Maine's eyes dart down to Wash's hands, watching the way the knuckles grow pale. Then his gaze returns to Wash's face, concern etched in the furrow between his brows. He's trying to make sense of Wash's reaction. Trying to figure out what's wrong.

Mutely, Maine shakes his head. He secured the briefcase and started approaching his teammates. Next thing he remembers?

"Woke underwater."

Offered with a minute shrug. He has no idea what happened in the interim.

It doesn't occur to him that Wash might remember something more. Instead, Maine wonders if Wash is trying to fill a gap in his memory. Trying to figure out how they got here. Maybe that's why he looks so troubled.

With no idea how else to help, Maine folds his hands on the table and tilts his head with a questioning grunt: "theories?"

That's right. With no enemy for them to pummel, and with Wash so physically jumpy, Maine's attempting to Talk Things Out with his friend. Talking about shit is supposed to make people feel better, right?

... Look, he's trying.