[His right hand, the one that has the tremors, the one that grabbed a notebook and wrote a frantic message to Tucker, the one that seems to have a mind of it its own - it grabs on tight, hand wending into the fabric of York's shirt, making it harder for Wash to ditch on the hug early.]
[This time he doesn't end it quickly, like he did in Hell Disney. This time he holds on tight, and he trembles a little.]
[No, a lot. He's shaking a lot, like a bombed out wall about to crumble. There's spillover from the man he became - is. That man holds on tight to his brief re-connection to the world. He holds onto his friend. One he thought he'd never see again, who's alive and warm in his arms. He wants to just hold on for a while, to try to make sure it's real.]
[But that Wash, the warm Wash, the wise Wash - the drowning Wash, pushed into the dark and only clinging to the outside world by a thread...]
[Well, he's not the one at the wheel.]
[The other one is a little colder. He separates and pulls the other way, and lets go of the hug. But at least it lasted longer this time. At least he wasn't ready to squirm out of it.]
[When he draws back there are tears on his face. He doesn't remember crying, because they are - and aren't - his own. They belong to present Wash, who's warm enough to thaw out the icy facade, but who's now subsumed again.]
no subject
[Not a single knife.]
[Wash's eyes get glassy where York can't see.]
[His right hand, the one that has the tremors, the one that grabbed a notebook and wrote a frantic message to Tucker, the one that seems to have a mind of it its own - it grabs on tight, hand wending into the fabric of York's shirt, making it harder for Wash to ditch on the hug early.]
[This time he doesn't end it quickly, like he did in Hell Disney. This time he holds on tight, and he trembles a little.]
[No, a lot. He's shaking a lot, like a bombed out wall about to crumble. There's spillover from the man he became - is. That man holds on tight to his brief re-connection to the world. He holds onto his friend. One he thought he'd never see again, who's alive and warm in his arms. He wants to just hold on for a while, to try to make sure it's real.]
[But that Wash, the warm Wash, the wise Wash - the drowning Wash, pushed into the dark and only clinging to the outside world by a thread...]
[Well, he's not the one at the wheel.]
[The other one is a little colder. He separates and pulls the other way, and lets go of the hug. But at least it lasted longer this time. At least he wasn't ready to squirm out of it.]
[When he draws back there are tears on his face. He doesn't remember crying, because they are - and aren't - his own. They belong to present Wash, who's warm enough to thaw out the icy facade, but who's now subsumed again.]
[Wash wipes at his face, embarrassed.]
[Coughs.]
Dusty up here.
[His voice is hoarse.]
Very dry air.