So Locus had been real. He remembered that, but though memories of Chorus had simply been bleeding in. With Tucker there to lay the groundwork it was easier to try and feel his way through the mass of disjointed thoughts and memories. The ones that still didn't make sense? He could probably let those go, push them aside.

But God, how must it have felt for Tucker? He'd already seen Wash lose his mind before, and to see him so close to breaking down again, to feel responsible for that, must have been a torment. The way he lit up as he spoke, Wash could see the anger flickering in every fiber of his being.

We all made mistakes, he wanted to say, this wasn't your fault. This wasn't your fault, it wasn't--

Feeling Tucker start to pull his hand away, Wash only tightened his grip. Don't, he seemed to say, as the last piece finally fell into place. He didn't remember the zealots or the danger, didn't even remember being shot. He remembered the sound of Tucker's scream, the desperation in his voice, echoing in his mind.

His throat? Was that why...

Slowly, his free hand lifted, fingertips brushing against the bandaging at his throat.

...oh.