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

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

They managed to wait almost two hours before making a stop. Most of the ride had been spent seated in a comfortable silence. For once, Bingo didn't mind being out of the driver's seat; Kara had proven herself quite capable. Had it been many other women, he wouldn't have ever given up the keys.

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma became their lunch destination, since breakfast was long past. Everything went smoothly, allowing the two unassuming pilots-in-civvies to slip in and out of town without incident.

It was right around dinnertime when Calavicci began to realize that no matter how hard they pushed, the time allotted for the remainder of their trip was running short. Two days worth of twelve-plus hours of driving was doable, but not nearly as easily on a motorcycle. They made better time, but found themselves stopping more often to stretch their legs and get rid of some of the kinks in their bodies.

By the time they rolled into Memphis, Tennessee, it was well into the dinner hour. Bingo signaled their stop -- a small general store, alight in pinks and reds thanks to a rather bright neon sign out front. If anything, Al loved Memphis for it's color. "That's some good ridin' today, Starbuck, but if I don't find myself a shower, a change of clothes, and some proper rest soon, we're going to be in for one miserable ride tomorrow." He could only just imagine the angry muscles of tomorrow compounding on the angry muscles still remaining from today and the days before. He reached back, grasping the back of his neck and squeezing the muscles as he daydreamed over the idea of a cute little masseuse with a tight little tush taking care of him. "You on board with that?" He asked it as if it didn't matter, because it didn't. As far as she'd said, she had no solid plans. The only one the stop was going to fuck over was him. He'd just have to call in, let 'em know he'd be late, and then hope for the best.

Already, he was buttoning up the bike. He took the twenty dollar bill he'd stowed the evening before, offering it over to Thrace. "You might as well take this. I know you got nothin', so at least if we get separated, you can call a cab. Just let me know if you need more." He never was the selfish type; he'd give her all the money he had, simply because he rarely had time to spend it, and he was always making more.

He gestured at the hokey little general store, The Memphis Merchant, and told her, "For now, I'm going to get us some smokes and see what else I can find. Maybe they'll be able to point us towards a nice sit-down place, too."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara took the bill and stashed it in her pocket with a murmured thanks. She'd been quietly keeping track of the notes he used - the numbers were simple enough to grasp, but the cost of things was either ridiculously low in this place or the money was worth an awful lot. Either way, she'd never even seen him use a note marked 'twenty,' she assumed it was worth a lot. She doubted she'd ever be able to repay him - frak, she didn't even know if she'd see him again after tomorrow - but she intended to do her best to do so.

When he disappeared into the general store, she naturally couldn't help wandering just a bit. Two doors down, there was a shop that seemed to sell nothing by 'space-age' appliances. They sure looked like something out of a pulp novel about the future to Kara, but there sure as hell had nothing to do with space. Beyond that, there was a coin-operated laundry, and just one more down sat a dusty-looking secondhand. Figuring she needed a change of clothes since all she had was on the floor of Al Calavicci's car two thousand miles back, she nipped inside.

Dust swam in the murky light inside the store, and the place reeked of old things usually found in attics or basements. Kara always liked the atmosphere of such places - they reminded her of her dad's junky old loft with its many well-loved pieces of furniture and broken down recording equipment he was always halfway done with repairing. She didn't want Calavicci to think she'd run off on him, though, so she stepped out of her reverie and bypassed the many tables and racks, heading straight back to where the clothing had been hung.

She selected another pair of trousers - twill, she guessed as they felt like her dress uniform - and a cotton blouse that was feminine enough she wouldn't stand out too much. She turned to carry the items to the counter when a swatch of blue caught her eye. A dress was a frivolous waste of the money Calavicci had given her, it really was, and Kara wasn't the dress-wearing type. However, her companion had said 'sit-down' for dinner, hadn't he? She'd already surmised it was out of the ordinary for women to wear pants, and she supposed she'd attract far too many unwelcome stares if she were to wear slacks anywhere that didn't cater to a jukebox-loving crowd. So really, the dress was a completely practical purchase (at least, that's how Kara justified spending a quarter of her cash on a pretty dress that was just a gorgeous shade of blue).

