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

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."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Her advice to the young lieutenant would be for him to stop planning straight-away and start living, but Kara didn't want him to take it as invitation. Instead, she just nodded, attempting to broadcast indifference. She'd only inquired after his marital status as a matter of course, after all, she really had no interest in being snared into a conversation about marriage - or really any interest in being snared at all.

"And in the meantime, what? A girl in every port?" Maybe it was an old joke, but to her, it withstood the test of time. And anyway, sex was a more easily navigable topic of conversation than his future or her past.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo laughed. "Well, not every port. Just the ones that I visit." Which was decidedly not the truth, but he felt he could get away with the joke. But, of course, there had been times that young Calavicci had turned his moral compass in favor of morals; He courted and dated and occasionally he'd find himself a girl worth all his attentions. Occasion was rare, though, and Thrace was closer to the right than the wrong with her questions.

"But, hey, isn't that what us Navy guys are known for?" Um, not really. Bingo finished his cigarette early and curled back into the corner of the booth with his beer. It was getting later and later, but he was enjoying the conversation and it was nice to see the captain being somewhat proactive with questions and answers. Besides, he was feeling pretty loose.

With a thought on their final destination for the evening, he looked at his watch and noted the time. Wouldn't be that much longer and they'd be faced with last call, so when the barman went past he gave a whistle. "How about a couple shots, friend?" He offered over a five dollar bill and watched the tender scurry away.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Shots? Oh, now 'Bingo' was speaking her language. She grinned and turned the rocks glass with at least a triple swimming the bottom around between her fingers. The scent of the alcohol was heady when mixed with the fug of cigarette smoke and spilt beer, not to mention the volume toward which the small crowd at the 'inn' was nearing. The jukebox looked about ready to start shimmying across the floor with the kids dancing closer and closer.

As one, as though they'd been drinking buddies for decades, the pair of pilots pounded their glasses indelicately off the tabletop and tossed back the burning liquor. It was one helluva lot better than the rotgut the Chief's crew distilled, and it barely registered a wince off Kara. She merely swiped the back of her hand across her lips and took a sip of the cool beer.

She leaned a little closer to be heard over the thrum of bass and the whoops of drunkenly-sung lyrics. "This is much better than pills, lieutenant. Thanks!" With that, the barkeep plonked down two more half-filled glasses along with three coins. Clearly, the man didn't take too kindly to being ordered about like a waitress.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo gave the three coins an amused look, and shrugged. He'd leave a nice enough tip upon departure, so he wasn't worried too much (though he hoped the guy wouldn't be pissed enough to spit in their drinks.) "And much better than therapy." Which was kind of how all of this was starting to feel.

The second shot went just like the first, and before Calavicci got the beer down to chase it, he was considering how nice it was to just sit around and be. He didn't need to work too hard to be in her company.

Feeling like they couldn't stay there forever, he leaned forward and asked, "What d'ya say to getting something to go and finding somewhere a little quieter?" It wasn't nearly as hot in Oklahoma, and the breeze outside proved itself to be fresh and summer-warm. "Bet there's a park nearby." Ah, drinking in the park after midnight -- a traditional pastime for Al.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara wasn't looking as forward to being alone and surrounded by all that dark desert silence with Calavicci. She was just worried about the turn their conversation would take once once their tongues were liquor-loosened.

Instead of communicating that to him (for Kara knew how such a message might be construed), she merely took a long pull from her bottle and nodded toward the dwindling jukebox crowd. "You're not going to invite a girl to dance, lieutenant? Don't the Navy teach you nothin'?" So maybe that last bit had come off mocking, but she guessed he was a good enough sport to take it. That he might refuse never even crossed her mind - whether it was natural arrogance or the booze talking was anyone's guess.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Well. That was different, now wasn't it? If he were a dog, his ears would have perked. Sitting up in the seat, Calavicci twisted his neck this way and that, loosening his road-tightened muscles and popping joints in the process. "Yeah, all right," he answered, always up for a challenge (especially one so expertly hidden.)

When Bingo extricated himself from the seat, he stood aside the booth and finished the last of his beer. While he didn't know this Kara Thrace well enough to call her his best pal, he certainly appreciated how she seemed to think. "See, I just didn't think you were the type, that's all. My fault for underestimating the lady." It was as good as an apology in his mind.

"Now, I hate to say it, but I think we could probably show some of these kids a thing or two." The grin he put on his face was enough to light up the alcohol coursing through his veins. He gestured to the open path to the dance floor. "Care to join me, captain?"

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara slipped in front of him, more graceful on her bad knee than she'd have guessed. No doubt she'd pay for this little move the next day.

Just as she made it to the floor, a bass line was being plucked out so loudly, it was amazing it was only issuing from the jukebox. Naturally, Kara was out of her element, especially since as soon as the lyrics struck up, most everyone cheered and began to partner up. Luckily, if there was anything Kara did better than flying... well, it wasn't exactly "dancing", but it was damn close.

