I'm So Sorry

Chapter 1: Don't Wear It Out

Description: AU. In this universe, before Delta can even tell Washington about North, South fires her pistol and kills Agent Washington. He's gone now and his story ends on an unfinished note. Now it's her story.

A/N: Hahaha, let me go outta my comfort zone and write something that ISN'T centered entirely around Agent Washington. Anyway, I was up until, like, 3:30 last night thinking about this AU... don't give me that look, trust me on this! Please R&R!

Your vision is fuzzy as you put all of your weight on one knee, breath heavy and uneven as you try and forcefully regain your composure. A few feet away, you can just make out a terribly fuzzy and distorted figure of Agent Washington, standing about ten feet away from you. On either side of him are the sim troopers, one of which takes Delta from you. Losing Delta, amazingly enough, begins to lessen your headache, making your vision return faster. There's a bullet lodged in your stomach, just above your left thigh, and the urge to vomit is almost mind numbing. Wash doesn't look at you while he yells at the sim troopers- presumably for letting the Meta get away- but you don't pay him any mind until he mentions leaving.

"I can't..." You pause, trying to even out your own breathing. In front of you, the sim troopers and Wash stop, eyes on you as you try to speak. "I can't walk like this." You explain, hoping against hope that Wash is feeling compassionate today.

"Well I guess you'd better start crawling," Washington bites out, and you can hear the malice in his tone. "If you think I'm leaving you here to escape you've got another thing coming." Oh, so he IS planning on taking you with him. Yippie.

"Agent Washington, if I may," You stop dead in your tracks, hands on the ground as you prepare to actually drag yourself over to them. Delta. That traitorous cockbite. "Before you arrived, Agent South Dakota attempted to turn me over to the Meta, to save herself." That piece of shit. If you make it out of here, you're gonna rip him apart.

"Really now?" Wash almost seems to smirk, like he WANTS an excuse to shoot your head off. Part of you can't find the heart to blame him- you shot him first, right?- but the other part still wants to live and has half a mind to wipe that stupid smirk off his face from under the helmet. "Anything ELSE I should know?" He's already reloading his pistol, and you can feel both of the sim troopers start to shuffle a few feet back, appearing nervous. You don't blame them.

"Yes. Before you arrived at the scene, when the Meta attacked Agents North and South Dakota-"

Everything feels like it's slowing down, and you just stare at Delta and Washington, side by side, facing you. A few more words and your fate is sealed. Wash liked North- just like everyone else- and if he figures out it was all your fault... suddenly, the memories are back. You do not, thankfully, remember like Agent fucking Washington does. You have not memorized a steady stream of 'Allison, Alpha, Allison, Alpha', you have not screamed a dead woman's name into the night for weeks on end, and you have not vomited every night for three months straight after the horrendous nightmares continue. You do not remember like Washington, but that doesn't mean you forget anything.

You remember North in several different ways- three years old and wrestling with you in the back seats of Dad's car, seven years old and getting his nose broken by some bully at school, thirteen years old crying his eyes out after his crush calls him a faggot, nineteen years old hunched over a UNSC space marine registration form- you remember North in a thousand more ways than anyone else in this known universe ever will. This, in a way, haunts you, because goddamn the things you cannot forget about North that you will never be able to recollect with him. Your birthday is coming up in a few more weeks- you'll be twenty-three and... you'll be older than him. You'll outgrow North. That's terrifying.

In one, fluid motion, you snap away from your never ending thoughts and let go of your stomach wound- your right hand now painted cherry red- and reach for your pistol. Your fingers wrap around it faster, faster than Wash when he realizes and raises his own. You throw your arm up, pistol aimed right at his visor. This is almost ironic, in a cruel and unusual sense. You shot him in the back, and now you're about to shoot him in the face. To be fair- this isn't fair at all, but you'll humor yourself just this once- he blew North's body to Kingdom Come. Really, he deserves it... not really, but you want to believe it. You want to believe it as you close your eyes and pull the trigger.