She paid for her purchases and went back onto the street just in time to see the young lieutenant surveying the spot he'd last left her with dismay. "Lose something?" she asked sweetly, joining him.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo smiled at her question. "Guess not." But, of course, he hadn't thought she'd robbed him -- just maybe that she'd slipped away to make it a little easier on both of them. He wouldn't have liked it much, but he wouldn't have blamed her, either. Lots of people liked to solve their problems by just walking away, himself included.

He leaned to try to peek into her bag, but Kara put a hand on his chest and firmly pressed him back into place. Bingo raised an eyebrow and then fished out a cigarette to think over. "Whatcha got there? No, wait, I don't wanna know," he tagged onto the end. "I keep forgetting, the less I know, the better." Which seemed almost like a complete joke at his point. The young lieutenant was beginning to think he knew Kara Thrace better than a lot of his long-time buddies.

Bingo lit and puffed at his cigarette, then turned on his heel and looked around. He couldn't quite wait to take Kara around Memphis, a city he had visited many-a-time. Life there was rich and interesting and no matter what direction she chose, they'd be afforded a great number of options. "Let's find a place to sleep first. I'll follow your lead."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, 'cause you really agreed with my last selection," Kara laughed, stepping around him, choosing the direction they'd been heading in before they'd parked. She was teasing of course, and she'd be happy to do the honor of picking a place quickly so they could freshen up before dinner. As far as she was concerned, any place that wasn't up a tree had her vote.

There was still a faint glimmer of sunlight competing with the eager stars, and the buildings lining the street were limned in a dark cerulean glow. They'd passed through enough tiny little towns and hamlets that Kara recognized a city when she saw one. It was nothing to compare with home, but at least there were a few more sights to see than a fill station and a bar. No, this place seemed to be teeming with cozy-looking bars, out-of-the-way clubs, and was that... yep, there was even a brothel right there on the main street. It was discreet, but Kara spotted it for what it was straight off, so it wasn't doing that good a job hiding behind the thin veneer of Madame Mathilda's Charm School.

She could see now why Calavicci had talked the place up so on the most recent leg of their journey. It was charming in its own way. It'd never rival even the smallest cities On Caprica (or even on Aerilon for that matter), but it felt... homey. Not that Kara was looking to settle down, but still, she had a mind to return someday, didn't she?

Well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she was content to cross the street to a stately-looking B & B. Confident as you like, Kara slid her arm into Calavicci's. "Good enough, sweetie?" she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently. Playing Jo, the little wife, would never come naturally, but at least she could make it fun.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"If you picked it, I'm sure it's perfect, honey." It felt absurd that he was enjoying himself so much. He had responsibilities and orders and his career, and ever time he made a reckless decision, he put those things in jeopardy. But the Navy could wait. For him, they'd wait, just as long as he could get on the phone and turn on that Calavicci Charm.

Arm-in-arm, the make-believe couple took to the Bed and Breakfast and managed to impress themselves into a room with a decent rate and a decent view.

///

Their ruse had left them silly and excited when they should have been run down from a long and arduous ride. Bingo took to the shower first upon Starbuck's insistence, washing off the dust and the dirt and the grime. It felt nicer than he would have ever imagined.

Kara took her turn almost immediately after, leaving Bingo to get himself ready in the living room. The view -- a bay window overlooking the neon-lit rows of businesses and houses -- held his attention for a while. People were out, many of them dressed for the evening festivities. If there was one thing that made Memphis stand out, it was the fact that there was always something happening. Sure, sometimes you had to know the right place to look, but Albert was seasoned enough that he didn't feel they'd have much of a problem in the excitement department.

For the time being, he changed into the only clean clothing not in need of pressing that he possessed: a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Being a man of occasion, he had options, but he wanted to see what Thrace would be sporting before he decided what to wear himself.

