Man, and they'd gone several whole minutes without talking about it. So much for that. York gives him a pained look, like she's about to beg him not to talk about it. She thought if anybody wouldn't bring it up, it'd be Arthur. Well, she's not having such great luck this week.

"Bad job," she says briefly, almost gruffly, looking away to scrub at the bar or stare at the wall behind Arthur or anywhere else. "Bad intel. Could've been worse, though."

Yeah, it could've been. She could've had her entire fucking head blown off by an unlucky grenade. But somehow, telling herself that doesn't really seem to make it any better.