She followed along, picking out the beat by rote. The purr of the bassline tugged at her deep within, the same why a Viper in the tube or a bike about to redline did. Her smile was impish and engaging, as though she was enjoying haven proven Calavicci wrong in assuming she wouldn't (or couldn't) dance. Much of her act was genuine, though, and it glittered through - Kara looked flushed and happy and proud and like being a damn nuisance suited her just fine.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

The dance floor wasn't especially home for the young pilot, but he had spent enough time out there to know a thing or two. Grooving to the music, he found a nice place between workout and entertainment. It got the blood pumping, and when the blood was pumping, the alcohol was making its way around him that much quicker. He felt it in his head, his hands, even in the numbness on his lips.

But the song was only so long and almost immediately dumped into a number with a similar beat. He danced closer to Thrace, leaning in so she could hear him. "I'm going to get us a coupla more drinks." Because he either didn't know when to stop, or he really liked having a drinking buddy. Either way, the booze was moving and Calavicci didn't feel like being the first one to call it quits. Especially since they'd both just sunk any chance of riding on out of the place.

At the bar, without even mourning the increasing lightness of his wallet, Bingo snagged them both another shot of alcohol and secured himself something for the road thanks to a well-placed bill near the tip jar. When he turned back to the makeshift dance floor, he was surprised to see that Kara had followed him and kindly offered her one of the two shots with a reckless smile. "Bottoms up, Starbuck."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She tapped the bottom of her glass against his, giving him a bright grin. "Cheers!" Knocking it back, she nodded to the six bottles standing in a neat row at his elbow. "Want to find those a good home in that 'someplace quieter'?" she called over the music, now reaching a crescendo.

Without waiting on an answer, she collected four of the bottles and turned, heading for the door. Spilling outside into the relative cool air and the resounding silence, Kara laughed loudly. This place reminded her so strikingly of the bars near the Academy, for one reckless moment, she forgot her entire predicament.

She spun around, arms flung wide. "Where to?" Once again, she didn't even wait for him - she simply chose and followed her feet, heading in no particular direction except away from the road.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

In an attempt to be somewhat responsible, Al stopped off at their transportation and stowed a bit of cash in the event that he would find himself without. Juggling the two remaining bottles and the pack of cigarettes was something of a challenge in the dark, but as his eyes began to adjust, so did his meager sense of balance.

When he caught up with Thrace, she was already on her way down the alleyway between the bar and the small neighboring home. Too loudly, he said, "There's a--" but he corrected his tone to a much quieter level and leaned towards his compatriot. "There's a place around here, I'm sure. Park, bus stop, train station." At this point, he was well past caring about the etiquette often expected when out for a couple drinks.

Kara nodded and pressed a finger to her lips as they passed under an open window, lit from the inside by a soft light. Probably a reading lamp. Calavicci nodded, his compliance necessary if they were going to make it somewhere without alerting the local authorities. Another night behind bars wouldn't do either of them any good.

When they reached the other side of the street, Al was relieved to see that the houses were much more spread out. At least they'd be able to talk a little without bringing out the whole neighborhood.

"Oh, have I told you about th- oh, haha," a dry laugh, "no I haven't." But he waved it off with one of the beers, then thought better of himself and shoved one of them into the pocket of his pants. "Why don't you gimme one of those beers -- we can even it up." How thoughtful!

And then, as if he hadn't missed a beat at all, Bingo just started talking. "The first bike I ever had was a Harley and she was like the cherry on the sundae. I mean, it wasn't that long ago, but it sure feels like it. So, anyway, she just purred so pretty. I'd take her out when I could, but if I didn't end up out in the rain, I'd end up with an eager date and no back seat." What a terrible tragedy. Oh, how you must have suffered.

"Yeah, she was nice." Whether he was talking about the bike or one of those said dates might have been unclear if hadn't continued on. "Front end got mangled by some punk kid. He ran the stop sign and I put her down on her side and boy if it ain't true, I saw a load of my life go flying by." Bingo whistled and shook his head. "Still here, though. And in one piece, though I can't say the same for bike."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

If she hadn't thought it was such an admirable trait, she would have been wary of anyone who could lie so well and still come off so sincere. It wasn't that she doubted his story or even thought he was embellishing - it was just the ease with which he did both that was shocking (probably because it reminded her so much of herself, but she was feeling far too good to go down that road, wasn't she?).

Kara nodded amiably. "I'm sure she was lovely." And whether she was referring to the bike or one of the aforementioned dates was intentionally ambiguous. Leading him across the wide avenue and a fallow field beyond, she found a lonesome teeter totter and swing set set apart from a group of five houses. She took a shaky seat on one of the swings, popping the top off one of the bottles.