"I hope you're hungry, because I'm starving" he called into the bathroom well after he'd heard her turn off the water.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She replied in kind, intending to hurry because she was hungry. She stepped into the dress, relieved to find it fit, if it was a bit... clingy. There was nothing to be done for her hair, so she pulled it back and into a ponytail. To her own eyes, she looked like an especially grown up thirteen-year-old with one bruised knee, a scraped elbow, and not a lick of make up, but it was the best she was likely going to do.

At last, Kara returned to the bedroom, head held high as though daring him to tease her. "Are you ready, or do I have to wait on you to preen in front of the mirror again?" Don't think for one moment Kara hadn't noticed how fond of his own reflection Albert Calavicci seemed to be.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Upon sight of her, Calavicci's eyebrows hitched up his forehead, and his jaw quite nearly dropped down to his knees. He was quick to clear his throat and recover, though. "Jesus, Thrace, you gotta warn a guy before putting on a number like that!" Because, really, he was feeling like she didn't have much of a right to blame him now that his eyes were lingering where they shouldn't. Not that she was, but most every woman did, eventually.

Bingo didn't think he had much easily accessible that would look appropriate next to her sweet blue number. Rubbing at his cheek thoughtfully, he considered his uniform (probably still wrinkled and in miserable shape from their first night together) and debated on the likelihood of making it look decent.

With The Great Debate filling his head, Al paced in front of the bed and mourned his options. He had a feeling he was going to have to buy something (even if it was really only for his satisfaction.)

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Oh, no, Kara wasn't waiting any longer for supper - over the past few days, her body had really grown fond of the rich food they'd dined on - after weeks on synthetic food and processed algae, actual meat and real vegetables were as wonderful to her manna.

"Come on," she said, grasping Calavicci by the arm and hauling him out the door. "You said you were hungry, and so am I. Let's just go." He looked fine, after all, and he'd fit in better than she would at any rate. Before he could protest too much, she already had him halfway down the stairs.

Outside, the sky had gone fully dark. Young couples were strolling in one direction, and families toting children and dogs and packages were headed in the other. That made her choice easy and she slipped into foot traffic as though she'd been doing it all her life. "Got a destination all picked out, darling?" she asked, smiling cheekily at him.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

If nothing else, Calavicci felt severely under-dressed thanks to the captain's power play. No harm, though; he would just have to make up for it in other ways. It wasn't as if he couldn't pull off the Rebel Without a Cause look -- he just preferred to be a little more... put together.

Al took a long look at their surroundings before answering her. "I don't have one particular place in mind, but if you're looking for a suggestion, then I think we ought to head downtown and find ourselves a nice little blues club. Can't do much better'n that." At least, not as far as he was concerned. Thankfully, in Memphis, one never had to go too far.

The first place they passed (a quaint little packed house called "Papa Joe's") was busy -- too busy even for them to squeeze in. The young lieutenant opted to keep them going, refreshed that Thrace's knee seemed to be on the mend. "I know just what I'm going to order: I'm going to have some ribs. And some beans. Biscuits. No! Cornbread," he emphasized excitedly. "And I'll finish it off with a piece of sweet potato pie." The smile of his face was positively hedonistic. As if he were tasting it into existence just by talking about it.

Bingo snapped out of his practical droll-fest and quite nearly looked sheepish. "Is-is there anything you were looking forward to having?"

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara shook her head, smirking at Calavicci. "No, not at all. I'm up for anything." And that wasn't a lie - she'd had food since her arrival she couldn't even remember having had on Caprica, though she was certain she had. It had just been so long since she'd been properly fed, it was no wonder the dress she was sure she'd fit into was a bit snug.

Since Calavicci didn't have any destination in mind, and she was starving, she spotted an out of the way doorway with a little sign advertising The Blue Spot. Not bothering to ask (as she intuited he'd agree to just about anything she asked), she steered him in that direction and right on through the door.

