Stop and Stare
WHO: Kara and Helo
WHAT: Talking about her shooting Leoben :)
WHERE: Kara's Room
Kara stared up at the ceiling of her room. She had been lying in bed for hours. Had she slept? She thought she had, at least for a little bit. But not much. No, it had mostly just been staring, mentally tracing the patterns of the four circles inside one another on the blank canvas of the ceiling. Yellow. Blue. Red. Yellow.
She finally sat up, frustrated, running her hands through her short blonde hair. Why did she let it bother her? It was a toaster. A machine. Her enemy. And yet, three rounds to the head later, and she couldn't sleep. Gods, she was the best shot in the Fleet, in or out of the cockpit; she'd taken the kill shot before. So why was this getting to her? Why was Leoben getting to her?
Maybe because, with him, it wasn't over. No, she'd put three rounds into that face, and yet that face would soon be seen again. She knew he wouldn't stay away; he couldn't. The "voices" in his mind wouldn't let him. She'd seen him die twice now. How many more times? And how many of those would be by her hand? How many until he finally decided it was enough? How many until he actually fought back?
Kara ran her hands through her hair again, muttering, "Son of a bitch." She threw back the covers, revealing her sports bra and her workout pants. She walked over to her dresser and pulled out a pair of tanks, pulling them on. Then she started searching for her shoes. Today was definitely a day when hitting the bag in her room wasn't going to cover it. She needed to go to the gym.
WHAT: Talking about her shooting Leoben :)
WHERE: Kara's Room
Kara stared up at the ceiling of her room. She had been lying in bed for hours. Had she slept? She thought she had, at least for a little bit. But not much. No, it had mostly just been staring, mentally tracing the patterns of the four circles inside one another on the blank canvas of the ceiling. Yellow. Blue. Red. Yellow.
She finally sat up, frustrated, running her hands through her short blonde hair. Why did she let it bother her? It was a toaster. A machine. Her enemy. And yet, three rounds to the head later, and she couldn't sleep. Gods, she was the best shot in the Fleet, in or out of the cockpit; she'd taken the kill shot before. So why was this getting to her? Why was Leoben getting to her?
Maybe because, with him, it wasn't over. No, she'd put three rounds into that face, and yet that face would soon be seen again. She knew he wouldn't stay away; he couldn't. The "voices" in his mind wouldn't let him. She'd seen him die twice now. How many more times? And how many of those would be by her hand? How many until he finally decided it was enough? How many until he actually fought back?
Kara ran her hands through her hair again, muttering, "Son of a bitch." She threw back the covers, revealing her sports bra and her workout pants. She walked over to her dresser and pulled out a pair of tanks, pulling them on. Then she started searching for her shoes. Today was definitely a day when hitting the bag in her room wasn't going to cover it. She needed to go to the gym.