Her gaze lingers there for a long moment, on this memory that should be so inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things; just one mission, just a normal interaction between squadmates, somehow rendered strangely important by all the ways things have changed, since then.

When she pulls her eyes away, she gives Wash a look, but it's not got much strength behind it. "I haven't pissed off most people here, asshole. But... point taken."

She scrubs a hand back over her face, groaning under her breath. Okay. Okay.

It's undeniable proof, a memory of his bringing out a memory of hers. It's something that even everything going on with North can't take from under her feet. It's not exactly a whole new foundation, but it's something to stand on when everything else around her feels so unstable. She wasn't always this.

Or— not this, because this, whatever she is right now, isn't either of these things; she's not the South that let her brother die and shot Washington in the back, but she's not that South, sitting there cleaning Washington's head wound, either.

She's somewhere stuck in-between, trying to figure out what direction to turn; towards one of them, or off in another direction, adjacent or otherwise.