The place was dark and smoky, and there was a steady baseline coming from the stage up front. The maître d' led them to a corner table, offered them menus and 'wine or whiskey?' (Kara chose the latter, of course), and scurried off into the depths of the club.

Once they were alone again, Kara begged a cigarette, smiling like the cat who'd caught the canary. "Not bad for a first-timer, huh?"

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Lighting two and passing one, Calavicci shook his head. "Not bad at all, kid." Al wasn't making himself comfortable -- not quite yet. He sat on the edge of his seat, elbows on the table and cigarette hanging from his lips. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were leadin' me on about not knowing your way around, though. That little number goes pretty good with a place like this," he jokingly accused, referring to her surprise wardrobe. Not to mention, blue seemed to be the theme of the evening.

Al took a hit of his cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of his mouth. When it cleared, a large black man in an even larger suit remained in its place. Color Bingo surprised. He sat up a little straighter. "Something tells me you're not here to take our orders."

"Good guess," came the deep, baritone reply. The man crossed his enormous arms. "Jackets after dark." It came out sounding like a warning.

"Yes, sir." Bingo nodded respectfully and stood from his chair, even if he was feeling a bit picked on. The maître d' hadn't said a thing, after all. He gestured at Kara. "Keep the lady company for me then, won't you? Can't expect me to leave my date starin' at an empty chair."

The man couldn't (or wouldn't) argue. He took to the vacated seat and smiled thickly at Kara.

Al gave Starbuck a look that said he was enjoying himself and promised her, "I'll be back with our drinks." From the table, he disappeared into the crowd and reappeared on the other side, leaned over the bar and talking to two of the three people residing behind it.

The Company said politely, "You look very nice, ma'am." He was a good southern boy, he was.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

From a distance, it could have looked like Kara was enjoying herself. She leaned into the suit, smiling beguilingly and flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. "You think so?" she asked, all innocence. She batted her eyelashes sweetly, and laid her hand over his. As soon as he responded, taking her comparatively small fingers into his hand, she squeezed - hard. "So, as a personal favor to me, you're going to get up and go back to your table and enjoy the show, right?"

She'd clearly surprised the man, and he drew his hand away. "Er, I... I didn't mean anything by it, ma'am. 'S just the bossman, see, he doesn't like strangers."

Kara sat back, smiling as easily as she could. "That right? Well, tell him 'hello' from me, Josephine Fox, hmm? And you might want to mention that if he's got a problem, he should look to take care of it himself."

The man gave her a wary look, "Yes, Mrs. Fox, whatever you say." He gave her a respectful little nod and stood, slipping discreetly into the haze of smoke and conversation. Hopefully, he wasn't going after Calavicci personally.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

The drinks didn't come. Nor did reinforcements, thankfully. The large bouncer had taken a place on the opposite side of the stage from the bar to lick his proverbial wounds, though he was speaking to another person nearby, probably about his run-in with "Mrs. Fox."

When Bingo returned a minute or two later, he was wearing an over-large black evening jacket, obviously borrowed, and carrying an armful of drinks. "Gotta give that guy a talking to about leaving his post," he quipped, though he suspected the man hadn't left of his own accord.

He placed two shots down, followed by two glasses of water with lemon. "These were on the house for our trouble," he revealed just as the band started gathering back up for their next set. "And I got a couple more comin', though I think we ought to take it a little slow." Because they were still recovering from the last drinking session and he definitely wanted to have some of his wits about him when he made the call to her superiors and explained he wouldn't be at Cape Canaveral on time. "And since you were so hungry, I got us a couple plates. Hope you don't mind my choices." Bingo shrugged and sipped the cool water thankfully.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara nodded, running a fingertip around the rim of one glass until it whined. "Slow, right."

On stage, the band struck up something fast. She picked out notes with a practiced ear, finding the beat erratic but well-defined. There'd been plenty of this sort of music available on Caprica, of course, though it wasn't her favorite. Still, after years on the same cassettes and her pilots terrible voices, she found the music and the atmosphere immensely pleasurable.

