[ For me, York says.

Wash's lungs tighten in his chest, feels something in his belly twist into knots. He'd wanted to tell him eventually, once he figured out how, but York isn't a fucking idiot, of course he isn't. He should've -- he should've worded it better. Said it nicer. Made it hurt less.

There's nothing he could have said to make any of this hurt less.

He reaches out, clasps a hand over York's forearm. ]

The Meta is dead, too. [ The Meta is gone, even though Wash had worked beside him for a time, even though he could've easily let the Meta kill him more than once. Revenge is petty, empty, cold, Wash has learned that now, but -- he still got it. ] It nearly got to me, more than once, but it's dead.

-- South was with him. [ Wash gives his arm a firm squeeze before he pulls back, settling back in his seat with a heavy exhale. North. He means North. ] They'd been on the run together, I think. I wasn't there, but when the Meta came -- she left North for it, instead.

She tried to do the same for me. She shot me in the back, told it that it could have me.

[ He still doesn't know why the Meta left him alive. Another death he didn't deserve to survive. A breath, and. ]

I killed her.