TM 238 - Freudian Slip

[arrow_of_apollo]

238 - Freudian Slip

"Hey, hey, you got lucky, Starbuck. If I were you, I would seriously consider buying a--"

Frak.


Frak, frak, frak. What in the gods' name did I just do?

That was Maggie talking. Her callsign is Racetrack. Racetrack. Not Starbuck. Starbuck's dead. Kara is dead, and it was Racetrack talking to Athena about the explosion in the Raptor that killed Baltar's lawyer and nearly took out Racetrack herself.

And it was me, Lee Adama, callsign Apollo, who said the wrong godsdamn dame.

I've got to pull it together. I'm the CAG.

Not that I ever asked for that.

I'm a Major in the Colonial Fleet.

Not that I ever asked for that, either.

I have to pull it together. I'm not Sam Anders, I can't get frak-faced drunk and climb up onto a Viper and shout and scream and tear my heart out the way it feels for me, anyway.

As much as I want to.

They're all whispering. They all heard, and they're all wondering if I'm going to crack. I can't crack. I can hold it together.

"Racetrack. I'm sorry. Dismissed. Dismissed."


(165, not including direct quotes)

Comments

[arrow-of-apollo.livejournal.com]

No, no, Madam President, thank you for saying that.

And I'll do my best.