Turning her attention back to her companion, she lifted her glass between her fingers, gesturing vaguely in his direction. What to do about him, she wondered? He was dead charming, but a perfect gentleman. She could've figured him for same-sex preferred if he hadn't made it quite clear how he liked to spend idle time. Since she couldn't imagine he was remaining hands-off strictly to preserve her as a military asset, she was completely baffled by him. That didn't leave her many ideas, though, and the man remained an infuriating mystery to her, but of course it was better that way - she didn't need to complicate anyone's like any further, least of all a nice kid like him.

Unfortunately, Kara did not find that knowledge comforting.

She smiled at him anyway. "How about you settle for my promise we won't end up in jail for drunk 'n disorderly?" To prove she was as good as her word, she offered her hand.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"That'd be fine," he agreed, shaking her hand. Really, if Albert knew what was good for himself, he'd've agreed to more moderation than that. But this was his chance to cut loose.

He'd been running fast and hard since trouble had found him at Pensacola. Keeping his head down and his eye fixed firmly on the prize had gotten him far. Far enough he'd set himself apart from the rest. Bingo reasoned it was about time for him to take a break. There would be plenty of time to buckle down after they'd parted ways.

The band picked up a beat and started to play low and slow, a deep bluesy song with no vocals. Al finished his drink. "Sure you don't wanna come with me? I'm positive I can sweet-talk someone into fitting you in somewhere."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

"That an invitation, Calavicci?" she asked, resting her cheek on her fist. It certainly did a lot to warm her up that he'd think to offer, though, and she didn't doubt he could somehow talk her into a position someplace, but it didn't feel right to continue prevailing upon his kindness.

Luckily, she was saved from having to truly answer by the arrival of, not one, but three waiters. They laid at least half a dozen covered dishes on the table, and one remained at the table for a moment, uncovering several steaming dishes. "Courtesy of Mr. Reynolds, Mr. and Mrs. Fox," one of the waitstaff told them before scurrying off.

Kara probably couldn't accurately name even half of what was laid before them, but she was so hungry, she didn't even try. Choosing something served on ice on an open shell. An oyster, perhaps? She'd certainly never had one, whatever it was, so she shrugged a little self-consciously and swallowed the slippery little thing. Not bad, not at all.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"I ain't the type of guy known for saying things he doesn't mean," he reminded her gently, well after the food had arrived.

Momentarily distracted by the large amount of sustenance on the table, the mostly-grown man (in body, if not in mind) took to reliving some part of his past. The food down there was different from what he'd grown up on, but his time spent away from the orphanage had often taken him to those southern places. The food was richer and more dense -- the kind of food that put permanent meat on a person's bones. It was a delicacy he could tell the captain was enjoying just as much as he was.

In the ravenous feeding time that followed, the band had picked up their singer. Despite the outward appearance of youth, the man providing vocals (and bass) had soul in his voice that make him sound a hundred years old. It was enough to get Calavicci's attention. He glanced back over his shoulder and watched the musicians in the smokey distance. "Great choice, Starbuck." The atmosphere felt perfect.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She had to agree. Though she'd picked the place out of hunger and based solely on the fact it didn't look like it drew too large a crowd, she had chosen well. She felt at ease there, and as she'd only had one drink, she knew it wasn't just the booze.

Along with their second round of drinks came a note, hand addressed to 'Mr. Fox.' If it was addressed to Calavicci's assumed identity, Kara guessed it wasn't really personal business, so she leaned close and read along with him.

Dear Mr. Fox,

When you've taken your meal, you're more than welcome to bring your wife by my table for a chat.

Yours,
Liam K. Reynolds

Kara looked back over her shoulder to where the earlier thug had disappeared to lick his wounds. In the shadows, through the blue haze of smoke, Kara could just make out a man’s profile. He was alone at the table farthest from both the stage and the door, but two men appeared to be standing just behind him. Oh, gods, what had she gotten them into?

