When all had entered the house, Franka had closed the door and metal protection behind them, and for a moment, there had been complete darkness, except for a tiny green light that turned on as soon as the locks had fallen into place. "Shield your eyes, I'll switch on the lights... Careful - now!" From the ceiling, it poured down, bright and warm, almost glaring, until their eyes had adjusted. For the first time since they had landed, they could see everything clearly, Franka inclusive. She had a small, tanned, freckled face with an upturned nose, light green eyes, a generous mouth, it looked quite like that of a cute, pretty doll such as a small girl might carry around.<br/><br/>It was framed by short brown curls, most of them still wet, and in places, sticky with blood. From there, drops of pink tinted water ran over her long neck, that looked oddly fragile without it's protective collar, rather dirty, and scarred, her shoulders and sinewy arms, by the teeth and hands of raging infected. Without her thick leather jacket, it showed how light of built she was, quite thin, with the muscles of a long distance runner crossed with a gymnast. She wore no bra, her breasts, a generous B-cup, were so high and firm under her top that the lack of proper underwear was only noticeable because no straps showed anywhere.<br/><br/>She did not leave the group or do anything but see them settle in, look around, and watch and listen while Hackett peeled out of her suite and explained what they should do next. "Just mind that you don't break anything, and don't snoop around - this place belongs to people who are still alive, and care about such things." She warned them, in a friendly tone, not intending to be rude, but afraid they might be tempted to forget that in a country as destroyed as this, there were still people who called it home, and to whom it matter how their possessions were treated.<br/><br/>When Derrick approached Hackett, she frowned. She could read enough of the body language and facial expression of these two, and of the situation as a whole, after Hackett's words, to know there was no love lost between them. She caught Hackett's eyes and frowned when it would appear she would have to run all over the place and hold some conversation with Hackett before she could finally get the hot shower she had been craving for hours. She was tired, beginning to feel stiff and cold with exertion, lack of sleep, and hunger, and was smeared with blood, infected and her own.<br/><br/>But she nodded and set into motion, only to find Derrick in her way, touching her arm. He felt her sinewy muscles grow tense, cold, surprisingly soft skin, a few scars, an unwilling shudder. For a moment, as she moved her arm away, her eyes were hard and distrustful, then, she relaxed, and nodded, raised a hand to indicate to Hackett to wait, before turning her serious eyes onto Derrick's. She accepted his apology with a nod, then spoke softly. Her British accent emphasised her restraint, the impersonal compassion and rational analysis of one who doesn't want to be emotionally involved.<br/><br/>"Every day, you've cursed whatever separated you, asked yourself where she could be, was she dead, infected, alive, in danger, ill, scared, hurt, hungry, crying for her dad, and it tore you apart not to know, not to be there. You'd do the craziest things just to get to her. I've seen it hundreds of times, Derrick, and what it leads to. That's why I want you to calm down, think, plan. You care shite for your team, and were a fool to show it, 'cause you'll need them all to protect her. I want her out of here, too. I just don't want her dead, or stuck here after seeing her dad die and God knows what. If you think what you've been through was hell, guess what it will be like if your attempt to rescue her is what gets her killed."<br/><br/>Dismissing him from her intensive gaze, she peered over at the soldier. Who would first claim her presence, an impatient Hackett, or Derrick insisting they weren't done talking? She hoped it would be Hackett, so she could get away from the man whose emotions were intense, close to the surface, always ready to boil over. She knew his feelings, anger, hurt, determination, and because she did, she wanted nothing to do with them. It was hard enough to cope with her own feelings for those she had let come too close. Like Jasmine, who she'd never see again if they were successful. God, she wanted a hot shower! "Say, Hackett, would you mind having that talk while we clean ourselves up? There's a bathroom with two showers and a tub on every floor..."