[ Mm. Every little detail, every arch of his back, every tremble of his shoulders, the tears in the corner of his eyes, Wash drinks in like a man starved. His gaze more focused and intense here in a way than Byerly's probably ever seen before -- except maybe when they were in the base. The same kind of focus he takes on when he's on a mission. ]

Nah. [ He's doing something different, now. Easing back again, to give him just the slightest breath of air, then pushing forward, but it's not sudden, this time. It's slow, gradual, almost painfully so, constricting that airway just a little bit at a time. ] I told her she gave you too much. Told her that you'd use it. Told her that if I had my way, if I had my damn guns here, I'd have already tied you to a chair and shoved one into your mouth.

[ And of course, he had meant that mostly to shut him up and it was about killing him. But where's that line even drawn, sometimes. Still pushing, leaning closer, shutting off his airway a little more at a time, until it would be painful but not impossible to say anything, until it's not that he can't breathe but it would actually just hurt to do so. ]

Told her I thought you'd probably like that, too.