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[mr_gaeta]

Do your frakking job, was all Gaeta could think through the events rocking the Fleet: their jump to the Ionian Nebula, the fleet-wide power outage, the Raiders zeroing in like a swarm of insects, their inexplicable departure ten minutes later.

Starbuck's arrival, alive, her Viper bearing all of the same recognition codes as the one marked down as "lost in action."

It wasn't until Adama and Tigh left him the deck so they could personally greet Starbuck that the other thought reemerged like a throbbing ache: not guilty. Not guilty. The instant he'd been relieved of duty, he took off for Milliways.

He's not sure how long he's been out running laps around the lake, nor how much longer he's planning on staying. Gaeta's vaguely aware of an ache in his legs and chest, and an uncomfortable itch all the way down his back from where the sweat sticks his tanks to his skin. The thud of his feet on the ground is the closest he has to a measure of time, and those blend into nothing but a steady noise to accompany his less steady breathing.

One more lap, he tells himself. Just one more to make sure he's calm enough to go back, either from endorphins or just flat-out exhaustion.

(Not guilty.)

He's been saying that for about five laps in a row now.



[ooc: to bed, to bed, I must to bed! New threads still welcome; I will pick up all tags tomorrow night. <3]

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[wheatencrown]

There's a chill to the air in Milliways and Demeter's blonde hair is beginning to have a few silver glints as she watches him run.

When it looks like he's not going to stop, she stands in the middle of his path and says, "Felix, stop before I must carry you."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta has too much momentum going to stop -- not in front of Demeter, anyway. With a gasped, "Frak," he slews to the side and dodges around her, finally coming to a stumbling halt a few paces beyond.

He doesn't turn around to acknowledge her yet. Instead, he bends over his knees, sucking down air that feels more like fire scorching up his lungs.

[wheatencrown]

And so she is simply in front of him and then kneeling to his level and offering a cup of water,

"Drink, rest."

[mr_gaeta]

He shakes his head, still heaving in gulps of air: oxygen takes priority right now, not water.

But, without his say, his knees fold up to drop him the rest of the way to the ground, putting him eye to eye with Demeter.

(It would be eye to eye if he could meet her gaze, anyway.)

[wheatencrown]

She moves with him to sit on the path and offers her arms, he looks like a man who's been told by the Fates when his string will be cut.

[mr_gaeta]

Gods. If he can't even look at her, how can she still want him to -- ?

Because it's Demeter, his mind supplies, quietly. It's all right.

Gaeta doesn't reach for her so much as sag into her arms, folding himself up to fit, chest dragging up and down and throat as raw as if he'd been screaming.

[wheatencrown]

She folds him in her arms and the black shawl that becomes large enough to hide him as she kisses his hair.

Then she begins to sing in Greek, its an old lullaby that she's sung to gods, demigods, heroes and mortals.

He is hers, she will be here for him until he is ready to tell her why he's running himself to exhaustion.

[mr_gaeta]

He doesn't know if it's just because he has something new to focus on, or something inherent in Demeter's singing itself, but it smooths away the rough edges of his cyclic thoughts, quieting them to a whisper. Not guilty.

For a brief, panicked second, he worries he might have driven himself so far that he's about to vomit all over one of the Lords of Kobol. Fortunately, the moment passes.

So does the incessant gasping, eventually; soon he's quiet, mostly recovered, if still flushed and soaked with sweat.



"Is it, um." He swallows. "Too late to ask for that water again, Lady?"

[wheatencrown]

"Of course its not,"

With a slightly awkward movement, she provides enough space between them to hand him the water.

[faithful_lt]

Word had come over the wireless almost immediately, the shockwave of news reaching CIC at the same time that it broke over the rest of the fleet.

There's been a cold knot lying in the pit of his stomach since he heard.

Not guilty. Gods.

Of all the possibilities, he'd never anticipated that one...

... and he knows Felix won't have, either.

Hoshi has a pretty good idea where Felix might go in light of this, but it still takes him a while to search first around Galactica and then through the bar before moving outside.

