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]

Kara was already working knots out of her hair, and she shook her head no. She took in the sights as she waited - or really, she took in the lack of sights. It was bleak and dark for miles, but the skies above were glittering with stars.

She walked to the edge of the short lot and stretched her leg. From the low throb of music coming from the bar, she presumed this was the only game in town if someone wanted a drink. No matter - she wouldn't need it to sleep tonight; after all day spent clinging to the bike as they flew down the highway, she was exhausted. Still, she wouldn't turn down a drink should the lieutenant offer.

He rejoined her a few minutes later, a cloud of smoke and noise erupting from the doorway behind him. Kara lit a cigarette of her own, shaking out the match and taking a drag. "All set, Mr. Fox?" she asked, struggling to see his features in the dark.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Ehh..." That probably didn't sounds good. Reaching up to scratch at his head, Bingo found himself suddenly more interested in the stars than answering her question. He knew he could only stall for so long, though. "They said they weren't sure there are any rooms left. Don't know what could be going on in a place like this, but it's going to be 'bout too late for anything if we try for Oklahoma City." Which didn't leave them a lot of options.

Bingo solicited the pack of cigarettes and lit one, tossing the bar match to burn out in the dirt of the parking lot. After a drag, he spoke up again. "Fellow inside said there's a campground here. Couple miles north. We could rough if we don't find anything in town. Or," he added, enticingly, "we could dig up some chow, scare up some drinks and just call it a settled. I'm not real picky," he admitted, though he probably left off "in this case."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Travel through the desert was one thing, but camping? Even if they found a stand of trees, Kara doubted the frosty night air would do well on her knee. If she couldn't hold the bike with her legs, they were SOL. So that left door number two.

"Let's go inside," she said, nodding toward the bar. "The night's still young." And it wasn't, not really, and if they were going to travel all day tomorrow, she presumed they'd have to sleep at some point (though Kara could remember quite a few times she'd reported after an entire night spent out).

Either way, dinner and drinks sounded better than a fire and the ground, so she led the way. Inside, the joint was fairly jumping in a tame, local bar sort of way. The bar was populated with grizzly old ranchers and farmers, but there were a few younger people gathered round the jukebox and pool table. Neither Kara nor Calavicci earned more than a passing glance, so she assumed nightly drop-ins by travelers was the norm. Great - hopefully no one in Clinton would remember them if they laid low.

Tables were slim pickings and the three booths were occupied, but Kara found them a recently vacated spot far from the door and close to the bar. Best seat in the house, as far as Kara knew.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Following her lead, Calavicci silently ordered two on the way past and took a seat across from Kara. The smoke from his cigarette mingled with the rest of the bar smoke, nearly all the patrons adding in one way or another. "Don't know what they've got for food here," he admitted, and boy was he starving. "Could use something like a hotdog." Any which way it's served!

He clasped his hands together and leaned his elbows onto the table, looking across at his companion. The beers arrived and the tender went away. "So, anyway, I was thinking we wouldn't have to even get that early of a start tomorrow if you're feeling like you can make the ride without stopping to much. I don't have to check in until Friday morning, so I've got some wiggle room." At least he was trying to be mindful of her plans.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She agreed silently with him about being hungry, but for the moment, the frosty beer was doing more work than even the steak had done in Texas. She sighed in relief and lit one more cigarette, promising herself it'd be her last for the hour.

"That's fine," she said. Anything bearing her further from the crash site was probably in her best interest, no matter how long it took. During the long ride, she'd mourned her dead bird silently, but she knew she couldn't go back for it. The best she could do was reconstruct the means to return to Galactica on her own (which would be one hell of a feat without coordinates anyway).

She leaned closer, grateful to stretch her back and her legs beneath her. With a lit cigarette and a drink, her fingers itched for cards to shuffle, and she glanced around for a game. Nothing was stirring (and even if something was, she wouldn't know the rules), but it didn't mean she couldn't find one later (and hopefully be able to glean the run of the game quickly).

Looking back to Calavicci, she quirked an eyebrow. "Let's talk about the space program - kind of a big deal, isn't it?" She hoped it was, but Kara had a feeling luck was on her side in this matter - nothing thus far had given her cause to think Earth traveled between worlds, at least not by rote. Anything rising on that horizon was bound to be pretty elite - and elite meant security clearance to Kara.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Taking his lead from her, he sipped at the cool beer, washing down miles and miles of dirt and dust. He could have used a shower, but since one wasn't available, he tolerated himself. For now.