She turned back to Calavicci, forcing a smile. “You just make friends all over, don’t you?” And she sincerely hoped Reynolds was someone they could count as a friend, because neither of them really needed anything less.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo laughed, but he didn't turn his head to see who she was referring to. "Yeah, I'm a real personable guy," he joked, reading over the note a second and a third time. He thought the wording was interesting; Mr. Reynolds had probably chosen them wisely and carefully in an attempt to keep at least some of his cards hidden.

Finished with his assessment, Al folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his borrowed jacket. He lifted his shot of whiskey, cradling it between his fingers as if it were as fragile as a child. He wasn't sure why, but he got the feeling he was missing something. Dark eyes on Thrace, he asked, "Now, what do you think Mr. Reynolds has on his mind?" When she shook her head, he figured she knew just about as much as he did. "We'll know soon enough, I suppose."

But before that, Calavicci had some unfinished business. He had a phone call to make, and his stomach was suddenly twisting into knots at the prospect. Sure, he had faith in his ability to charm his way out of trouble, but that wasn't always a sure bet. Once in a while, the young lieutenant found himself in a position where all the sincerely offered explanations or expertly delivered excuses in the world wouldn't make a difference.

Trying not to look too nervous about his decision (No turning back now, Calavicci,) Bingo dipped back his shot and then placed it carefully back on the table. "I gotta make this call," he told her, wincing at the time as he lifted his watch. "Wish me luck, eh?" Because without a little support, he wasn't sure he was actually going to make the call. Of course, he hadn't really mentioned needing to make the call to Kara, except in passing, so he wasn't even sure she'd know what he meant.

[OOC: Don't worry about a long reply if you don't want to. I know I didn't leave you much. Got some things on my mind, though. MWAhahaha! >:) We can make some "trouble," no?]

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

“Leaving me on my own again?” she groused, feigning irritation the way only a woman could. Her put-on pout was fleeting, however, and she grinned at him. “Good luck. Hurry back.” She lifted her own glass and saluted him before tossing back the whiskey and reapplying herself to the mound of food still before them. Gods how she wished Helo could have seen the feast – he’d have passed out from joy, woken up to eat, and then passed out again. The notion made her smile a private, sincere smile, and for a few minutes, she simply enjoyed how full she was, the slow burn of the liquor, and the music filling the small venue.

Still, the sensation she was being watched closely set her on edge, and she reminded herself she really did need to be more cautious. Perhaps she was safe enough from questions and curiosity in Calavicci’s presence, ensconced completely in their little charade of husband and wife on the road, but she felt the veneer slip under even slight scrutiny. How easy would it be for some leader of the seedy underbelly of Nashville to expose him for a humble (yeah, right, humble) pilot and her for… whatever she was? Frak, for all she knew, she didn’t even have a blood type that’d be recognizable in this place. It’d be all she needed to be hauled off to some asylum to have every conceivable ‘test’ run on her. She’d been there once, and even if it meant taking her life, she’d never return. Never.

The bent of her thoughts sobered her slightly, and she felt herself tensely waiting for Calavicci to reappear.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Five minutes later, no Calavicci. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and he still hadn't returned as promised. It was not a great sign. The first several minutes had been spent waiting on hold for some sleepy soldier to muster up the balls to make some calls. Though, when he finally managed to get connected with someone, he was subjected to several minutes worth of nay-saying over "the remainder of his career" followed immediately by instructions to call in to another number all together.

And then it started all over again.

The base operator asked-but-didn't-ask him to hold (who could possibly be tying up the line this late?) for several minutes, and then the Admiral's secretary forced him to wait longer, assuring the young pilot that the Admiral would have to be reached off-base, as it was so late in the evening.

Bingo slumped down in the chair by the phone and looked at the floor, willing someone in a advisory position in Florida to get off of their asses and actually take his call. By now, his buzz was gone (not that it was much to mention, anyway,) and he was about ready to leave the phone hang and seek out a cigarette from his much-missed companion.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Twenty minutes? Kara never knew - she was antsy after three, so she slid out of her chair and sauntered back toward the secretive man at the table.

