[It doesn't matter what she thought of the mutiny; what matters is that Nathan Petrelli and his team needed an extraction, and she'd been as powerless as anyone else to get that done. That's bound to play on her mind, even though she knows by now that the outcome wasn't fatal. Security's orders to clear the area, two hours before the jump, didn't absolve her sense of personal responsibility, because orders never do.
At the lockers, she changes into her gym clothes, which means she's not much less cold than she was in a towel. It isn't enough coverage for the temperature, but she's expecting to make good time to someplace warmer.
Ward, outfitted in tac gear and combat-ready, is an unexpected sight enroute to the lift. His posture is closed and unrevealing, but she's assuming alertness, looking for those subtle physical indicators. She thinks better of using his name. She falls into step beside him and relies on his awareness of his surroundings to do the rest.]
Can't say I'm glad to see you.
[For all that she believes he'll increase their chances of resolving this situation—taking control of the ship, or otherwise getting everyone back where they belong—she doesn't want this for him. She wouldn't underestimate him as an asset, but neither of them were trained for this. Judging from what she's seen and heard since the last jump, her arrival, she wouldn't wish this ship on anyone.
It's largely because of Ward that she hasn't been concerned about the rest of the team. She knew he'd take care of them, no matter how long she was gone. Knowing that both of them are here now, there's a part of her that just got a lot more concerned about the vacancies left on the Bus.
She doesn't ask if he's okay, if the disorientation is subsiding, but she gives him that kind of look: support, should he need it, rounded out by her awareness that he probably won't. She doesn't expect him to lean on anyone more than he has to, herself included. That's not how either of them operate. In completely foreign situations, most field agents would withdraw from help, or even try to offer it, before searching it out.]
( post-lockers )
At the lockers, she changes into her gym clothes, which means she's not much less cold than she was in a towel. It isn't enough coverage for the temperature, but she's expecting to make good time to someplace warmer.
Ward, outfitted in tac gear and combat-ready, is an unexpected sight enroute to the lift. His posture is closed and unrevealing, but she's assuming alertness, looking for those subtle physical indicators. She thinks better of using his name. She falls into step beside him and relies on his awareness of his surroundings to do the rest.]
Can't say I'm glad to see you.
[For all that she believes he'll increase their chances of resolving this situation—taking control of the ship, or otherwise getting everyone back where they belong—she doesn't want this for him. She wouldn't underestimate him as an asset, but neither of them were trained for this. Judging from what she's seen and heard since the last jump, her arrival, she wouldn't wish this ship on anyone.
It's largely because of Ward that she hasn't been concerned about the rest of the team. She knew he'd take care of them, no matter how long she was gone. Knowing that both of them are here now, there's a part of her that just got a lot more concerned about the vacancies left on the Bus.
She doesn't ask if he's okay, if the disorientation is subsiding, but she gives him that kind of look: support, should he need it, rounded out by her awareness that he probably won't. She doesn't expect him to lean on anyone more than he has to, herself included. That's not how either of them operate. In completely foreign situations, most field agents would withdraw from help, or even try to offer it, before searching it out.]