[ Natasha doesn't give any details beyond that, but Wash really doesn't need them. Not that he'd shy away from them, either, but he understands, just from the way she looks away, from thew eight of her words. Supplies for one of us to survive. She was the one who made it back.
Wash closes his eyes briefly, doesn't quite suppress the shudder that runs through him, a deep breath, inhale, exhale, focus. He thinks of the Director, of Freelancer, of how fiercely he pit them against each other, how much he always wanted them to be at each other's throats . . . Natasha's own program was the same, it seems. The same, but a hell of a lot worse. He nods, just once, opens his eyes again and makes sure to meet her gaze, nodding again. Okay. He understands. It's okay.
Or well -- it's not okay. It's never okay, it's never going to be okay, Wash understands that, the weight of that guilt, even if the kind they carry is worlds apart. He still knows what it is to bear that weight, to know you'll never be free of it. It's there in his eyes, in his voice, when he answers her. ]
It was never your fault. [ Soft. Barely loud enough for her to hear, across the room -- and genuine, even when he knows she won't listen, or she'll hear it and tuck it away like he does when everyone tells him to forgive himself. He's learned to smile, to nod, to say of course, I'm working on it, of course. But he never will. And neither will she.
Another breath. ]
Sonia isn't being left there to fend for herself. She has more help on her side than she knows -- and more than she can be allowed to realize. I promise you, we're going to get her out there. [ Easier to focus on what to do. Something practical, something solid, something real. His voice starts to harden a little, something fiery in his eyes. ] We won't leave her there.
-- You have to promise me too, though. That you're going to be careful about this, not just for her sake, but for your own. If I'm going to pull rank on you for anything, Natashka, it'll be for this. Stay safe.
That's an order. [ A pause, and his shoulders drop, his eyes closing again briefly. ] I want all three of you safe.
no subject
Wash closes his eyes briefly, doesn't quite suppress the shudder that runs through him, a deep breath, inhale, exhale, focus. He thinks of the Director, of Freelancer, of how fiercely he pit them against each other, how much he always wanted them to be at each other's throats . . . Natasha's own program was the same, it seems. The same, but a hell of a lot worse. He nods, just once, opens his eyes again and makes sure to meet her gaze, nodding again. Okay. He understands. It's okay.
Or well -- it's not okay. It's never okay, it's never going to be okay, Wash understands that, the weight of that guilt, even if the kind they carry is worlds apart. He still knows what it is to bear that weight, to know you'll never be free of it. It's there in his eyes, in his voice, when he answers her. ]
It was never your fault. [ Soft. Barely loud enough for her to hear, across the room -- and genuine, even when he knows she won't listen, or she'll hear it and tuck it away like he does when everyone tells him to forgive himself. He's learned to smile, to nod, to say of course, I'm working on it, of course. But he never will. And neither will she.
Another breath. ]
Sonia isn't being left there to fend for herself. She has more help on her side than she knows -- and more than she can be allowed to realize. I promise you, we're going to get her out there. [ Easier to focus on what to do. Something practical, something solid, something real. His voice starts to harden a little, something fiery in his eyes. ] We won't leave her there.
-- You have to promise me too, though. That you're going to be careful about this, not just for her sake, but for your own. If I'm going to pull rank on you for anything, Natashka, it'll be for this. Stay safe.
That's an order. [ A pause, and his shoulders drop, his eyes closing again briefly. ] I want all three of you safe.