You were always faster than him.

Bulls-eye.

Agent David Alexander Cooper Washington goes down instantly, his mind gone and void of thought as his now limp body collapses. At least you made it fast. The tall, blue sim trooper screams, along with the cobalt one. You ignore them in favor of leaning against the concrete wall beside you, breathing even more roughly than before as you try to fight back the urge to cry in agony at the pain in your gut. The blue trooper hurries to the cobalt one, hugging him for protection as you regain your breath. Once you have a good handle on it, you drop your pistol and reach up with your now free hand, grabbing onto the wall for support as you start to stand, legs incredibly shaky as you struggle to stay on your feet.

"New rules," You announce, after spitting out blood from your bruised mouth, splattering your visor a rusty crimson. "I'm in charge, got it? Washington? We burn him. You two..." You wheeze, trying to shake off the incoming dizziness. "One of you is gonna have to carry me. I'll need a medic."

"Um... what if we do not want to go with you? Because some of us might be scared... and might have gotten scared enough to pee..." The blue one explains, keeping a fair distance from where you're just about ready to pass out.

"Too fucking bad, kid," You deadpan, coughing at your visor a second time. "Goddammit... which one of you is stronger?" When neither answer, you reach down, wincing as you grab your pistol, pointing the weapon at the troopers. "I asked you a question, soldiers. Follow orders."

"Caboose," The cobalt one replies, and when you just stare at him blankly, he gets the blue trooper to release him before pointing up at the SPARTAN-sized man. "He's a SPARTAN... he can carry ya. What'll you do for us though?"

"Do for you?" You repeat, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll tell you what I'll do-" You twirl the pistol, before pointing it upwards, firing. A few seconds later, a bird lands dead on the ground. "Ya saw that, right? That's gonna be you in a few seconds if you don't call a fucking medic. You understand that, Sherlock fucking Holmes, or do you need another clue?"

The cobalt trooper wisely backs off, giving Caboose or whatever his name is room to walk towards you, arms open to carry you. "Alright, just..." You trail off as you struggle to keep a grip on the pistol, wanting to keep a weapon close-by in-case they aim to dump you somewhere. The blue one obviously isn't used to carrying someone with a stomach wound- he immediately goes to put you in a fireman's carry, but you push away before he can really hurt you. "Don't carry me like that, asshole... we'll have to do this bridal style."

Thankfully, it seems Caboose understands the meaning of that, and after a few seconds of figuring it out, he has you safely off the ground and in his arms. He carries, you notice, like you weigh next to nothing. "Good job, kid," You praise, tempted to pat the man on the chest, but you still have your pistol in your right hand and your left hand pressed over the bullet wound in your stomach. "You, cobalt, what's your name?" You address the other trooper sternly. Out of the two of them, he's been the most aggressive.

He hesitates, before sighing deeply, shaking his head as he gives in. "I'm Church," He explains, not looking very happy to be revealing this to you. "Don't wear it out."

That strikes a match in your insides, and not just because Caboose is jostling you a little too much. "-Don't wear it out." Carolina warns, grinning at you like a bobcat. "That's my favorite fucking shirt you're wearing."

"What, you think I'm gonna fuck it up and stain it with shit?" You ask teasingly, checking yourself out in the mirror. The shirt's big on you, mostly because Carolina always gets her shirts huge, but it's smaller on you than it is on 'Lina. "I'm hurt, Care."

"Wounded even?" Carolina replies, fake-pouting at you. She grins though, and God, you love it when she grins. Her smile makes it feel like the sun has finally come up after decades of winter and the weather is warm and comfortable. "You better hurry back to your room, South: North'll kill you if he finds out what we've been up to."

"He can suck it." You tell her, turning around to bend over slightly, pressing a butterfly-like kiss to Carolina's forehead. "I'm pretty fucking sure he does suck it, by the way. He keeps shooting York bedroom eyes in training. It's pretty lame."

