You know, I'm almost surprised there isn't a groove in the floor from all this pacing…

Agent Carolina paused by the window, lips twisting into a semblance of a smile at the thought. Of course there would be no groove; not even her purposeful striding could make a dent in the floor of the Mother of Invention. Just as well, really, since she had been doing practically nothing else since York had been taken into the medical suite. She had tried to tell herself she was no more concerned about him than she would be of any of the other members of what she viewed as 'her team', but she was not well-versed in lying to herself.

It isn't "love". Probably won't ever be; he's too interested in flirting with everything that crosses his path, and me… Well, I'm too busy being 'driven', aren't I?

She sighed, and began pacing again. That was not a train of thought she wished to pursue. It felt like she had been waiting for days for news of the other Freelancer, though she knew full well it had only been about two hours since he'd been taken in. Had she had her way, he would have been rushed, but Carolina had no delusions about who ran the show.

Damn the Director, why did he have to hold the medics up to give Washington that lecture?

She gritted her teeth and paused once more, long enough to hit her head lightly against the cool, reinforced glass of the window, then began pacing. It wasn't for her to question the Director; he had given them everything, after all. She just hated being kept in the dark, by anyone, be it her commanding officer or the medics.

Why won't they just tell me what the hell's going on?

She clenched her jaw, and glared at her reflection, hardly seeing it. She couldn't stay there long – far too restless – and began pacing once more.

I just need to know he's okay.