It's easy to see the way that Maine's jaw tightens when he catches sight of Wash's wrists. Easy to see the anger there. Not at Wash, but at the people who took him. At the people who tied him up and kept him captive. If it weren't for the immediate need to get Wash the hell out, Maine would likely track down and kill every fake villager he could find.

Bypassing Wash's hand, Maine reaches for his friend's forearm to clasp just below his elbow. That way, when Maine pulls the other man upright, it won't put any strain on Wash's wrist. As for walking? Maine trusts that Wash knows his own limits — but he'll be sticking close.

When Wash asks for water, Maine's lips twitch down at a corner. He'd left his container outside; he hadn't considered that Wash might need a drink right away. Rescue operations aren't the Freelancer's specialty by a long shot. He casts a quick glance around the cavern, eyes a canteen sitting against the opposite wall dubiously, then — deciding he doesn't trust it — shakes his head.

"Outside," he explains. But he looks to Brigitte, just in case she was able to carry hers alongside her equipment.