[It could be Christmas; York lights up. If either of them need any more proof that York wants this, whatever it turns out to be, wherever it takes them here it is--for the first time since he arrived, he's purely, genuinely happy, without grief or bitterness to cloud the expression. The years since Project Freelancer just fall away from him, from the tension at the corners of his eyes. He glows.]
Okay. Yeah, okay.
[He turns to grin at Carolina for a second--see, see? North's on board, too!--before starting backwards again, a little spring in his step.]
Well, what are we waiting for? I miss drunk York even more than I miss drunk Carolina.
[He spins to face forward again, hands still happily in his pockets, still practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, when he looks back at them both, cheeky and exhilarated and so, so happy.]
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Okay. Yeah, okay.
[He turns to grin at Carolina for a second--see, see? North's on board, too!--before starting backwards again, a little spring in his step.]
Well, what are we waiting for? I miss drunk York even more than I miss drunk Carolina.
[He spins to face forward again, hands still happily in his pockets, still practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, when he looks back at them both, cheeky and exhilarated and so, so happy.]
Race you.