He stops in his tracks when he sees him.

[mr_gaeta]

One more lap.

He completes the latest circuit, passing by the side of the lake closest to Milliways' back door, and keeps pushing. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps that make him think, for a brief and dizzy moment, Maybe I should quit smoking after all.

Gaeta thinks he catches sight of someone familiar from the corner of his eye. Half a second later, he's dismissed it, tuning back in to the thump of his feet.

[faithful_lt]

"Felix! Felix, wait--"

He's never been a very good runner, even when not in duty blues, but Hoshi doesn't let that stop him now. He breaks into a jog of his own, trying to catch up.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta almost stumbles, concentration wrenched sideways like a twisted ankle. He glances over his shoulder; oh, frak, he thinks, embarrassment flushing his face even more when he gets a good look at Louis -- the sort of good look he should have gotten the first time around.

Immediately, he slows, giving the other man time to catch up.

[faithful_lt]

"I'm not dressed for this," he says, ruefully, as he draws near. "Not that I could keep up with you for long even if I were, I'm afraid."

[mr_gaeta]

"S'okay," he manages to gasp, slowing the rest of the way into a walk. "Should probably try to..."

In lieu of finishing that sentence, he circles his hand a few times.

"Hi."

[faithful_lt]

"Hi," he replies. Concern spikes as he takes in Felix's condition, although he tries not to let it show.

"Looks like you've been at it a while."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta nods, sucking in another breath. After a couple more steps, he gives up and stops entirely, bracing his hands on his knees.

[i_candozat]

There's another runner who's catching up to Gaeta, a thin-limbed boy in workout clothes that manages to keep pace with the man; such is what comes from being a runner your whole life, even if that life is not yet two decades in span.

Pavel doesn't say anything for a long while, but when he does it's a very curious: "You do this often?"

[mr_gaeta]

It takes a while for Gaeta to notice he's picked up a running partner. In the silence, he sizes Pavel up in quick sideways glances, wondering how long he plans to run with him, how much longer Gaeta himself can run.

At the question, he shakes his head. "Not too much," he manages to gasp in between breaths. "Sometimes."

[i_candozat]

For reference, Pavel has run--and won--a forty-kilometer race, and has the certificate to prove it: it's a fairly difficult accomplishment given he's only just seventeen. He's always been that kid, the overachiever and the slightly-too-exuberant one in classes.

"You should slow down."

[mr_gaeta]

Again, that quick headshake. "Not yet. Haven't been out that long."

Gaeta may have lied with a straight face to Baltar's lawyers, but he couldn't hope to manage it now, when he's nearly run himself into the ground.

(Baltar's lawyers. Not guilty. Gods.)

As if to prove it, he forces himself to speed up a little.

[i_candozat]

Pavel really can't repeat that he should slow down; he's outranked and doesn't know Gaeta nearly well enough to make any sort of call as to whether he's capable of running at that speed for any distance. He does continue to match him, young brow furrowing as if in concentration while he falls into pace with Felix's steps.

"Gaeta, yes? Ah...Lieutenant?" He doesn't quite remember the rank he was given as an address.

[mr_gaeta]

"Yes, sir," he wheezes. "Ensign Chekov, right?"

He tosses another brief glance Pavel's way.

"Um. From -- " Gasp for breath. "Starfleet."

[i_candozat]

"Da," he answers, with a nod. "You really should perhaps stop, sir," he tries again, not sure if he's overstepping his bounds--but gasping for breath and having to wheeze out your words are not good indicators when running, and Pavel knows it.

"It is newer good to hawe difficulty speaking," he says--accent thick as ever. He'd see the irony if he understood how others hear his voice.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta huffs out a noise that might be laughter at that. It's probably not in response to Pavel's accent, at least.

Though with exhaustion dragging his filters down so far, it's a bit difficult to tell.

"Maybe," is all he allows, but, obediently, he drops back into his earlier speed, then some pace lower than that. Sometimes -- no matter who might be giving them -- orders help.