As soon as she set one canvas-covered toe into the shadow around Reynolds' table, he greeted her in a smooth baritone. "Mrs. Fox."

"Mr. Reynolds," she replied, folding her arms across her chest and standing squarely before him. In the low light, she could just make out the man's fine features and deceptively placid expression. He gestured magnanimously toward the chair opposite him and one of the suits pulled it out.

"Please. Will your husband be joining us?"

"I'm afraid he's tied up at the moment," she returned sweetly. A waiter came around, leaving a fresh drink before her and disappearing. Kara watched him go. "Is that okay?"

Reynolds gave a noncommittal answer before sliding a coaster across the table. After looking at it, uncomprehending, for a long moment, Kara got the distinct impression she was meant to pick it up. She nonchalantly turned it over in her hand - a note was folded into a triangle and stuck to the bottom. If Kara's estimates were correct, it was one hell of a large denomination.

She laid the coaster coolly down on the tabletop, trying to look impassive. Irrationally, she was surprised no one could hear her heart pounding. What in the names of the gods had she gotten them into?

"It's enough?" Reynolds asked gruffly.

Of course, she couldn't ask what she was being paid for, so she merely nodded, extending her hand and shaking Reynolds'. "We'll be in touch." Before she could say or do anything else, she palmed the coaster and stood, heading off to find Calavicci. Suddenly, she had a need to find someplace else to wile away the hours.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Calavicci was quick to spot Thrace thanks to that rather attractive dress she'd worn to impress. From his vantage point, she looked a little hurried, but he attributed it to the fact that he'd kept her waiting so long already. He stood and ran his free hand through his rumpled hair.

As she approached, he gave her an apologetic look, the telephone receiver gestured out away from his head to signify he was still working on his task. "Hey, Starbuck," he said, holding a hand over the mouthpiece, "how about a smoke? I've been--" Al cut himself off, attention suddenly elsewhere.

The phone held his attention and he was forced to put his finger in his ear to hear what the Admiral was saying. "Yes, sir," he replied snappily. "Calavicci, sir, correct." He nodded as if the man on the other end would see it, and then fixed Thrace with a helpless look. He wished this conversation would have happened fifteen minutes ago when he'd still had a little of that fire in his gut.

She started to talk, but Bingo was elsewhere in thought and concentration and didn't register a thing. He turned toward the empty entryway to the John and pressed his hand to his face. "Sir, reports of my arre--" A pause. Calavicci turned enough to look over his shoulder at Kara, then found something else to fix his eyes on. "No, sir," came his one-sided reply. He repeated himself, the second time more firmly.

The young pilot turned and leaned himself against the wall, forehead resting on his arm and his arm resting on the payphone. Thumped his head down against his wrist like he was beating out a particularly stubborn thought, too. His eyes settled on Thrace for too long a moment, and just as Calavicci looked ready to argue with the Admiral, his expression changed wholly.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed, dropping the phone receiver and himself down just in time to save his head from the enormous fist that came out of the crowd.

The payphone, effectively disconnecting from the very important Admiral that had been roused out of bed, rained change down on an extremely confused Bingo. "Are you crazy?!" He tossed that accusation while he was putting feet to the floor for traction, let me tell you.

Mr. Large Black Man grunted and tried to grapple for the much smaller pilot. "This is downtown district, and you ain't welcome to make transactions here!"

He had backed himself into a trap, the brute between himself and Kara. The only place to go was into the bathroom, or past the angry man, and neither choice was looking good to him. "Pal, I don't know what you're talking about. I've just been on the fucking telephone, minding my own goddamn business!" But he had his dukes up. Meanwhile, he was trying to keep this guy's attention from Thrace while hoping to catch a glimpse of her. If a look could hold any amount of understanding, he needed a meaningful one from the captain, and quick!

