Wash wants to meet her eyes, to look directly at her and tell her that everything's going to be okay. That they'll get through this. God, does he want to. Oquirrh has been the best part of his entire life. Someone easy to talk to, to laugh with, who actually enjoys being with him and doesn't think he's just some kid. He loves her, from the way her eyes watch the world to the way her fingers move when she knits and they way they feel in his hand, to the sound of her voice.

But he remembers York's bruises, and the shipping crate with blood on the inside. Control has hurt his friends, and even he couldn't stop it. And that feeling makes him sick. She can't be one of them. She's not like one of them. She's a good person, not a cold, droning killer for some bureaucracy out in Armonia.

He doesn't know what to say, so he just squeezes her hand tightly, forcefully, and tries to process the information.