South flinches again. She tried, she's trying, she really is, even now, even after everything that just happened, she doesn't want to become this monster that the Project made her into again. But it's harder than ever to convince herself that this wasn't what she was always like in the first place, that there's even a better to strive towards.
"You're not the only one he lied to, Washington," she says, sharp but not biting. It's the kind of sharp that's edged with hurt, not anger. "And I'm not gonna fucking—"
It's only then she opens her eyes, sees the world around them has changed. Her eyes widen. She knows what this is, she knows what this is and god if she didn't want Washington to see what happened that day with the Meta, she definitely doesn't want him to see this.
Past South heads inside and asks for a room—a twin room. She pays, heads to the room number on the card, and steps inside. As she does, she calls back over her shoulder, as if someone's there:
"Dibs on the—"
—before abruptly cutting herself off, and suddenly it's like something shoved her, even though there's nothing there. Her legs give out and her back hits the door, the duffel full of her armour clattering to the floor.
There's no one there but her, no one but her and—
Her fingers claw at the back of her head, prying out the chip there with a frantic desperation as tears visibly shine in her eyes. Delta's chip goes sailing across the room.
And South starts sobbing, pitiful, full-body sobs that sound like she's choking on them. She gasps like she can't quite breathe, curling in on herself with her fingers tangling tight in her hair, pulling at it.
It's not a sight you expect to see from Agent South Dakota.
The real South bites her tongue hard enough for it to bleed and turns away from Washington, unable to so much as look at him in her periphery.
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South flinches again. She tried, she's trying, she really is, even now, even after everything that just happened, she doesn't want to become this monster that the Project made her into again. But it's harder than ever to convince herself that this wasn't what she was always like in the first place, that there's even a better to strive towards.
"You're not the only one he lied to, Washington," she says, sharp but not biting. It's the kind of sharp that's edged with hurt, not anger. "And I'm not gonna fucking—"
It's only then she opens her eyes, sees the world around them has changed. Her eyes widen. She knows what this is, she knows what this is and god if she didn't want Washington to see what happened that day with the Meta, she definitely doesn't want him to see this.
Past South heads inside and asks for a room—a twin room. She pays, heads to the room number on the card, and steps inside. As she does, she calls back over her shoulder, as if someone's there:
"Dibs on the—"
—before abruptly cutting herself off, and suddenly it's like something shoved her, even though there's nothing there. Her legs give out and her back hits the door, the duffel full of her armour clattering to the floor.
There's no one there but her, no one but her and—
Her fingers claw at the back of her head, prying out the chip there with a frantic desperation as tears visibly shine in her eyes. Delta's chip goes sailing across the room.
And South starts sobbing, pitiful, full-body sobs that sound like she's choking on them. She gasps like she can't quite breathe, curling in on herself with her fingers tangling tight in her hair, pulling at it.
It's not a sight you expect to see from Agent South Dakota.
The real South bites her tongue hard enough for it to bleed and turns away from Washington, unable to so much as look at him in her periphery.