Wash supposed it was payback for how he broke the news about York.

Not that Carolina was being intentionally malicious. She probably didn’t even know there was anything to be malicious about. He and CT had fallen apart so spectacularly months before that mission, months before he realized she was talking to the Insurrection. So when she told him what happened, and he responded, she didn’t know what was happening.

Sometimes Wash hated how good of a liar he’d become.

And he’d just blurted it out, hastily, just “York is dead.” He didn’t offer her details or explanations or a warning. At least she gave him all three.

Even if he kind of wished she hadn’t.

But that was it, then. Confirmed. CT - Connie - has been dead for a long time. He should have checked the helmet when he first found it. Should have checked for her face. But then he’d be standing here, looking at it in the sand with hope and he remembered how much hope hurts, how it eats at you and how it sweeps everything in its wake for a tidal wave of pain in the face of confirmation.

So he answered, nonchalantly, the same acting that got him re-certified after Epsilon. He looked at the armor of the woman he thought dead, adding a sense of guilt or betrayal. Maybe if he had agreed to leave with her, all that time ago. When she first asked. Maybe then-

Maybe then he wouldn’t need confirmation. He wouldn’t have had to tell Carolina in three words the only person she cared about died. He wouldn’t have had every friend turn on him.

He wouldn’t need to constantly second guess his old squad leader because another betrayal would be just his luck.

He wouldn’t find so much comfort in two teams of simulation troopers who never seem to do anything right, because somehow it seems that little fact keeps them from doing anything horribly wrong, too.

He wouldn’t need confirmation, and it wouldn’t hurt so damn much when he got it.