When he lowered his beer, there was a coy smile behind it. "A bit of a big deal, sure." He thought she was leading him to boast but didn't call her on it. "I mean, it's not something that everyone can do. The waiting list's a bit ridiculous, but I'm coming in with some pretty decent rec's, so I'm hopeful, y'know?" And if ever there were a time a person could accuse Al Calavicci of having stars in his eyes, this was it. The prospect of being one of so few to travel out in space was just the type of thing Bingo wanted to add to his military record. Aside from that, chicks really dig astronauts.

"I figure it'll be five to seven years with all of the training. Navy's footing the bill -- joint service and all -- so I get to do double-duty whenever the higher-ups see fit." He seemed up to the challenge, face lit with the prospects of being the best of the best.

And now that he'd given freely, he leaned himself forward, mirroring her position. "Not that I should be telling you any of this, Kara," he mused. But hadn't they been through a lot together, already? And it wasn't as if a civilian wouldn't get the same information when applying to the same position. How could it be sharing secrets when the knowledge was openly available?

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara tossed back a wry grin. "Who'm I going to tell?" She lifted her eyebrows and took a long drag of cigarette, leaning back in her chair. "And anyway, how do you know I'm not part of your training?"

It sounded absurd, but Kara had heard from a few Marines that some of the Special Forces had been through training exercises that included such odd guerrilla tactics as testing while the Marines weren't even expecting it. It was for only the very elite groups, something that Kara had never aspired to, but the notion had stuck with her.

Not that she expected Calavicci to buy it, not when she was smirking at him, clearly making a joke. And anyway, the lieutenant was brighter than he looked.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo laughed, a hand reaching up to catch any possible beer dribble that might make him look even sillier. "While that's certainly an entertaining thought," he replied, "I would imagine you would have already failed me by now, Captain. 'Loose lips sink ships,'" he reminded her, as if it were supposed to ring a bell in her head.

Finally settling, he dropped down, losing a few inches to the comfort of the booth. When he felt their legs touch under the table, he moved again to give her the room she needed to stretch out her leg. He reflected that the last time he'd spent so much time in the company of a woman, he had been hopeless and hapless and so much younger than he felt now. Not that he felt old -- just better seasoned.

"Although, I think I'm going to have some questions to answer when I do finally check in. The Navy has a way of hearing things," something not unheard of for any branch, "and they're going to be interested in everything I've been doin' since the goal is to shove me into a tube strapped in above enough rocket fuel to make quite an impact." And rightly so, he felt, though he worried he might change his mind in the event of questioning.

In the end, would it really matter? He would drop Thrace before the Cape and, with luck (and a little Calavicci,) she would disappear and they would have nothing to go on. It all worked out in his head.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

"Questions about what? Me?" And boy could she sell that incredulity - she hoped Calavicci could do the same when the time came.

With a grin, she finished her cigarette. "That shouldn't be too hard - I won't exist in any military records even your superior's superiors would be privy to, so just tell them whatever they heard was wrong." She shrugged, trying to play it off as though her 'clearance' was so high, her origins could easily remain a mystery. Oh, if only that were true, Kara.

"Really, though, you shouldn't worry about it too much. Once we're on the coast, I'll go one way, you'll go another, and I promise you won't have to see me again." And she supposed she wasn't saying much for herself that it would be a point of relief for anyone to part from her company permanently, but she understood how the military worked - any seeds of suspicion one's superior officers that were sown were hard to overcome, so if no one could prove he'd taken Kara across the country, all the better for him. That was another thing on their side - no matter how on top of things the branches of the military were, when channels began to open between them, bureaucracy and competition tended to blur the lines around the truth. When the Air Force reported Lieutenant Calavicci's detainment with a mystery blonde to the Navy, the whole incident could be easily written off as an understanding by anyone with a ready arsenal of lies.

Of course, when Kara was looking at the back of Calavicci when they went their separate ways, she'd be on her own again. She wasn't looking forward to it in the least, and she was forced to light another cigarette just to distract herself from thinking on it too long.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Al fixed her with a long and thoughtful stare. What were the odds that she was right? Even if the Air Force was idiotic enough to believe their... fabrication, his superior officers were going to have a few questions. Specifically, how he ended up in trouble in the first place. They had warned him to keep his nose out of trouble. You think spending your nights in jail will help your chances? I don't think so, pal!

He sat back and nodded. "Yeah, okay." As if that was the end of his doubt. For as little as it made sense, he had to believe that even the least likely answer still had the chance to be the right answer.

