He pauses. A long, long pause. He's considering the question, the tone, the mentions before. You're a decade too late, Wash had said.

"You must know what happened," he says. "Otherwise you wouldn't be asking it that way."

He leans back down again, elbows to knees, head hanging.

"I just remember screaming," he says. "At the end there. South was around the corner, or she was meant to be. Maine was—"

He stops. Shakes his head. He can't bear to tell more. His eyes close briefly. Then he turns his head and looks at Wash. His gaze is piercing, but also sympathetic.

"And you know what I'm talking about, right?"