Still red from the anger he's feeling, Joshua's face screws up when the first answer he gets if the man undressing. Mouth hanging open, wanting to ask what the hell he thinks he's doing, but then there's an answer. One as verbally give as it is visual.

Faraday has seen Vasquez naked, and recently, and there was no wound like this.

"A Gatling gun." He repeats that, marveling at the very idea. "They brought..." It's a cold splash of reality as he reaches out, his stomach turning as he hesitates, not quite touching it. Afraid Vasquez will pull away in that moment, deny him that and then his fingers close the gap, brushing over the scar.

Definitely old. Sealed and healed and... He swallows hard against the wave of nausea hits him. "I left you to that?"

His eyes close, all of that anger turning in on himself. He left them to face a Goddamn Gatling gun, and no matter what he's told the idea he was there and can't remember it...

"I... How..." His gaze raises from the scar to Vasquez's face. "How bad was I hurt? Is that why I can't remember?" Frowning heavily, his hand going to the hem of the weird night shirt he's wearing, lifting the hem to try and look at his stomach, his chest, trying to see if he bears scars that would explain how he went a year without a thought. Without those he'd gone to war with. Without Vasquez.