Tipping back his beer, he gulped down a bit, then eased a little more into the seat. "So, Kara. That's a nice name." He looked as if he was thinking back. "Can't say I've ever met a girl with that name before. I've heard it, but you're the first girl I've met - actually met - with that name. Kinda interesting, right?" No, Bingo, not really.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara pulled a face at him. "Please tell me you can do a bit better than 'nice name,' Ace," she teased, shaking her head as she finished her beer. Damn, but they went down quick after a long day in the desert, didn't they?

A harried-looking waitress swung by, plunking a paper menu on the table and swiping Kara's empty glass. Kara looked it over briefly, able to decipher most of the handwritten fare. Kara planned on ordering the first thing that came to mind when the time came, so she passed it to Calavicci without a second glance.

"Speaking of, you got a callsign?" She was banking on the fact he would - it was the one thing all pilots shared, the origin of which none of them ever tired of relating. She was sure the man would launch into a soliloquy, saving her from discussing too much of her past (or her uncertain future).

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, I got one."

Aaaand, Bingo?

He sipped his beer, not telling. "You got one, too," he observed, because every pilot did. "Bet it's something good." Grinning, he tried to imagine what it might be, her name playing games in his head.

What was he thinking? What he said was, "Kara 'The Face' Thrace?" Doing his best not to laugh, he tightened up his face into what could pass for a serious expression (in low lighting.) And then he leaned forward, an eyebrow raised. "How about it?" He knew he was wrong. Pinned her for something more original (being that she was so damn cocky and elite,) but thought she would be amused by his ridiculous guess.

Really, though, he was hoping he could get something out of her. He'd been doing most of the talking, anyway.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

That earned him a theatrical eye roll, and she compulsively lit another another cigarette. "C'mon - you have to come up with something a little more creative than that, Lieutenant."

She leaned a little closer. "Lemme guess, they call you..." she trailed off pretending to ponder. They were interrupted by the arrival of the busy waitress and momentarily distracted by the ordeal of ordering.

When they were on their own again and Kara had her fingertips wrapped around a fresh, cold beer, she resumed with her guess. "I think I'd call you Afterburn. You look like you don't know quite when to quit." She smirked and took a sip. Undoubtedly, she was wrong, but that was half the fun, wasn't it? And if anyone could use a bit of fun, it was Kara.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Afterburn." He tested it out, a tell-tale smile gracing his features. "I havta say, that ain't bad." And because the waitress had brought him a new one, he finished his old beer in one fell swoop. While he knew he was never gonna give it up, never gonna let it down, never gonna run around and desert it, he didn't often think of how he looked from the other side of things. Perhaps he wasn't as opaque as he had hoped.

This was likely one of those times when he didn't know when to stop. She had already set the bar pretty high, so any call sign he did come up with (following his failure of a joke) would have to be pretty spectacular.

The pause he enforced probably left Bingo feeling inadequate, but when it finally came to him, he tilted his chin up. "Ether." It fit in with all he knew of her, and as much as he imagined he would ever learn of her the way things were going. And then he pulled out his keys and cracked his second beer, satisfied with his answer.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

"That yours or mine, Calavicci?" she asked, issuing the question as though laying down a gauntlet. She tried not to read too much into the name, but given all she knew of ether, she wasn't sure if he'd meant it as a compliment or what. Wasn't it invisible and toxic?

She shook her head, already enjoying the new looseness in her shoulders. "In either case, you're wrong." She lifted her bottle to her lips, looking at him as she took a sip. Telling him her callsign wouldn't hurt either of them - she would never be identified no matter what she told him. Plus, let's just be honest, Kara liked telling the story.

Setting the bottle down and making a big production about peeling the label from the glass, she said, "It's Starbuck." She ventured a glance at the young lieutenant, wondering if the name would have any resonance.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Indeed, reaction plus one. Al sat back in his seat, a test of a taste of his beer following. "That's pretty interesting," he admitted, trading the beer for a cigarette. "And if you're anything like your namesake - which I doubt," he interjected, then lit his cigarette, "then I don't see myself getting into much more trouble with you."

But, of course, this Starbuck was not a Quaker, and she hardly seemed the sensible, oil-hunting type. "Unless, of course, I'm being too... literal." Oh, Al. Pee-yoo! You call that a joke?

He relaxed into the corner, one foot up on the booth seat. The smoke curled around his head and Calavicci grinned. "'Course, it could just mean that filly likes to kick up the heavens."

