His skin itched with the need to be out of this bed, out from under these needles and tubes. But they were keeping him alive, he wasn't going to be here indefinitely, and Tucker was here. That...that last part probably meant more than the others, truth be told.

Slowly he let his head roll as much as it could to try and look at him where he'd settled down to sit, watching his expression, the movements of his hands, the little tells that gave so much away. Tucker had always been so terribly expressive, never one to do anything by degrees. That included worrying, apparently.

Part of him just wanted to slip back under, continue to rest. The more stubborn part of him wanted to finish putting the picture together, to try and understand what had happened to them. To him. Tucker posed the question and Wash just nodded, ever so slightly.

But at the same time he offered that hand out to him again. It's okay.