He aches, each breath seizing in his lungs. He needs air. He reaches up to unfasten the catches of his helmet and reaches up to pull it off. He ruffles a hand through his hair, overgrown and shaggy because he just hasn't cared enough to bother recently. There's a couple of new scars on his face; bullet graze, a lucky knife wound. Mostly though, he just looks pale and exhausted and hard-eyed.

"Can't imagine you and Delta would've come out like that," Wash admits. They balanced each other too well he thinks. His mouth is dry, his voice quiet when he makes his admission. "They tried to implant Epsilon in me a second time. I was the only one left. So was Epsilon. They thought they could get it to stick, like time would heal what they'd already done." He shrugs dismissively, like he doesn't care. In the past, all of it. "It didn't. Just meant I couldn't hide what I already knew."

He closes his eyes, busies himself with fastening the rifle to the back of his armour just so that he can avoid seeing York's reaction.