FLAG Headquarters, Los Angeles, 2008

[still_michael]

Michael was waiting. There... was a lot they just couldn't let happen with Rose... and so strings had been pulled, people had been talked to, and she was being moved-- for now, to Los Angeles, on the grounds it was more secure

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[so_many_thorns]

The prisoner transport was a plain black cargo van, like KI had on the roads all over the country. It bore the logo in red on the side, and had no trouble getting through the gates, thanks to the transponder located somewhere on the body - no-one could tell for sure, except the modifications department. The only difference was, once it pulled up and stopped, and the back doors were opened, it had benches along the back and a thick lattice between prisoner and security staff.

On this trip, it wasn't necessary. The prisoner wasn't fighting. She was simply laying there in the floor, not even cuffed, on a makeshift mattress to keep her from being harmed as the van made necessary turns.

"Here she is, Mister Knight," said the guard in charge. "We've not had a bit of trouble from her since..."

The statement was left to dangle.

[still_michael]

Michael nodded. "I was told." He almost hadn't needed it. Michael nodded his thanks to the guard, then went to sit on the edge of the van's floorboard.

Poor little girl.

"Hiya, Rose," he said, softly.

[so_many_thorns]

She wasn't in her urban camo anymore, or in what would usually be considered the usual prisoner's jumpsuit. She was just... dressed. A T-shirt and a pair of pants that looked more like scrubs than prison wear. But she also wasn't very responsive. At hearing her name, all she could do was open her eyes.

[still_michael]

He'd never seen it this bad.

But he shifted closer, reached out to touch her hair, to try to soothe some of... some of something. Of what should have been so hard to imagine. "My poor little girl..."

He'd danced with her on his feet, once. Laughing and smiling.