[ He can't help the slightest smile at her words. To anyone else, the idea that something only decent might be made of them sometime in the future might be, ah, less positive, but Wash has never been in denial of his own lack of ability. If anything, what she says brings back fond memories, always the worst in the squad, always the rookie. Wash has always favored finesse over power, really -- partially because he's never been that strong. He's a capable, able-bodied soldier, yes, but he was just like any other, and when he became a Freelancer alongside the likes of Carolina and Tex and York and Maine, when it comes to power and raw ability and talent he always fell so terribly behind. The thing that made him stand out was nothing but hard work and discipline, but the willingness to push himself and practice and train. He's not as flashy, not as effortless as the others, but he gets things done.

Boring but practical. He misses guns, but the ones he used were always plain compared to the rest. No shotguns, no sniper rifles. Just marine standard issue. ]

Eventually. [ Is all he answers, but that shortness isn't unfriendly, there's a touch of warmth, there. A quiet confidence, but nothing smug or self-assured. Eventually, he's sure, he will be decent. He follows her quietly through the mess, instinctively moves to try and help her when she starts gathering things only for her to pointedly direct him away, and he does step back, though reluctantly. ]

Sweets? I mean. Sure. [ As briefly surprised and taken aback by the question as he is, Wash does have a quite a bit of a sweet tooth. It's a nostalgic thing for him, reminds him of the treats he'd get for his sisters, about how they'd insist on sharing with him. He is still lifelong military, however. ] Though there usually isn't much in the way of sweets when it comes to rations.

-- Are you going to make some?