[ There's a sting when she presses her thumb to the cut, but it's nothing, really -- Wash barely feels it. He's focused on this, focused on her, the hardness in her eyes, her expression careful and measured as she steps closer. He doesn't flinch, doesn't step back, and he can tell that Lakshmi is watching his face as close as he's watching hers.
His expression doesn't shift. Steeled, focused, determined, his gaze locked with her own even when she guides his hand palm-up, as the rapier gleams as it moves out of the corner of his eye -- as it comes to rest against his palm, the metal cool against his skin. Lakshmi's grip is tight over his hand, over the blade, pressing the cut against the metal, and Wash finally does look away from her eyes to look at the red against the steel.
Hold true to it. Wash understands what she's saying beneath it -- he'll keep his word to her, he will help her, she's important to Maine and that is more than enough, and she will be there to help them when the time comes. When he and York have a plan, they won't be able to tell her about it, but when they come for her, she'll fight and run as she's able.
But there's just this, too. The gift of a weapon, of a sword. From Maine, but from her too, now, from this woman he knows too much about, a queen and a warleader trapped away from the people she's given so much for. His weapon, now. His sword.
Not a knife, not a gun, not the BR55 that hasn't really left his side for years, but his, now. Wash lifts his other hand, moving to curve over Lakshmi's over the hilt, squeezing once, firm, as he looks back up to meet her eyes. ]
Then I'm going to have to learn to use it.
[ He'll train. It is the only weapon he'll have when they leave here, and it's a practical issue, really, having something and learning how to properly use it. But more than that, it's respecting the weapon, respecting what it is and what it's made for, respecting what Maine had entrusted him with, what Lakshmi is telling him now.
Hold true to it, Wash thinks to himself again. He must. He will. ]
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His expression doesn't shift. Steeled, focused, determined, his gaze locked with her own even when she guides his hand palm-up, as the rapier gleams as it moves out of the corner of his eye -- as it comes to rest against his palm, the metal cool against his skin. Lakshmi's grip is tight over his hand, over the blade, pressing the cut against the metal, and Wash finally does look away from her eyes to look at the red against the steel.
Hold true to it. Wash understands what she's saying beneath it -- he'll keep his word to her, he will help her, she's important to Maine and that is more than enough, and she will be there to help them when the time comes. When he and York have a plan, they won't be able to tell her about it, but when they come for her, she'll fight and run as she's able.
But there's just this, too. The gift of a weapon, of a sword. From Maine, but from her too, now, from this woman he knows too much about, a queen and a warleader trapped away from the people she's given so much for. His weapon, now. His sword.
Not a knife, not a gun, not the BR55 that hasn't really left his side for years, but his, now. Wash lifts his other hand, moving to curve over Lakshmi's over the hilt, squeezing once, firm, as he looks back up to meet her eyes. ]
Then I'm going to have to learn to use it.
[ He'll train. It is the only weapon he'll have when they leave here, and it's a practical issue, really, having something and learning how to properly use it. But more than that, it's respecting the weapon, respecting what it is and what it's made for, respecting what Maine had entrusted him with, what Lakshmi is telling him now.
Hold true to it, Wash thinks to himself again. He must. He will. ]