The big man tolerates Wash's elbow nudging his side without complaint. Few people can initiate casual contact without Maine stiffening or shoving them away. But the contact with Wash actually appears to relax Maine, clearing some of the cloudiness that had settled on his brow.

The bonds of war, indeed.

Awkward as Wash may feel in being asked for his opinion, Maine's grateful when his friend gives it. It's not something that the big man had considered. Judging by the way Brigitte jumps on the idea, it's a good plan. She runs with it, breaking down what needs to happen in a way that has Maine wondering if she's done something similar before — right up until she says that she can act as a medic.

Of course she's done something like this. It's triage.

"Can cook," Maine says. It won't be anything adventurous, but it'll be edible. Something he learned to do out of necessity rather than for pleasure; a man his size can't depend on others for food all the time. "Kill," he adds. Tracking things is still hit-or-miss (mostly miss), but he's good at killing.

At Brigitte's joke, Maine glances toward the front door. Considers barricading it. Weighs the advantages of doing so against the work involved in removing the barricade every time a non-hostile needs to enter or exit.

After a pause (during which Brigitte knocks on wood), he settles on suggesting, "Lookouts."