"Ain't that how we used to be?" Carolina reminds you, before laughing at your angry pout, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss it away. "I'm just teasing, South. I'll see you later, right?"

"'Course, Care." You promise, hugging her once more before you sneak out into the hallway, hurrying back to your bedroom. If you're caught sleeping with the Director's daughter, your ass is toast, Agent South Dakota-

The daydream ends on a surprisingly good note as Church reaches over, tapping you on the knee. You almost shoot him, but you miss, the cobalt trooper dodging just in time. "Ah, fuck! Jesus Christ, I was just asking question!"

You glare at him, a growling sound beginning to build in the back of your throat. "The fuck you need, shithead?" You whisper, voice husky and raw with anger. You hate him for taking that dream away from you, for taking HER away from you. "It'd better be fucking good."

Church glares right back at you- you can feel it through his visor- before he coughs awkwardly into his fist, looking away from you. "Yeah, um, if you don't wanna bleed out here, we should probably fucking beat it. But hey, if you wanna die, I'm cool with that."

You wanna slap him, but it hurts too much to move. "Fuck you, asshole," You mutter, but then you look up at Caboose, whose been rather obedient since you killed Wash. "Hey, big guy, go get Delta from Wash's corpse, 'kay? We don't have time to burn him so we'll leave his body here... but search him first."

"I'll get him." Church offers, and crouches down by Wash's body, pulling Delta out of a slot on his armor and passing it over to Caboose, who plugs the AI into the back of his skull.

"Search everywhere. We'll need all the info we can get before a Recovery Agent shows up and tries to fuck with us." You explain, watching as Church searches the younger Freelancer.

"Um... the fuck are these?" Church asks, pulling out a few photos from one of the pockets on the armor, giving them a confused once-over.

"Give 'em," You order, and once he does, you pocket them, groaning as you rest your head against Caboose's chest. "Alright, soldier," You mutter, patting Caboose's chest-plate to show him some moral support. "Get me to a medic, 'kay? I think I'm... I think I'm passing out here..." You close your eyes, falling out of it, until you're passed out and long gone in another memory.

"He'll NEVER pick these colors." You assure yourself for the millionth time, checking yourself in the mirror as you adjust your armor.

Today, Agent South Dakota, is your first day as a Freelancer. It's your twin brother's first day, too, but today is all about you in your mind. Today, you're South Dakota. You're not the Olivia to Owen, you're a Freelancer with a new name and a new life. No more of that twinsies bullshit. You're grown up, at twenty-one, and done with being Owen #2; today, you're South. It has a nice ring to it, you think, and is a great excuse to stash a few dirty pick-up lines in your arsenal. Just as you get your helmet on, covering your newly purple-tip dyed hair, you hear the locker room doors open a little ways away. You damn near jump, as the Counselor or whatever his name is promised you when you went in with the armor that no one would disturb you- something about 'New Recruit Policy' or some shit.

You don't mind though, so long as it's not Owen coming inside. You turn when you hear footsteps, and freeze as your eyes land on aqua armor. She's a girl, most likely, wearing the standardized female version of the UNSC's RECON armor set, her head held high as she practically struts past you, whistling all the while. Half of you wants to slap her, while the other half wants her to whistle for the next three hours; she has a beautiful voice. The aquamarine stranger stops once she's out of view, her whistling cutting off, before she backs up a few steps, turning to now stare directly at you. Even though you're in full body armor, South, you still feel naked in front of the other Freelancer as she studies you, eyes hidden behind a back visor that gives you no hints or explanations.

