[ Wash almost instinctively snatches his hand away, reflexive, but some way or another he forces himself not to, though his eyes open for a moment to stare back at Byerly. He's just uncertain, uneasy, something strange and distant in his eyes, inhale, exhale, focus, breathe. Miles had reached out to him too, when he spoke about her, but that was different. They're terribly different people, as much as Wash has apparently come to trust them both.

He's not relaxed. Not even slightly. But he doesn't pull his hand away, just watching Byerly's face as his hands work for a few long moments. He looks down. Fixates. He can remember this, the way those fingers move against his own, of course he can, drinks it in. Focuses on that. It still hurts, but it's. ]

He couldn't refuse. Wouldn't have, even if he had the choice. [ God, how could he, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her he loved her and breathe, inhale, exhale. ] He'd never succeed, either, just like in the man's actual life. But every time, they'd reset him a little. Make him believe he could save her. And he was never able to.

[ Please. Just a little more time. I can do it, I just need -- I can save her, please, you don't understand, I need to save her, I can't, I need to save her --

Breathe. He turns his head away, shuts his eyes, has to pull his hand away from Byerly's, now, but not too suddenly, does it with surprising care. Just rakes both his hands through his hair, keeps them there, his head bowed, eyes closed. ]