"Oh my god you still suck at this," York says, pressing her hands to her face. Never mind. This is exactly how she remembers Wash. Nervous, awkward, somehow managing to fit that massive armored boot in his mouth. Okay, so that's a little bit of a comfort. She rubs her face all over, like she's still trying to get the feeling back even though the strange numbness of sleep has mostly worn off.

"I'm...fine, I guess. Feeling pretty good for a dead woman, anyway." York rubs a hand over the left side of her chest, just under the collarbone, mouth twisting into a frown. "I was shot in the chest, but there's no gunshot wounds. Mostly just got a headache. This is really fuckin' weird, Wash. That's how I feel right now."