"Who's Miranda?" The question was ironically casual for the weight of reality in that particular situation. Wash's brow only wrinkled slightly, the upcoming flight of stairs was more of a concern to him then this Miranda-person.
Wash's boot-covered feet bumped against the metal, open back stairs. But any stumble was stopped with Zoe's help. The initial panic in not knowing where she was when he'd found himself in this strange place had subsided -- despite the blow to the head.
He paused in the entrance to the infirmary, his arm reaching out to brace against the door for a moment before letting her lead him the rest of the way in. Sitting on the end of the exam table, he smirked at her comment while the image of her 'without a stitch' was already working wonders on making him feel better. But Wash wasn't Wash if he didn't counter with some wit. "Well, it starts off with the dress, because half the fun is getting it off you. Actually, probably one quarter of the fun is in getting it off, the other three-fourths comes when the dress is gone."