[Truth_or_dare: Make a promise you intend to keep]
OOC: Written with wants_to_resist. May contain spoilers for Season 4 of BSG.
Kara paced around the pilots rack, pretending she wasn't nervous. She'd asked (okay, told) everyone else to clear out for a bit so she could talk to Sam.
They'd all laughed at her. Talk, okay, sure, Starbuck. Talk. She didn't blame them for laughing, not really. She and Sam didn't really...well, talking wasn't exactly their strong suit. It certainly wasn't Kara's, so she had a bottle of liquor and two shotglasses on the table. It reminded her of when Sam had first come on board Galactica, of how happy she was to see him, how easy it all had been.
It seemed like an eternity ago, to her. Before New Caprica. Before the storm. Before Lee, before either of them knew he was a Cylon, before they found Earth wasted and destroyed.
Kara stopped pacing, bracing her hands against the cool metal wall of the ship. She took a deep breath, thinking about her conversation with Sharon, about all the rules she'd set up for herself in relation to this conversation they were going to have. Try not to be so frakking defensive. Tell him you love him. Don't be such a bitch.
Kara went to the table and poured herself a shot, finishing it before she could think it through. All she could think about was how they'd sparred, and how that ended up. No, Thrace. Talking first. Frak him afterwards, if he sticks around.
Unfortunately for her, the idea that he would stick around was almost as terrifying as the thought that he wouldn't.
Frak me.
Kara went and took another drink. She hoped he got here soon, or she'd be passed out on her bunk.
Kara paced around the pilots rack, pretending she wasn't nervous. She'd asked (okay, told) everyone else to clear out for a bit so she could talk to Sam.
They'd all laughed at her. Talk, okay, sure, Starbuck. Talk. She didn't blame them for laughing, not really. She and Sam didn't really...well, talking wasn't exactly their strong suit. It certainly wasn't Kara's, so she had a bottle of liquor and two shotglasses on the table. It reminded her of when Sam had first come on board Galactica, of how happy she was to see him, how easy it all had been.
It seemed like an eternity ago, to her. Before New Caprica. Before the storm. Before Lee, before either of them knew he was a Cylon, before they found Earth wasted and destroyed.
Kara stopped pacing, bracing her hands against the cool metal wall of the ship. She took a deep breath, thinking about her conversation with Sharon, about all the rules she'd set up for herself in relation to this conversation they were going to have. Try not to be so frakking defensive. Tell him you love him. Don't be such a bitch.
Kara went to the table and poured herself a shot, finishing it before she could think it through. All she could think about was how they'd sparred, and how that ended up. No, Thrace. Talking first. Frak him afterwards, if he sticks around.
Unfortunately for her, the idea that he would stick around was almost as terrifying as the thought that he wouldn't.
Frak me.
Kara went and took another drink. She hoped he got here soon, or she'd be passed out on her bunk.