line many, many times before, and she knew better than to pursue. What did it really matter anyway? It wasn't like there was a clock running against her.

Needing to flex her stiffening knee, Kara slid down in the seat a bit more. There were many pressing issues battling for her attention, but before she could attend to anything, she needed to do a bit more research. No matter where she was, if she was going to get back to Galactica (or even guide the Colonists back to Earth), she needed to know what kind of technology was available to her. And since she doubted the Air Force would just let her waltz in and start flying anything she fancied, she supposed it was all right to give her mind a break.

And at the moment, there was nothing more distracting than Calavicci, so she glanced at him once more. "So you're a pilot, a boxer, a pitcher, and... what else? A gambler and a fighter?" She herself fit in well with either set.

Albuquerque, New Mexico / June, 1958 / 13:56

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"All that and more," he agreed, flaunting his self-appointed value in a manner that would make even Narcissus proud.

///

Albuquerque, New Mexico / June, 1958 / 13:56

The pair had rolled into town as quiet and unsuspecting as tourists dragging their luggage behind. The fiery Corvette (Lisa, oh Lisa) was quite the head-turning in a town that was generally comprised of hard-laboring lower-middle-class folk. There was going to be much of a chance to lay low, Al thought. Whether they liked it or not, they were the center of attention.

It was into the hot afternoon well after the car had been parked and tarped before the young pilot could feel like he was "just another passer-by." Without the beacon of the motor vehicle, Al and Kara were no longer an interesting notation in the local folks' day.

Calavicci bought them lunch. Though they ate in relative silence, they shared their company amidst an oddly large crowd for the lunch hour. One sweet-talked waitress later, Al had two Advil for Kara, and by the time they'd had a chance to kick in a bit, they were back out on the dusty, hot sidewalk.

"You need some clothes, right?" He pointed across the road to a store that had a small collection of fine clothes in the window. Nothing austere or decidedly pompous -- just the nicest of their selection presented in hopes of turning an eye. "Think you can make it?" Behind the cigarette he placed between his lips was the most endearing smile he could manage. It felt kind of nice to look after someone again.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Food and the sight of... well, some kind of civilization had done Kara wonders, and she was no longer half so pallid. Of course, the pills had helped her along quite a bit, and she was able to walk without as pronounced a limp as before (though she knew she'd pay for putting too much weight on it later).

Feeling game for anything that wasn't sitting in a car, Kara nodded. Parts of her were balking at accepting so much charity without any feasible way to repay Calavicci, but she could hardly keep going around wearing the man's pajamas. She'd earned her share of looks already (and it hadn't escaped her attention that the vast majority of women in town had been the skirt-wearing variety - yeah, right).

Never the sort to make much fuss about what to wear, she simply selected the first pair of trousers (denim, thank the gods!) and shirt that looked like the right fit. Since Kara had no idea as to what the prices on the things would be without context, she just hoped she wasn't blowing too many credits on one serviceable outfit.

Once Calavicci did the honor of paying (and without comment), she slipped into a room offered to her by the clerk and changed. Once clad in attire she hoped wouldn't draw too much attention, she met Calavicci in front of the store, snagged the cigarette from his fingers, and took a drag.

Kara had been inwardly dreading the moment she'd have to go it alone, but at least she was in a decently-sized city. She fully expected Calavicci to be taking his leave of her now that she was fed, clothed, and shod. Unwilling to delay the inevitable any longer, she leaned beside him against the storefront and surveying the street before them, she said, "Thanks. For... you know. Everything."