owww
Woke up with a horrible headache, this morning. I blame the alcohol.
I... gods, we're so screwed.
Never mind. Ugh. Why do I have this horrible feeling I cried all over someone last night? Please, Lords of Kobol, don't let it be true.
Should finish my letter to Charlie. She may not ever read it, but I'll feel better.
I'll think about Thrace later. When my head doesn't hurt so much.
Sam knew she was drunk. Far drunker than she should be, truth to tell. But she was sick of telling the truth. The last few times had come back to bite her on the ass.
There was the irritating fact that the man next to her could not seem to get the message, though. She'd removed his hand from her knee more times than she could remember counting and had eventually given up. It was steadily creeping up the soft silk of the dress that some kind socialite had donated to the Dress Galactica's Women cause.
"Lieutenant." The voice was crisp and precise and sounded just a little bit irritated.
Sam shook off a little of the fog in her brain and stared up (and up and up) at the CAG. "Sir."
"On your feet, pilot."
The authoritative tone had her dragging herself to her feet. She swayed. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Carter on her feet, sir."
"Very good, Carter."
A hand clamped on her elbow and she was nearly yanked back into her seat. "The lady is stayin' here, me lad."
"No. No she isn't."
He sounded so calm and reasonable, Sam reflected. She looked down at the man still sitting and smiled, "He's right. I got--have a duty shift in the morning."
"But--"
"The lady said she was leaving."
He still sounded so pleasant. Sam disengaged her elbow and found herself almost falling against Captain Apollo. "Take me home, sir."
"Exactly, Lieutenant."
The next bit was a blur, and Sam was almost grateful for it. The one truly memorable moment was the Captain dragging her off the path to the shuttle to allow her to be sick in the bushes. He didn't say much as he once again hooked a hand around her arm and towed her ever onwards.
Sam was almost tempted to start singing, but she couldn't recall any drinking songs, and the last time she'd sung them had been on Caprica with Jack and his flotilla.
While the sudden wash of nostalgia and sadness consumed her, Captain Apollo got them on the last transport heading from Cloud Nine to Galactica with several other hard partiers. She had reason to be glad Apollo had dragged her off the path as at least two of them ended up getting sick in the in-flight bags. Sam idly wondered who had thought up the idea of them, then decided she didn't care.
Once on Galactica, the Captain again took charge of her, dragging her down corridors until they reached the quarters she was sharing with the marines. The racks were empty, and Sam guessed they were all off doing training of some sort.
"Get into bed, Lieutenant."
She glared at him, "What, sir, afraid I'll sneak off unless you tuck me in?"
"No, afraid you'll forget and sleep on the floor." He snapped.
Ah. A crack in the calm facade had appeared. He wasn't as controlled as he liked to think. Almost delighted, Sam twirled in her dress. "Don't I look pretty, Apollo?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Thank you." Regally, she raised her chin, and looked down her nose at him. He wasn't taller than she, which made looking down at him a bit amusing. She giggled. "You look lovely, yourself. And Kara looked..."
"She looked gorgeous." He whispered.
"Yes." Ignoring the pain that slithered across her skin, Sam tilted her head, "You love her."
"And you need her."
Dropping her eyes, Sam shrugged, then began wriggling out of the gown, suddenly conscious that she was drunk off her ass and exhausted and so emotionally vulnerable it was possible she'd start crying on the CAG at any moment. "Thank you, sir. I'm fine now, I'll--"
A hand touched her shoulder. "Turn around, Carter."
Turning gave her the chance to angrily wipe her eyes while Apollo unzipped the dress. She stepped out of it and grabbed the t-shirt she'd left on her rack, yanking it on. "You can leave, sir. The great Apollo's--"
"Sam." The hand on her shoulder was gentle. "I'm sorry."
"Don't."
"Get into your rack, Lieutenant."
She obeyed silently, curling on her side, her back to him. So he couldn't see as the tears started.
"Starbuck. Well, she doesn't forgive easily. And herself the least."
The awkward words didn't make any sense. The hand gently stroking her hair, though, that she understood. And, too tired to object, she didn't push him away. In point of fact, she held onto the feeling. Sam fell asleep to the sound of Captain Lee Adama rambling.
