Elegy-An instrumental lament with praise for the dead.
(Not to be confused with eulogy — n , pl -gies)

There are some experiences in life that are universally shared. They a few and far between, but they exist. For example, if asked, most people will admit to feeling that sudden stab of fear that pulls one back into consciousness when on the verge of sleep. It's what prompts it that different. Some feel their eyelids slide open with shock, perhaps remembering something they've neglected to do, or have done wrong. Others think they've heard something they weren't expecting to hear; a creaking floorboard or the door shuddering in it's frame. Some only manage to pull themselves out of that strange state in-between lying awake and dreaming through the addition or subtraction of something (for example, if light was added to the sleeper's environment, person A might wake up, but person B wouldn't wake up unless that light was removed). Different though each of the stimuli may be, something has, at some point, brought a dreamer suddenly out of their own world of distorted reality with a sudden blink.

Carolina heard York's voice, and that's what pulled her from the transition. Her eyelids slide open, and for a second, dazed with sleep, she would wonder if she actually heard his voice. And then it's very obvious that she didn't, and she feels stupid for even imagining she heard it.

But his wasn't the only voice that kept her awake. And it wasn't the only one she thought she heard.

In the space between two thoughts, she'd sometimes imagine she could hear Eta and Iota. Very briefly, she'd hear them state her name. And that, of course, wasn't in itself out of the ordinary. Everyone imagined hearing their name called occasionally. This was no different to that. Even if it was different to that- which she was certain it wasn't- it was only to be expected that her thoughts sometimes came in the voices of the two AI that had had lived inside her head for a while, wasn't it?

Hearing voices is a sign of insanity, and, though she knew she was many things, Carolina was not insane. She was very aware that the voices she heard were echoes, memories, and weren't actually there. If she were insane, she was certain she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between what was real and what she herself had fabricated, but she could tell the two apart, and therefore wasn't insane. Not that she'd ever question her sanity in the first place.

Maybe recruiting a bunch of amateur soldiers had just been too much for her. Maybe they reminded her too much of her old team.

She heard them call her name sometimes too. She'd hear South snarl it resentfully, Wyoming chuckle it playfully, sometimes even Florida call it to her cheerfully in a greeting. She never turned around when she heard them. She knew that, no matter how near they sounded, they were the furthest away it was possible to be.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe if she'd hadn't lost to Texas, if she'd stayed at the top of the leader-board if she hadn't been so high-and-mighty and hadn't given Sigma to Maine, she would have been able to prevent at least one of their deaths. If she had believed York in the first place, if she hadn't been so consumed with anger and hatred and jealousy towards Tex, then maybe she'd be able to turn when she heard his name. Maybe she'd be able to smile and reach out towards him, take his hand and hold it because he wouldn't be dead. But the past was no place to live, and the further she strode into this labyrinth of "what if's" and hindsight, the closer she came to losing her grip on the present.

She wouldn't allow her past to define her. It wouldn't dictate her thoughts, control her actions or restrict her future. She'd let it influence her, of course, but she wouldn't hand over the wheels of her will and let it steer. It could sit in the passenger seat and give directions. She had no problems with that. Whatever her past was, whether it was full of bloodshed, or pain, or loss, there was one thing that could be said about it; it was not the present. It had happened. It was over. Gone.

Just like her team.

Maybe being around Wash was triggering these memories. Maybe it was issuing commands, maybe it was syncing after administering commands, maybe it was having a mission and being confident she would see it all the way to the end. She half expected to state something and have C.T huff with disappointment, South make a sarcastic remark while North scolded her in that caring tone he almost always possessed. Wash would call out to one of the soldiers in this new team of theirs, and she found herself rolling her eyes at York's enthusiastic response, which, of course, never came. When they ate, there was no North Dakota or New York to see how far Washington's leg could be pulled before he lost it and freaked out. When they traveled, there was no Wyoming rattling off bad joke after bad joke in order to pass the time. When they fought, there was no competition, no leader-board, no one to compare herself against, and there never would be again.

She had mourned them all a long time ago. Bygones should be bygones, bodies should stay buried. She'd made bad decisions yes, but they had been regretted at the time. If given the chance, of course there was an infinite amount of things she'd go back and undo, but she'd wished for those changes at time. If she could unsay some of the comments she'd made, then she probably would, but she worried more about what she'd left unspoken. Had she ever told South in a genuine manner that she was an asset to the team? Hell, had she ever told any of them that they were an asset to the team, or had she just been so full of her own self-confidence she believed that the only asset the team needed was her?

Had she ever told York that she loved him?

Millions of millions of conversations that she'd never had. She could have said so much that she didn't. She could have done so much that she didn't, but she'd shed her tears for over that long ago. Her mourning period ended long ago. Why now, why all these years later was she still being haunted by half-whispered words, echoes imprinted on her brain an eternity ago by voices that would never again speak, never again utter a single word? Was it something she'd done? How did she bring them back, and why were they staying around so long?

It was when she was jolted from that half-dreaming state by York's voice that she realised they'd never really left. None of them. But that was always forgotten in the morning.

Author's Note:

I was revising for my music exam when this song (/watch?v=atQBmK3OpLs to the normal YouTube url) came on. I've wanted to write for this fandom for a while now, and this kind of just happened. I didn't spend very long on it. Haven't uploaded anything here in a while, so I thought I'd post this, and hopefully return to my usual updates at some point in the future.