"Save it." She'll deal with him later. Right now she's glaring across the room at York, jaw working tight under her helmet. It's easier to remember her place while she's in uniform.

Some people forget too easily. And others never learn.

"What are you doing?" Wash is wash. He wants approval which she gives. What she can't offer is affection. York's always been good at that.

"Trying to sleep. Wash is a great pillow." He shrugs, loose and languid and the suit does nothing to hide the slope of his shoulders.

"Sleeping with the enemy isn't a sound tactic-"

"He's not." York cuts in, sharp, startling her into silence. "You're not either."