Things are solid between them, and it runs deep, after all that time on Sacrosanct together. York knows that, Wash knows that. But it's rare he ever acknowledges it so openly -- it's rare he ever looks at her like that, with that kind of intensity, and even though it makes York uneasy, somehow, she can't just blow him off, not when he's being so genuine about it.

She can't match his gaze for long. Her eyes fall on his fingers curled firmly around her limp hand. He's never held her hand before, she's pretty sure of that. Not even the last time she'd woken up in a hospital bed with him asleep in the chair next to her, when they'd gotten into that scrape with the dinosaurs. When those raptors had almost gutted her like a fish. She's still got the scar on her stomach.

Then again, here, people can die. They die all the time and they don't come back. York's vision wavers for a long, nauseating moment, and she closes her eyes just to get the room to stop spinning. "I know. It's okay," she mumbles, her lips still feeling a little numb, and if Wash thinks her voice sounds a little thick, she'll just blame it on the drugs. Clumsily, tiredly, she tries to squeeze his hand. She opens her good eye, and it's a little unfocused, but she really looks at him. "Don't have to worry, though. You don't have that problem right now."