1/2

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara looked at Calavicci as though he were speaking a wholly different language from her. Was the man talking about a horse, for frak's sake? First a poisonous gas and now a relatively dimwitted beast - his impression of her wasn't very good was it? Shaking her head, she was tempted to take a taste from the lieutenant's bottle because he sure seemed to be drinking something much stronger than she was.

"No, no relation," she replied confidently just as the waitress returned with their midnight supper consisting of ten different fried things that smelled divine and would probably make them both sick. Once the food was settled and both had subsequently dived in, she continued her tale. "It started back in the Flight Academy." Even with just those words out, Kara smiled, genuinely pleased. A little escape back to her naive and (relatively) innocent younger self, so full of confidence and hope, was just the respite she needed from her current troubles. What was more, reciting the often-told story to a fresh audience pleased her inordinately.

"See, the flight instructor had been a pilot in the war -" and gods, she hoped Calavicci wouldn't ask which war "-and he was just crazy about this one old plane, the Starbird. We all called it the 'Starbucket' because the thing was just shot. Constantly being worked on and shuffled around engineering, it didn't look like it would ever see more action than kids taking field trips to the Air & Space Museum." She smiled vaguely, looking distant for a moment. She had such a strong sense of the first time she'd seen the old bird. It was the same model as the Mark II Viper she'd crashed in the desert, so it was as familiar as home to her, but that plane was special. A bright grey color with red striping that was peeled around the hatch, it had been half hidden under sheeting and illuminated by a hanging bulb and tucked into the corner of a hangar where the Fleet had kept Marks IIs and IIIs for training purposes. Even as ugly as it was, Kara had fallen hard for it - the only instance of love at first sight she could ever claim.

"Every year, he'd take his bunch of nuggets to see it, promising he'd eat his hat if someone managed to get it off the ground. It wasn't a challenge, really, as the bird was a lost cause, but I couldn't stop myself." She grinned and lit another cigarette. The pause wasn't entirely unintentional either, as she knew this was where the story got good. With a little gamine shrug and her bright, sparkling smile, Kara looked like the ghost of the green young jock she'd once been. "I said I'd do it." Everyone had laughed, of course - back then, no one knew anything about Kara Thrace but that she had a big mouth and a penchant for getting into trouble.

Naturally, once she was sure she had Calavicci's whole attention, she went on. "So I begged, borrowed, and stole to get that bird flight ready. I didn't know what I was doing back then, of course, but I learned every bit of that plane until I knew 'er better than I knew myself. Endeared myself to a few people, of course, but there were loads of people who didn't think I could do it." She shrugged, laughing. "Hell, I didn't think it'd work until I saw her unveiled on the day of my flight exam. Do you know how scary it is to fly a bird that's been so long out of commission, it was practically glued to the ground?" Kara was pretty sure that even if Calavicci had never done it, he had a good idea. After all, if he was going to be part of some fledgling space program, it had to be the same idea. But to most pilots, apples were apples as far as birds went. If you understood pitch and roll, you could fly most anything that would get off the ground.

2/2

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Even though her audience already guessed the ending at this point, Kara made him wait for it, taking a protracted drag on her cigarette and a long drought of beer to whet her whistle. At long last, she grinned at Calavicci as though beneficently rewarding him for his patience. "Well, of course I took 'er up and aced my final maneuvers in that old thing. I turned that bucket into a bird, and when I landed, I found the instructor on the ground, sitting down to his hat with a knife and fork." She laughed again, sounding warm and young and happy - oh, gods, those days had been limned in gold, hadn't they? "Obviously, everyone started calling me Starbucket, and over my time at the Academy, it was shortened." She shrugged and rolled the bottle between her fingertips, waiting patiently for any wise words the man across from her might have to put in.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Always one for a good story, Bingo smoked and listened and reserved his reactions for the very end. The appreciation was probably apparent, because he was grinning and smiling and nodding and might have been on the verge of clapping if it weren't for their somewhat intimate environment. "That's the stuff legends are made of," he admitted, exhaling through his words. "I'm impressed." He was, of course -- that much was obvious.

His head was running like mad, repeating her story and enjoying the little bits and pieces he thought made an extra nice touch. Had it been him, he likely would have made similar choices, though he wasn't so sure he wouldn't at least test his craft beforehand. ...surely she had done the same (though Bingo wasn't entirely convinced, even with the assurances he was making to himself.)

"Better'n Ether," he noted, squashing out his cigarette in the rapidly filling ashtray. "Makes more sense, too. Don't think you've got yourself an Ahab to make the literary reference work," he teased, knowing full well that it really was just her and him at that moment.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Of course Kara didn't get the reference, but she smiled easily enough. She was feeling nothing but good effects of the atmosphere and the company, and anyway, she was too used to bluffing through a hand of cards while attaining a buzz to even notice she was acting.

