York leans back on his heels, hands slung in his pockets and just- listens. Doesn't nod, doesn't fidget, doesn't roll his eyes or sigh dismissively like he would've, like he did, in the past. This isn't that. This won't ever be the Project and he's so goddamn glad for it. They've both had a lot of time to look back and-
Wash ain't wrong. Not even a little.
"You looked like death warmed over. Like you were gonna fall on your ass or pass the fuck out. Was it right? No. Hell no. But that's where my head was at. It'd been...years since I'd seen any of you. And the whole time all that went through my head was that, well. A) I left you there. In the middle of everything there wasn't a lot of time to...and I never really had my priorities in order." Take care of the team, not the boss. Keep everyone on the level, not be a cocky shit. He scrubs a hand through his hair, eye flicking back to Wash. "So I thought to myself' he's here, this time I won't fuck it up. This time I'll help him like I'm supposed to- and then you tell me to back off. And instead of listening I get angry because, shit, why aren't you with the program. This is York, new and improved, not a selfish asshole- and in trying to, you know, not be that guy...I go and be that guy."
That hangs in the air for a moment- self analysis isn't comfortable, he hates doing it- but goddamn if he didn't have plenty of time over the past few days (Thank you mandatory therapy) to look over some shit. "You were right to get pissed. Kinda woulda rathered you not throw all those bodybags in my face right then in fucking public but hey. I've always been good at pissing people off. That and...everything else, and you being right about a lot of what you were saying? That's why I started swinging. So. Agent Fucktruck York, being an asshole, film at 11. When I say 'I'm trying to do better-' I mean this too."
He gestures between them. "You and me. I wanna be better about this too. Cuz you're not a rookie and I have no fuck'n idea what I'm doing anymore. Shoe's firmly on the other foot, here."
no subject
Wash ain't wrong. Not even a little.
"You looked like death warmed over. Like you were gonna fall on your ass or pass the fuck out. Was it right? No. Hell no. But that's where my head was at. It'd been...years since I'd seen any of you. And the whole time all that went through my head was that, well. A) I left you there. In the middle of everything there wasn't a lot of time to...and I never really had my priorities in order." Take care of the team, not the boss. Keep everyone on the level, not be a cocky shit. He scrubs a hand through his hair, eye flicking back to Wash. "So I thought to myself' he's here, this time I won't fuck it up. This time I'll help him like I'm supposed to- and then you tell me to back off. And instead of listening I get angry because, shit, why aren't you with the program. This is York, new and improved, not a selfish asshole- and in trying to, you know, not be that guy...I go and be that guy."
That hangs in the air for a moment- self analysis isn't comfortable, he hates doing it- but goddamn if he didn't have plenty of time over the past few days (Thank you mandatory therapy) to look over some shit. "You were right to get pissed. Kinda woulda rathered you not throw all those bodybags in my face right then in fucking public but hey. I've always been good at pissing people off. That and...everything else, and you being right about a lot of what you were saying? That's why I started swinging. So. Agent Fucktruck York, being an asshole, film at 11. When I say 'I'm trying to do better-' I mean this too."
He gestures between them. "You and me. I wanna be better about this too. Cuz you're not a rookie and I have no fuck'n idea what I'm doing anymore. Shoe's firmly on the other foot, here."