How did she end up here?
That was what Wash wondered as he stared down into the golden visor. Harsh and angular, how was he just noticing now?
He leaned down to brush some sand off the brown surface of her helmet, and picked it up. Touch. Feel. It feels as though an eternity had passed since Wash last held her.
It was starting. The memories - his memories, he was sure of it - came like the tide. He was remembering, remembering her face, and her name, and how soft she was to him. He remembered how she'd started to hide her face more, and how she took her name away, and how soft she tried to stay (for him, he thought), until it was too late.
Remembrance was something Wash often struggled with. Had trouble distinguishing. But he had come to his own conclusions.
Wash dropped the helmet and turned to make his way back to the others. They might be wondering where he was.
Remembrance, Wash decided, wasn't worth the pain it caused.