Wash always looked bad, and he knew that. He didn't usually look bad enough to stop people cold, though; evidently death warmed over really did have a distinct look. He suppressed a shudder at the thought, tried to focus. Greg was talking about the sandwiches. Right. Food. "Avocado, huh." The smile died before it ever made it to his face, but at least he was trying.
On a normal day, Wash would've seen the change in Greg's movements - he'd seen enough people trying to hide injuries and done enough itself to be able to recognize the signs. Today, however, was anything but normal, and Wash was too preoccupied with sorting himself out to notice.
He wanted to talk, and he didn't. It was an uncomfortable, tense line to walk, and he- he didn't want to think about it, he decided. Not right now. "Not yet," he replied, slowly pushing himself up in a sitting position and leaning heavily against the couch cushions. "Sandwiches first."
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On a normal day, Wash would've seen the change in Greg's movements - he'd seen enough people trying to hide injuries and done enough itself to be able to recognize the signs. Today, however, was anything but normal, and Wash was too preoccupied with sorting himself out to notice.
He wanted to talk, and he didn't. It was an uncomfortable, tense line to walk, and he- he didn't want to think about it, he decided. Not right now. "Not yet," he replied, slowly pushing himself up in a sitting position and leaning heavily against the couch cushions. "Sandwiches first."