Suddenly, the Freelancer pulls off her helmet, and you're immediately greeted to a shock of red hair. She then looks up, having been staring at the floor while pulling off her helmet, and if her whistling didn't buy you, her eyes sure as fuck have. They're so... green! You've never seen such emerald green eyes in your entire life, and you've seen a lot of pairs of eyes, on TV, porn, and just from growing up in a big city. Her smile is precious as well, and goddammit all, she has dimples on either side of her face. She smiles so brightly at you too, before it abruptly changes, becoming more... competitive. You've only seen that type of spark of confidence while doing martial arts in grade school and arm wrestling in Basic. Aquamarine gal holds her hand out, out of nowhere, catching you off-guard.

"Hey," Aqua greets, smirking at you as she looks your armor up and down. "You must be one of the new Freelancers. I'm Agent Carolina; I'm more or less the leader of this little team."

You can't help but smile, even if she can't see it. You slap her armored hand with your own, gripping it way too tightly as you shake it like a madman. "The name's Olivia Crimson, but I guess it's gonna be Agent South Dakota while I'm in this joint."

You think, for a moment, that Carolina might yell at you for shaking her arm so hard as she gives you a blank stare, before she grins, and starts laughing outright. "I like your style, South. You're gutsy. We could use more gutsy people on this damn team. Welcome aboard!"

You laugh with her, and just as you're about to pull out a well-trained pick-up line- "You wanna know WHY the Director named me SOUTH?"- the locker room doors slam open, and God fucking dammit, your day is completely ruined as your eyes land on dark purple and bright green armor. "Heya, sis!" Owen says, running in and hugging you, ignoring the fact that you'd still been holding Agent Carolina's hand. "Guess what? Our Freelancer names match! I talked the Director and Counselor into letting me be Agent North Dakota instead of Ohio. Isn't this great?"

"Um... hi?" Carolina offers your brother, and she shoots you a look, but your helmet is on so you can't articulate the facial command for Carolina to beat your brother to death. "I'm Agent Carolina, the Freelancer team leader."

"Oh, hey, sorry for barging in so quick. I'm just excited is all!" North explains, taking Carolina's hand and shaking it just like you did.

"Well, I can see that you and your sister here obviously need to talk about... something," Agent Carolina sounds awkward, and you wonder if she has any siblings of her own or not. "So, I'll just go and check on York... bye!" And there she goes, out the door and unknowingly crushing your heart. There goes your chances with Agent fucking Carolina.

"Thanks a fucking lot, Owen!" You shout, and you shove your brother away from you, shouldering past him as you stop out of the locker room. Maybe you can talk the Counselor into letting you beat the fuck out of North in hand-to-hand training later.

"Olivia!?" North sounds so distressed, but you ignore the puppy-dog bullshit and continue stalking away. "Wait, come back, I-" A hand is on your shoulder- maybe it's North's, maybe it's not- and just like that, everything flashes white and it's gone.

A hand is on your shoulder. You grab it with your own, attempting to flip over and beat this motherfucker to death- except something gets pulled on your belly and suddenly you're on the ground screaming like a wounded animal. You more or less are. Above you, and certainly not pinned on the floor with a pistol to their head like you intended, stands some random SPARTAN- no, not a SPARTAN, not tall enough- with purple power-armor, hands close to their chest as they stare down at you, as if concerned. You stop screaming long enough to bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to get your mind off the razor-sharp pain in your gut. Nearby, you hear armored feet shuffle, and before you know it, blue armored arms are scooping you up and setting you delicately down on the bed you were on before.

"I don't see why we're helping the bitch who shot Washington," A voice says, farther away and annoyed, hinting that you're definitely outnumbered here. "I mean, I didn't like that fuckhead Wash to begin with, but I don't think it's fair we're letting his killer live."

"She's injured, Church. As a medical professional, it's my duty to heal and nurture all patients brought to me, no matter their crimes or histories." The purple armored guy explains, sounding like he's very sure of himself.

"What I'm saying is that we could kill her right now, and she couldn't stop our asses," The distant voice explains to their comrades, sounding bitter and tired. "I'm just saying, it might be best to just, ya know, off her while we can before she decides to shoot us first."