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Kara had a different tactic in mind from Calavicci, and she tapped the huge man on his shoulder. He half-turned, clearly surprised someone would intervene, and she took advantage of his momentary misstep. One solid right cross sent him stumbling back a foot, his hands going immediately to his nose. The shock written across his face was more than worth the pain in her hand, and it gave her the split-second she needed to grab the young lieutenant by the lapel of his borrowed blazer and pull him toward her.

Lucky for her, Calavicci was the sort who caught on quick, and he fell into step with her immediately. Unlucky, however, was the fact Kara had no idea where she was going, and the route to the door was swamped with guests and more burly besuited men advancing through the crowd. Not about to to give up, she shouldered open the first door she came to, hoping against hope it wasn’t a closet. Fortune favored her for a moment, and she and Calavicci stumbled into the kitchen, much to the surprise of the staff milling around.

“’Scuse us,” she said, cutting across the bright room, heading for the door standing open into another alley. They’d just made it outside when she heard a ruckus kick up in the kitchen – clearly, they were being pursued. Instead of heading onto the main thoroughfare, Kara ducked down deeper into the alley, trying a door marked exit in the next building over. It admitted her, and she was thankful, but wherever she’d chosen was pitch dark when the door fell closed behind them. The place had a strongly familiar scent, and before she could place it, the narrow place they were standing in was illuminated from above. Kara looked up, frowning for a moment at the bizarre aspect of a twenty-foot high face appearing overhead. It took her all of thirty seconds to realize they hadn’t happened upon some bizarre parallel universe, but had in fact ended up in a movie theatre.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo was absolutely pale in the light of the silver screen, and while a good part of it was the lighting, the rest of him was up in arms over the incident that quite nearly took his head. "...whole buncha crackpots," he muttered to himself, hand over his heart.

He looked at Kara, eyes wide. "What in God's name was that all about?" For some reason, he had an inkling that she was at fault, but he wasn't about to go accusing her of as much. "That guy was- Jesus, he was twice my size." Whatever had worked up inside of him paused and he fixed the captain with a momentarily-approving look. "That was a good right, by the way, kid."

But his attention on the subject at hand had waned, thanks to the large reversed face of a very attractive blonde hanging overhead. Mesmerized, the young pilot ignored his woes and grinned up at the screen they were viewing from behind. "Well, hello there, Marilyn," he greeted, looking more interested than he should. When he'd gotten a moment's fill, he turned to the other blonde currently in his life and hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "Saw this a couple weeks ago. Some Like it Hot," he emphasized, giving Thrace the ol' eyebrow waggle.

Streetlight cut through the room, illuminating a section of the back stage and alerting Calavicci to the presence of others. Springing into action, he grabbed hold of Thrace's hand and pulled them into an alcove between cinder support beams. There was barely enough room; they were pressed shoulder to shoulder. Thankfully, the little hiding place was deep enough that they were well shadowed, even with the light from the door.

Two briefly lit figures entered in search. The man in the lead, a thin, wiry individual with a sunken African face, was holding a billy club. He led the second man, the bloody-nosed individual Kara had taught a lesson. After the latter hulked through the doorway, both men were soon plunged into the same darkness the two pilots had encountered earlier. The larger man, still holding his nose, flicked open a Zippo and illuminated some of the area. "You sure they came in here?"

The smaller man grunted. "Yeah, I seen 'em come in," he assured, moving closer to the screen. "They's here."

By now, Al was holding his breath. After the pounding the payphone had received, he didn't want to take any chances. He hadn't let go of Kara's hand; he couldn't tell if the rapid pulse he was feeling was his or her's, but he gave a squeeze and tried to catch her eye. Too dark to really see, he thanked his lucky stars that the sound track for the movie did well to cover any quiet speech. Leaning his head until he felt his lips brushed her hair, he whispered, "If we go now, we'd better hold that door closed behind us," The quip make him appear to have no proper sense of occasion, despite the obvious rush of adrenaline.

Meanwhile, the smaller thug was peeking past the screen into the audience while the larger stood behind in wait, flickering flame held aloft.