He's slipping in and out of Russian and English. Normally, he's not so confused, but it's been a bad month. Everything he knew was a lie, everything he'd done had been wrong, and he'd almost killed a man that he'd known his entire life.
Sighing, he leans his head back. Were he with his handlers, he'd slip into a light doze. But he doesn't know her. He can hear her hands tighten on the steering wheel, but decides not to press. Instead, he watches out the window as she expertly steers them through the street.
"Phone calls?" He asks, in Russian, because parsing English is getting hard, which means he should probably sleep - something he hasn't done in a couple of days. But doing so means putting his trust in someone that he doesn't know, beyond a brief flash of her through his gun in front of a cowering scientist. Or her running from him in the streets of DC.
no subject
Sighing, he leans his head back. Were he with his handlers, he'd slip into a light doze. But he doesn't know her. He can hear her hands tighten on the steering wheel, but decides not to press. Instead, he watches out the window as she expertly steers them through the street.
"Phone calls?" He asks, in Russian, because parsing English is getting hard, which means he should probably sleep - something he hasn't done in a couple of days. But doing so means putting his trust in someone that he doesn't know, beyond a brief flash of her through his gun in front of a cowering scientist. Or her running from him in the streets of DC.