I... gods, we're so screwed.
Never mind. Ugh. Why do I have this horrible feeling I cried all over someone last night? Please, Lords of Kobol, don't let it be true.
Should finish my letter to Charlie. She may not ever read it, but I'll feel better.
I'll think about Thrace later. When my head doesn't hurt so much.
Sam knew she was drunk. Far drunker than she should be, truth to tell. But she was sick of telling the truth. The last few times had come back to bite her on the ass.
There was the irritating fact that the man next to her could not seem to get the message, though. She'd removed his hand from her knee more times than she could remember counting and had eventually given up. It was steadily creeping up the soft silk of the dress that some kind socialite had donated to the Dress Galactica's Women cause.
"Lieutenant." The voice was crisp and precise and sounded just a little bit irritated.
Sam shook off a little of the fog in her brain and stared up (and up and up) at the CAG. "Sir."
"On your feet, pilot."
The authoritative tone had her dragging herself to her feet. She swayed. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Carter on her feet, sir."
"Very good, Carter."
A hand clamped on her elbow and she was nearly yanked back into her seat. "The lady is stayin' here, me lad."
"No. No she isn't."
He sounded so calm and reasonable, Sam reflected. She looked down at the man still sitting and smiled, "He's right. I got--have a duty shift in the morning."
"But--"
"The lady said she was leaving."
He still sounded so pleasant. Sam disengaged her elbow and found herself almost falling against Captain Apollo. "Take me home, sir."
"Exactly, Lieutenant."
The next bit was a blur, and Sam was almost grateful for it. The one truly memorable moment was the Captain dragging her off the path to the shuttle to allow her to be sick in the bushes. He didn't say much as he once again hooked a hand around her arm and towed her ever onwards.
Sam was almost tempted to start singing, but she couldn't recall any drinking songs, and the last time she'd sung them had been on Caprica with Jack and his flotilla.
While the sudden wash of nostalgia and sadness consumed her, Captain Apollo got them on the last transport heading from Cloud Nine to Galactica with several other hard partiers. She had reason to be glad Apollo had dragged her off the path as at least two of them ended up getting sick in the in-flight bags. Sam idly wondered who had thought up the idea of them, then decided she didn't care.
Once on Galactica, the Captain again took charge of her, dragging her down corridors until they reached the quarters she was sharing with the marines. The racks were empty, and Sam guessed they were all off doing training of some sort.
"Get into bed, Lieutenant."
She glared at him, "What, sir, afraid I'll sneak off unless you tuck me in?"
"No, afraid you'll forget and sleep on the floor." He snapped.
Ah. A crack in the calm facade had appeared. He wasn't as controlled as he liked to think. Almost delighted, Sam twirled in her dress. "Don't I look pretty, Apollo?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Thank you." Regally, she raised her chin, and looked down her nose at him. He wasn't taller than she, which made looking down at him a bit amusing. She giggled. "You look lovely, yourself. And Kara looked..."
"She looked gorgeous." He whispered.
"Yes." Ignoring the pain that slithered across her skin, Sam tilted her head, "You love her."
"And you need her."
Dropping her eyes, Sam shrugged, then began wriggling out of the gown, suddenly conscious that she was drunk off her ass and exhausted and so emotionally vulnerable it was possible she'd start crying on the CAG at any moment. "Thank you, sir. I'm fine now, I'll--"
A hand touched her shoulder. "Turn around, Carter."
Turning gave her the chance to angrily wipe her eyes while Apollo unzipped the dress. She stepped out of it and grabbed the t-shirt she'd left on her rack, yanking it on. "You can leave, sir. The great Apollo's--"
"Sam." The hand on her shoulder was gentle. "I'm sorry."
"Don't."
"Get into your rack, Lieutenant."
She obeyed silently, curling on her side, her back to him. So he couldn't see as the tears started.
"Starbuck. Well, she doesn't forgive easily. And herself the least."
The awkward words didn't make any sense. The hand gently stroking her hair, though, that she understood. And, too tired to object, she didn't push him away. In point of fact, she held onto the feeling. Sam fell asleep to the sound of Captain Lee Adama rambling.