"Same thing happened to my first car." Maybe it hadn't been much to look at, and perhaps she hadn't been completely sober at the time of the accident, but it really hadn't been her fault. She dipped into her pocket and fished out a cigarette and offered Calavicci the pack. Lighting it and talking around her smoke, she said, "I broke all kinda laws in her." She laughed, taking a long, satisfying drag. "And you know, even though she wasn't very pretty and she was up there in years and miles, she started up every day, just as nice as you want."

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo took up residence on the second swing seat, tipsily placing two bottles of beer on the ground and retrieving the other from his pocket. "Good engineering," he agreed, his key jingling as he popped the cap on the beer bottle. "And somethin' tells me that you're not kidding when you say you broke all kinda laws with her." To that, he lifted his bottle to her and took a couple thirsty gulps.

Albert had no problem identifying a fellow spirit. While he had been a trouble-maker, he had never been a particularly bad kid. He could only imagine Kara was the same. No one kept their career in the military without some respect for the position, after all, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was the type who had loads of respect for flying.

Feeling his mind readying to drive the conversation towards "work," Bingo cleared his throat. "How's that, uh, how's that knee?" He didn't think she was feeling much pain, but felt empathetic enough to ask. "Any better'n it was?" As if he needed it, he struggled around to light another cigarette, the combination of that, the beer, and the company allowing him to feel right at home.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara flexed the knee in question. The booze was probably doing a lot of talking, but it didn't feel bad at all. It definitely wasn't swollen anymore, and that was a great sign. Possibly, if she kept off it enough, it'd heal on its own. Also, pigs would probably fly if she kept her fingers crossed long enough.

"Not bad," she said. "I'm sure I'll make a full recovery." And she was - whether she'd be as good as new was questionable. Kara would cross that bridge when she came to it, though - mangled knee or no, there wasn't anyone who could keep her out of the cockpit forever.

"Looking forward to getting back?" she asked idly, finishing her first beer and dropping the end of her cigarette into it. She uncapped a second, promising herself she'd make it last.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

As he hit his cigarette, he wondered if she was looking for the truth, or his closest approximation. Deciding nothing would be gained from running her around in circles, he let out a long breath of smoke and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I am." But he sure sounded hesitant. "There's a lot of opportunity there, not that I'll have much of a chance to enjoy it." They kept their pilots pretty busy in the Navy. More-so if they were up for joint service.

"I don't know," he said, defeat creeping into his tone. "Maybe I'm just being crazy, but I've been havin' a pretty good time just... driving." Bingo, feeling the alcohol opening a path he wasn't prepared for, stood and found reason to distract himself. Unasked, he grabbed up Thrace's empty and dropped it into a nearby trashcan. "Don't get me wrong, Kara -- I'll be glad to get back up in the air. But that's not really what's ahead of me, y'know?"

As he dropped back onto the swing seat, he took a moment to catch up a little and drained his beer. He was already a bottle behind, but since no one had issued the night as a competition, he just left it be.

"Paperwork, tests, committees... Be worth it in the end, but until then?" Al shook his head and laughed somewhat humorlessly.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara rocked back and forth on the swing, nodding sagely. She'd been through all of that, and she wouldn't have traded him places for anything. Still, what he was about to endure was better than the alternative - the rate she'd had to push pilots through training since the attacks was bordering on the disturbing. No one who wasn't ready belonged at the stick, but needs must. She hoped Calavicci knew how good he had it.

"It'll be worth it," she told him unnecessarily. With a shrug, she went on to say, "But you know that or you wouldn't be doing it." It was quite a leap, sure, but she knew it to be as true of him as it had once been for her. And even after all the sorties she'd seen, all the good pilots she'd seen go down, the never ending grind of training new victims, she wouldn't give up flying or go back and choose some other career.

But the conversation was straying into territory best left unmapped, so she kicked off the ground and began to swing, leaning back as far as gravity would allow. Gods, she hadn't done this in years, and though she could feel the warning tingle in her hurt knee to ease up, she pumped her legs harder, loving the way the height made her heart pound and the wind in her hair.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo watched from his somewhat stationary position, only just swaying along with her movements without even realizing it. Even now, he could tell that Thrace was different from even just when she had "landed." While her origins remained mysterious, she had found herself loosening up for whatever reason. It was comforting to see, especially since Al had taken a risk and decided not to turn her in straight-off.

Despite all of that, Calavicci thought Thrace looked pretty young for such wisdom. While he understood the reason people thought that way about him, he had to wonder what part of her past life was lending her the hard-lived knowledge she spoke through. And, really, she couldn't be that much older than he was, right?

In the end, he decided that swinging probably wasn't a typical Starbuck pastime. The ease with which she motivated herself was all together real to him, but the tension he saw in its wake told him there was probably a lot this girl wouldn't tell him. Not to be deterred from at least making conversation, he offered, "Since I can't ask, why don't you tell me something? That way if there's ammo to be had, you're providing it."