(no subject)
"Raise your right hand and repeat after me. 'I, Felix Gaeta...'"
"I, Felix Gaeta..."
"'Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty...'"
"Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty..."
"'To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.'"
"To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol."
"'And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors...'"
"And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors..."
"'As an officer...'"
"As an officer..."
"'In the Colonial Fleet.'"
"In the Colonial Fleet."
Adama's smiling a little as he offers his hand. "Good to have you with us again, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, sir." He can't stop grinning as he clasps the Admiral's hand in a firm shake, and right then, the other thought that crosses his mind -- I wonder how many people agree with that assessment, sir -- doesn't so much as register.
Lieutenant. Lieutenant.
"I'm glad to be here."
He knows a fair bit of irony exists in how he's completely aware, all of a sudden, of how frakking heavy (and itchy) duty blues can be. How long did it take him to get used to wearing civvies all the time? How many weeks did he spend thinking about how badly they fit compared to his uniform?
Gaeta scratches a finger under the high collar of his jacket, nails brushing against his dog tag chain as he hefts his duffel bag a little higher onto his shoulder. A few heads turn as he walks by; he pretends not to notice.
When he reaches the officer's racks, he spins the hatch open one-handed. Gaeta only takes a cautious step or two around the door: just enough to peer inside, and assess whether he should wait a little longer before settling in to unpack.
"I, Felix Gaeta..."
"'Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty...'"
"Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty..."
"'To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.'"
"To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol."
"'And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors...'"
"And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors..."
"'As an officer...'"
"As an officer..."
"'In the Colonial Fleet.'"
"In the Colonial Fleet."
Adama's smiling a little as he offers his hand. "Good to have you with us again, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, sir." He can't stop grinning as he clasps the Admiral's hand in a firm shake, and right then, the other thought that crosses his mind -- I wonder how many people agree with that assessment, sir -- doesn't so much as register.
Lieutenant. Lieutenant.
"I'm glad to be here."
He knows a fair bit of irony exists in how he's completely aware, all of a sudden, of how frakking heavy (and itchy) duty blues can be. How long did it take him to get used to wearing civvies all the time? How many weeks did he spend thinking about how badly they fit compared to his uniform?
Gaeta scratches a finger under the high collar of his jacket, nails brushing against his dog tag chain as he hefts his duffel bag a little higher onto his shoulder. A few heads turn as he walks by; he pretends not to notice.
When he reaches the officer's racks, he spins the hatch open one-handed. Gaeta only takes a cautious step or two around the door: just enough to peer inside, and assess whether he should wait a little longer before settling in to unpack.