[He's taking care. He's reading Wash's needs and moving in tandem to suit those needs and it's so natural to him that it's impossible to fucking think about without remembering, and he needs to stop remembering remembering is what's killing him.]

[Think of a younger version of him: what would he manage, in this situation? He'd probably not stop talking, not lapse into difficult, uncertain silence. He could fill the quiet with words, hold a conversation that would sound one-sided to anyone else but wasn't, not really.]

[It feels like a sick, dishonest gesture: this purposeful attempt at regression to who he was, as if by emulating a man long-dead he could hold everything in place and keep the march of time from moving forward and that's all he can really ask for, a way to stop and stall the inevitable progression that leads Maine to where he eventually ends up.]

I think there's a good chance we're the most expensive things here. The most advanced, too. [He has to take two steps for every one of Maine's but he manages it. It's like muscle memory. It's like riding a bike. You don't forget you just need to re-remember.]

Everything here seems pretty low-tech.

[Obvious.]

[Like there's not already an elephant in the room. Scratch that - like there's not already a whole mess of them.]

Look, uh. This might sound...weird, but what's the last thing you remember? Of, you know. Before waking up here, I mean.