"You're gonna be alright, baby," Zoe promises, pushing Wash's hair away from his forehead. Simon fills in the gaping hole as best he can with what he's got on him, which isn't much. Wash whimpers a little, which is a hell of a lot better than the silence of five minutes ago.
"Define alright," he gasps out, smiling weakly at his wife.
"As alive as the rest of us," Simon says, drawing Zoe's attention away from Wash with a meaningful glance. "Which isn't going to be for very long if we can't hold off those Reavers."
Zoe hesitates, glancing between the not-so-sturdy door holding off the Reavers and her bleeding husband. Wash grabs her hand and squeezes reassuringly. "You go kill some psychopathic murderers, hon. I'll be here when you get back."
"Right." Zoe leans down to kiss him, then joins Jayne in collecting and loading their assortment of guns. Wash lifts his head up to watch her go, grunting a little in confusion when Simon forces it back down.
"I don't know if you have any spinal cord injuries," he explains. "There's no need for you to complicate one of those this far from the medbay." The dermal mender works well on limbs, but it doesn't do too much for gaping stomach wounds. Wash winces at the look on Simon's face.
"Give it to me straight, Doc," he says. "Am I gonna make it?"
Simon chuckles dryly, giving Wash another anesthetic. "Considering what Zoe will do to me if you don't, let's hope you make it, for both our sakes."
Wash sighs happily. "That's my wife," he drawls, slipping into a drugged doze.