A Rush of Blood to the Head
"All I wanted was a chance to say,
I would like to see you in the morning."
-Travis
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
AUTHOR'S PROFUSE APOLOGY FOR INDECENT TARDINESS: Okay, so funny story about why I haven't updated in like a really super ridiculously long time. And here it is...right so no funny story. Though I did just transfer to a new school far far away from my home and left all my motivation to continue this story behind as well. My bad? Yes, my bad. Also incredibly short.
REVIEWS: Yes, thank you.
Current Day: Six months after the Cylon Invasion of New Caprica
There it was again. Kara was sure she'd heard familiar voices whispering a few minutes ago but couldn't figure out whether it was in her head or in real life. She'd been doing that a lot more often recently. Ever since that, that thing had turned her hand into a doorstop, Kara had been mixing up dreams with reality. Or maybe it was all the drugs they started shooting her up with. They'd even given her a new bed. It was vaguely reminiscent of a sterile hospital bed. The cylons must have been really worried about her condition. Whatever the source of the dreams or hallucinations or whatever, they were so real, so convincing that the other day she'd been sure she'd been rescued.
She'd heard bursts of gunfire. It sounded like a firefight. There were several detonations in a row followed by shouts joy and running feet. Then an explosion outside her door. The sturdy metal shivered with force and the locked handle burst. The door swung open revealing uniformed marines wielding heavy weaponry and explosive charges. One of the marines immediately went to her side checked her vitals and called for a stretcher. It seemed so real Starbuck could even smell the gunpowder on his hands. They'd carried her away, carried her to safety. Then things went black.
But she woke up still here. Locked away with only cylons for company.
"How's she doing?" A deep male voice whispered to the other occupant, a doctor judging by the coat and stethoscope hanging off his shoulders.
Both male figures kept their voices down as they were only a few feet away from the sleeping Captain Thrace. The man who initially spoke lifted his hand as if to reach out and touch the almost skeletal frame of the woman known as Starbuck but was prevented by a sterile plastic sheet hanging from the ceiling. The clear curtain the only thing stopping infection from assaulting the pilot's devastated immune system and in this state, the slightest cold would probably kill her.
Soft murmurs fell out of Kara's bruised lips and limply traveled to the worried watchers. The muttering though slurred and indecipherable seemed to injure the speaker, an ache pooled in his eyes spread across his face.
The doctor shook his head, whether at the condition of his patient or the other man was unclear.
"She's the same. Still in and out of consciousness. She alternates calling for her husband, cursing all 'frakking sadistic metal-headed toasters,' and muttering about the lovely place she's going to stick her destiny…I don't believe she knows where she is."
No, this time she was sure someone was talking. It wasn't in her head. They were close, so close. If only she could open her eyes…it was just so hard, they were so heavy. And why bother? Opening her eyes and seeing who was talking would just lead to disappointment. She recognized those voices...she recognized those voices.
