Wash wanted to go bury himself in the deepest, darkest hole in the universe. Why was it that every time he talked to a woman he made things worse?

All he wanted to do was cheer her up. Connie had been so down after the failed mission, he just thought he'd try to make her feel better. What had he said that made her go off on that tirade about rankings and lines?

He walked into the dining hall, still engrossed in his thoughts. Grabbing a tray of food, he plunked himself down across from Maine.

Maine was an imposing figure. Standing at six feet eight inches, he was all muscle. A man of few words and quick to anger, Wash still wasn't sure how they'd become friends, but it had happened.

Setting Connie's helmet down beside him he sighed heavily. Maybe he should just resolve never to talk to anyone of the opposite gender ever again. Life would be so much easier then.

He stared sullenly at the helm and reached over to wipe a streak of dirt and grime from it. It was filthy, covered with debris from the mission. The only thing that was more of a mess was their relationship.

"Tough day?" Maine's voice was as rough as his exterior, and Wash highly doubted that he really cared for how his day was.

Regardless, he went into an account of the conversation he had just come from with Connie. That was how things worked between the two of them. He talked, Maine listened.

Silence pervaded their table once Wash finished his story. Rather than try to get Maine's opinion, he turned to the food on his tray and began eating.

The food tasted as sour as his thoughts. They may be an elite force of soldiers, but they certainly weren't fed like it.

"Does she know how you feel?" Wash's hand was halfway between his plate and mouth, but the fork clattered out of his hand when he looked up to Maine. This was not the kind of thing he asked, ever.

When Wash just kept staring, without answering, Maine growled, "Well, does she?"

"I- uh- never- impossible- like Connie?" He blubbered. Maine's eyebrow, raised in mocking, was enough to tell Wash that he hadn't been very convincing. With a defeated sigh, he muttered. "Of course she does. How couldn't she?"

"Have you told her?"

"Well...not exactly," Wash admitted. "But if you've noticed I must not be being exactly subtle."

That got a snort of amusement out of the hulking mass of muscle across from him. "About as subtle as a train wreck. From the looks of it though you're lucky. She's got to be blinder than my 98 year-old grandmother."

Wash thought back to that hole he wanted to hide in earlier. It was looking more and more enticing.

"You better go tell her," Maine said, making a spoon seem to be a more menacing weapon than Wash had thought imaginable, as he waved it threateningly in his face. "Before you screw everything up even more."

Wash couldn't believe that those words were coming out of Maine's mouth. Nodding, he replied, "I will...eventually."

"Don't wait," Maine insisted. "You know how Connie is, she hates cowards. You wait too long, and she won't want to listen."

"You're right," Wash sighed again. Pushing back his tray he, moved to stand up. He didn't know if he was ready to tell her, but maybe he could at least try to mend the rift he'd just created. "And Maine, thanks."

Maine growled in response. "I didn't do it to fix your love life. I just can't stand listening to anymore of your sap stories of how you messed up with another woman, without pounding your face in."

Wash smiled and turned to leave. That was the Maine he knew.

"You're forgetting something." Wash turned back to see Maine holding Connie's helmet out to him. "Take care of this while you're at it. Looks like its also in need of a good wash."