Carolina paced impatiently, her armoured boots wearing a flattened trail in the grass near the crashed pelican. If Church noticed her impatience, he didn't comment. He was too busy talking to 'Sheila', the computer program onboard the Pelican. Apparently, they were friends.

Carolina paused her pacing to stare out into Valhalla. Her team was scattered; Wash walking next to the river, the Blues arguing near their base, and the Reds nowhere to be seen.

Carolina gritted her teeth as she spotted the last member of her dysfunctional team. South lay stretched out beside the river that wound through Valhalla, one hand tightened around her pistol and the other resting on her armoured stomach. Was she sleeping? Doubtful; so far Carolina hadn't seen South sleep at all. At night she just leant back against a wall and stared out into the darkness. Carolina didn't know why South couldn't, or didn't, sleep. She'd always been an insomniac, but now she'd taken it to new levels.

Carolina still wasn't quite sure about how she felt about South. On one hand, they'd never liked each other anyway. And after what South had done to both North and Wash…

But then again, South was a Freelancer; trained in combat and survival against all odds. Her skills were badly needed, but Carolina was still bitter. Of all the ex-Freelancers that could have found them, and it had had to be South?

Yes, Carolina thought, watching the motionless blue figure. South's arrival was definitely bittersweet.

Wash, too, was pacing. Angrily, he cast a glare towards where South lay. He hated her, so much. But he couldn't do anything about it; they needed her too much, and South could easily take him in a fight.

Bitterly, he noticed that no one else was as bothered about her arrival as he was. Carolina was pissed, but that was mainly because of the way South had easily caught them off-guard back at Sand-Trap. The Reds disliked South, too, but that was only because her armour was blue. Tucker was ecstatic over her arrival, and had already called dibs.

Wash's back ached with remembered pain. He could feel the scar on his back where South had shot, and it only fueled his anger. Did she even contain a single shred of remorse for that bullet? Or did she just not give a shit?

Definitely the latter, Wash reflected bitterly. In the last months of Project Freelancer, South had changed rapidly, turning from the scarred but strong woman that he loved into a deadly, uncaring soldier, devoid of any compelling emotions other than self-preservation.

No, that wasn't right. Wash shook his head, and clenched his jaw. South was ruled by two compelling emotions; self-preservation and revenge.

He remembered the way the shotgun had pressed into his forehead as she snarled. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he recalled the way his back had been pressed firmly into the sands as she towered over him, only a single tightening of her fingers separating him from death at her hands.

Yes. Revenge was South's ruler, too.

"Awww, c'mon Caboose!"

"I do not think that she likes me very much."

"She likes you the most!"

"No, I do not think so."

"You're the only one she hasn't threatened to kill or castrate yet!" Tucker said encouragingly.

"I do not understand."

Tucker sighed. "Just ask her. It's one question!"

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I don't really want to be killed or castrated."

Caboose considered it, frowning.

"Will you give me a cookie?" he asked finally.

Tucker grinned. "Sure," he said, even though they had only hard rations.

"Okay!" Caboose yelled, his face split by a wide grin. "I will go now!"

He pounded up the hill, arms flailing. He skidded down the other side, but tripped and started tumbling.

"Aaagghhh!" Caboose cried, rolling into the water.

South lifted her head menacingly.

"Caboose," she growled. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I am asking you a question," Caboose answered cheerfully. The water ran over his torso, and streamed into his open mouth. He choked, and the water lifted him slightly off the waterbed, and carried him.

South raised her eyebrows as Caboose drifted gently downstream.

"What's the question?" she called, some of the venom leaving her voice. South liked Caboose. His childish innocence was refreshing after the dark, bloody life she had known for so long.

Of course, by 'liked', she meant 'was less tempted to throw into a wall'.

Caboose spluttered. "Would you like to… do… something….with Tucker?" he gasped, chest heaving.

South snapped her head to the side, to glare at the rock Tucker was hiding behind. Though Caboose had forgotten some of what Tucker had told him to ask, South had no doubt as to what the question had been.

"No," she said flatly. "I would rather shoot myself in the foot." She gave Tucker the finger, and attempted to climb to her feet. Her balance tipped as exhaustion caused her vision to swirl, and South was pulled back onto the grass. She hadn't slept in weeks. Her sore, tired eyes closed automatically. South didn't even have the energy to beat the shit out of Tucker.

Darkness slowly closed in on her welcomingly, and South surrendered. She was just drifting off when the familiar scream ripped through her mind.

"South!"

She sat up as though she had been electrified, her eyes flying open. Her pulse thundered in her veins, even as she felt her heart constrict tightly in her chest. Her lungs tightened, and she struggled to breathe. South dropped her head into her trembling hands. Tears pricked at her eyes, but South didn't allow them to fall.

Would she ever be able to escape the ghosts of her past?

Carolina scowled at the distant figures. God, her team was hopeless. She sighed as Caboose was carried gently out to sea. She glanced at South, who had taken off her helmet to knead her forehead after her sudden, startled episode the minute before.

Carolina frowned. Wash was blinded by his hatred for South, Tucker was constantly distracted by his attempts to flirt with the ex-Freelancer, the Reds had disappeared, and Caboose – as always – was simply clueless. South, obviously, was wrestling with dark inner demons and Carolina had her own battles to face.

They didn't stand a chance against the Director, not like this.

They needed to be unified, to stand together and act as one… Carolina's heart sank as she realized what she had just been describing.

Because, in battle, that was exactly what the Freelancers had been. A united, powerful body driven by a sole intention, unhesitating and ruthless. She needed a team like that, a team where –

"Hey, Carolina," Church called, interrupting her reminiscing.

"It better be good news," she growled.

Church winced, and looked at his feet.

"Well, me and Sheila -"

"Sheila and I," Carolina corrected automatically. Church rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Anyway, we searched… but there's nothing to find. It's all gone."

"Dammit!" Carolina cried, slamming her fist into the Pelican.

"Hey, watch it!" Church yelped. "I'm in here, remember?"

"It's fine, Carolina. All it means is that a recovery team got here before we did.

Unnoticed, Wash had come up behind them both. She shot him an annoyed glare.

"This is our third wild goose chase, Wash," she spat.

"We knew there was only a slim chance that we could find anything anyway. We're chasing trails that went cold years ago."

"Even after she's gone, Texas always finds a way to screw up my plans!" Carolina snarled.

Church shrugged, uncomfortable.

"Hey! Hey guys, remember me?"

The light, girly voice sounded from the other side of Valhalla.

What the hell?

A pink figure strode out from behind a rock, waving energetically. A purple medic followed closely behind, beaming. The Reds, looking distinctly deflated, trailed behind.

"Fuck," Wash muttered.

"Who are they?" Carolina asked.

Wash sighed. "I killed the pink one," he explained. "And the medic is an idiot."

Carolina glared at him. "The pink one is still here," she pointed out.

"Well, I thought I'd killed them."

Carolina sighed. "You seem to be saying that a lot, lately."

Bitterly, Wash agreed, the image of a purple and green female Freelancer forefront in his mind.