She withdrew her hands forcibly from the food, concentrating instead on her beer. She was glad he didn't pry for details, because the more specific she had to be, the further from the truth she'd wander. Perhaps it was in her best interest to get the man across from her to start talking at last.

She tipped a dark smile in his direction. "So, Lieutenant Calavicci, I showed you mine..."

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

The lieutenant (junior grade) answered her with a chuckle from deep down. "Yeah, all right." He nodded. "It's kind of funny." Which was not quite how he described it to his buddies or any of the men he often regaled with the tale.

"We were flying Cougers - my buddy Stacker and I - and on our way to Ocala I sprung a leak. Oil leak." He made it sound so nonchalant, but he had been scared. No amount of training could have prepared him for the feelings accompanying that warning buzzer and light. After the initial panic (an eternity in his memory, but considerably less in reality) he took control of the situation. "I barely bellied her down in a field, sans gear, and it was lights out." As if it brought back the memory, he winced and rubbed at his forehead, a particularly shadowed spot near his hairline. There was a scar, but he rarely noticed it anymore.

"So, when I open my eyes again, I've got the most amazing sets of--" Bingo leaned forward, elbows on the table as he tried to mime something in Thrace's direction. Something rather round. And abundant. "They were just..." Apparently he was having trouble describing it. Riiiight. Trouble. "Well," Bingo finally spewed, "let's just say they were three very hot, very identical sisters. And from the looks of it, I'd found myself a dairy farm."

Sitting back, he grinned foolishly and lengthened his tale with a couple sips to whet his whistle. "When Stacks finally showed up the next morning, I'd taken to sleeping under my wing. 'Course, he had to ask. 'How'd you spend the night?'" This was always Calavicci's favorite part, though no one would be surprised to know it. "And I had to tell him: 'Bingo. Bango. Bongo.'" The accompanying triplicated gesture was lewd enough -- too lewd to mention here.

Feeling almost victorious in his admission, he grabbed himself a cigarette and held it in his teeth as he searched for a match. "Shortened it to Bingo, though." He gave her a matchbook palmed salute and a wink. "It's nice to meet you right," the young pilot added and then lit and hit the cigarette triumphantly.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara wasn't naive, so she got the picture right away. "Bingo, right. Suits you." And she even credited him with telling the truth - he looked like a Bingo, and what was more, he was charming enough to pull of the feat he'd just described. He knew it, too. But that was all right - Kara sure appreciated confidence.

And at least she'd gotten him talking; before long, she expected the booze would pick up where he left off. With a mind to keep him going, she went on to ask, "Where's Stacks now?" It was a logical place to go - she knew when she thought of those early days, the man on her wing was part of every memory.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"He's still at Pensacola. We don't fly together much anymore, but I heard he's buckin' for a promotion and looking to teach. Do a damn fine job of it, too, if you ask me." And, really, there was no reason the Navy wouldn't ask him if the question came up.

The ash from his cigarette dropped onto the table and he wiped it onto his hand before depositing it on a used plate. "Can't say I don't miss the guy, but he sorta got his own life, you know? Wife, kids, all the trimmings. I guess that's supposed to change something, but I don't know." Which brought him to thinking and finally asking. "You married?" He didn't see a ring, but that didn't mean anything anymore.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Even though she hadn't worn her ring for well over a year, her left thumb went straight to the inside of her ring finger.

"I was," she said in an off-hand matter. Though it wasn't exactly the truth, it wasn't a complete lie either. She and Sam hadn't much to do with one another in weeks, and before that, their contact was limited. It was just simpler to avoid the subject completely.

She met his gaze directly, bold and challenging as only Kara could be. "You?" She'd bet her life he was not, but then, she'd been wrong before.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Al shook his head and there might have actually been some bashfulness hidden in there. "No, not yet, at least." But he was looking forward to it. "But-but I'm looking forward to it." See?

After a puff or two on the cigarette, he tapped his forefinger on the table as a beginning point. "Can't say it'll be any time soon, though." Because he still had to make a career for himself, and that wouldn't be quite so easy with a wife at home. "I've got a plan, though. Save up, buy a house, keep it handy. It's as good as cash in my pocket. So, then, if the lady doesn't like it, I'll just trade in for another model." Bingo took a sip of his beer and halfway through it, he realized how he may have sounded. "The house, not the wife."