Chapter 31 Pushing Onward
Hours later, Kara lifted her head and straightened her legs with a soft moan, feeling the familiar ache of muscles held too long in one position. Shivering slightly, she tried to force her fractured thoughts into some semblance of order.
How long had she been hiding here?
Long enough to get thoroughly chilled and feel the need to pee. Reluctantly, she scooted out from her refuge and stood, still uncertain what her next move should be. Heavy feet carried her forward along the aisle until she could peer cautiously around the box's edge. People had dispersed from the far end of the Flight deck and she could only see a few figures in orange moving among the Raptors. She quietly covered the length of the bay and turned towards the nearest head.
As she exited a stall, a few people greeted her with nods and smiles but she managed to sidle away without getting drawn into conversations. This still left her with no plan, no destination and nobody that was looking for her. The Admiral obviously didn't care anymore—she struggled to shrug the hurt aside—and she'd overheard that the Pegasus had been lost, but Lee had made it. That news touched on so many raw edges that Kara focused on just being thankful for his survival and refused to acknowledge any of the other turbulent emotions.
And then there was Sam, or rather there wasn't.
Sam was gone.
The thought was enough to clench her stomach and she nearly turning back into the head. Instead, she took a breath and held it, willing all the memories of her husband safely back behind the wall she'd built while huddle away in the dark. Once she had locked away the dangerous images, Kara turned right and started walking; hoping the solid bulkheads and low rumble of the Galactica would flood her senses and wash away the lingering ones from the hellhole she'd escaped. So intent on trying to reclaim some semblance of home, she was startled to look up and realize that she stood at the open hatch to the pilots' Ready Room.
As she moved across the threshold, Kara automatically reached out and placed her palm on the pilots' touchstone picture. Though done by rote, it still felt like a tenuous step back into the life she'd thought gone forever.
Wandering down the aisle of seats, she let her hand stroke along the leather tops, remembering all the briefings spent in this room with companions now long gone, but not forgotten. So many bittersweet memories swirled the air and she tried to recapture the eager energy of the days before it all fell apart.
Moving to a seat midway down and in the center of the rows, she slouched down and wrapped her arms about her ribs, lowering her chin to her chest. It was late night; she'd been closed in on herself for nearly twelve hours in her little crate cave. Heat flushed her cheeks as the shame of her panicked reaction earlier coursed through her veins. As if she wasn't screwed up enough, now she was freaking out over being around a bunch of people. Gods, how she missed the foolishly confident and cocky person that use to live within her skin.
How much more pathetic can I get?
On that thought, visions and flashes of memory assaulted her, threatening to trigger another panic attack. Kara bent forward over her knees, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes as she fought to shove the images back behind their safely closed curtains.
"…frakkers…frakkin' Toasters!" her voice rose as she shouted at her tormentors for leaving her with so few pieces of herself left to pull back together. The silence of the empty Ready Room mocked her outburst and her breath hitched in and out as she held back the sobs. She wasn't going do this. The frakkers could go to hell; she wasn't going to let them win, wasn't going to fall apart now.
Forcing the roiling feelings down, Kara tried to focus on the assignment board at the front of the room. Not that her name was on it. Not yet, anyways. Tomorrow, or later this morning as it were, she'd go to the quartermaster to report in, get her kit and stuff and get assigned a rack. But the effort was beyond her right now, the fatigue and mental fugue made the task too daunting. She'd just stay here. It was quiet and she was alone.
Wasn't that what she wanted?