"But she is helpless," The blue armored SPARTAN tells the others, including you, giving you a seemingly pitiful look from behind his visor. "She looks so sad, Church. We cannot kill her."

"Yes, we can," Church decides, being the distant voice, and you hear him coming towards you, just as the purple SPARTAN gets you to uncurl from the fetal position and lie on your back. "I don't see why we're keeping her ass alive if she's just gonna kill us all later."

"You're so... full of shit," You declare, the words coming out without your consent and slightly warped, like you're drunk or something. "You like being a tough guy, shithead? Then fucking do it. Try and blow my brains out."

You're testing him, which you know is a really, really bad idea, but fuck it. You're tired and bleeding out onto this med-bed and dammit all if you want a little rest. Dammit all if you want it to end. Church comes into view as you turn your head, glaring at the cobalt dressed simulation trooper. He's older than you, you think, watching him like a hawk. He has his helmet off, allowing you to see his scowl. But that's not what strikes out to you- it's those EYES. You've seen those kinda eyes two times before, one pair belonging to a girl you knew intimately and warmly, and the other belonging to your worst nightmare. His hair is dark, jet black and grown in a mess, all uneven and greasy. He steps forward, his own pistol held in his gloved hands, and holds it against the side of your head.

Your eyes lock with his, and you can already tell that this fucker won't pull the trigger, and not because he wants to show mercy. This guy isn't a killer, not in the way you are anyhow. You study his eyes as the standoff continues, tempted to tell him how his eyes remind you of a girl you loved back in Freelancer. You don't though; it isn't worth your time to talk the shit about your past. Above you and off to the side, the purple guy is staring at Church, and you wonder if he's glaring at him. He doesn't look like the glaring type. Even more to the side is the blue guy- Caboose, you remember suddenly and with little warning- watching from afar, looking ready to step in, but too afraid to do so. You can't really blame him; standoffs with you always ended in a fight back in Freelancer, and that luck will most likely continue.

"Fuck it," Church finally growls, and you can feel how much self-restraint it takes for him to lower the pistol, eyes still locked with your's. He sets the pistol down, before grabbing your chin with the hand that once held his pistol, keeping your eyes on him. "You try and snap my neck though, bitch, and I won't hesitate the next time."

If it weren't for Caboose now holding you down on the table, you'd reach up, grab a fistful of Church's hair, and break his head open on the side of your med-bed. You don't though, restrained and physically exhausted as whatever drugs these fucks have been giving you begin to take a greater effect on you, your mind now turning into pudding as your head lulls, a thick stream of nonsense leaving your mouth as the medic patches you up, stitching back up the bullet wound in your gut. Church kinda looks at you- you have no idea what you're saying so he might be hearing some fucked up things- before he backs off a few steps, returning to leaning against the far wall of the secluded bunker.

"How long until she goes back under?" Church asks, and the fight is gone from his voice now that you're calmed down. He's not meant for war, you think, offhandedly.

"Not long. She's really out of it," The medic explains, pushing the bangs out of your face as he looks over his work, checking your barely conscious form for anymore injuries. "Give it a few more minutes and she'll be out like a light."

"Good. She's saying some... weird shit." Church doesn't elaborate, but you wish he would, if only to help you understand just what secrets you might spilling to these guys.

"It's expected. She lost a lot of blood, Church," The medic replies, patting your head once he's done. If you could move, you'd bite him. "Thankfully, you and Caboose got her here in the nick of time. She would've died if it weren't for you guys. So, as for the damages..." You zone out as English becomes nonsense in your mind, no longer coherent enough to understand the simulation troopers and the medic. Quietly, you drift back to sleep, hoping against hope that you'll wake up in her bed and it'll all have been a dream. Just a bad, bad dream.

A/N: Should I continue this? I'd love to know what y'all think (I'm rusty when it comes to writing South so I wanna know if it sucks or not). Please review/comment/reblog, it'd mean a lot to me!

~CabooseHeart.