(no subject)
Do your frakking job, was all Gaeta could think through the events rocking the Fleet: their jump to the Ionian Nebula, the fleet-wide power outage, the Raiders zeroing in like a swarm of insects, their inexplicable departure ten minutes later.
Starbuck's arrival, alive, her Viper bearing all of the same recognition codes as the one marked down as "lost in action."
It wasn't until Adama and Tigh left him the deck so they could personally greet Starbuck that the other thought reemerged like a throbbing ache: not guilty. Not guilty. The instant he'd been relieved of duty, he took off for Milliways.
He's not sure how long he's been out running laps around the lake, nor how much longer he's planning on staying. Gaeta's vaguely aware of an ache in his legs and chest, and an uncomfortable itch all the way down his back from where the sweat sticks his tanks to his skin. The thud of his feet on the ground is the closest he has to a measure of time, and those blend into nothing but a steady noise to accompany his less steady breathing.
One more lap, he tells himself. Just one more to make sure he's calm enough to go back, either from endorphins or just flat-out exhaustion.
(Not guilty.)
He's been saying that for about five laps in a row now.
[ooc: to bed, to bed, I must to bed! New threads still welcome; I will pick up all tags tomorrow night. <3]
Starbuck's arrival, alive, her Viper bearing all of the same recognition codes as the one marked down as "lost in action."
It wasn't until Adama and Tigh left him the deck so they could personally greet Starbuck that the other thought reemerged like a throbbing ache: not guilty. Not guilty. The instant he'd been relieved of duty, he took off for Milliways.
He's not sure how long he's been out running laps around the lake, nor how much longer he's planning on staying. Gaeta's vaguely aware of an ache in his legs and chest, and an uncomfortable itch all the way down his back from where the sweat sticks his tanks to his skin. The thud of his feet on the ground is the closest he has to a measure of time, and those blend into nothing but a steady noise to accompany his less steady breathing.
One more lap, he tells himself. Just one more to make sure he's calm enough to go back, either from endorphins or just flat-out exhaustion.
(Not guilty.)
He's been saying that for about five laps in a row now.
[ooc: to bed, to bed, I must to bed! New threads still welcome; I will pick up all tags tomorrow night. <3]