It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

One Last Smoke Break

Matthew abandoned the pizza box on the breakfast nook table, only asking they don't make that much of a mess while he went to see Yang. He gave few details as to why he needed to talk to him, only that it was important, and the children didn't ask any questions (after the several where they asked if it was a secret).

With Yang's office door gone, Matthew still felt the instinct to knock. It was foreign not to, but found the older man standing on the terrace with a cigar in his hand, staring out through the scaffolding still around the bedroom wing. He knocked on the glass doors and stepped outside.

"I am sorry," he whispered, shaking his head. "I am, and I know. I know. I know I was supposed to be there, but I just – I was not there for them when they needed me, and I knew I should have." Yang wiped his brow. "I, just, keep hearing you say over and over that my wanting to not hurt people isn't working, and then..." Yang flapped his arms at his sides. "I do not know. I was here. I could have come, and I did not."

Matthew let the glass door swing open, pressing itself against the wall. He folded his hands together in front of him. "I have something to say."

"Are you going to chastise me?"

"No. Not this time."

Yang turned. His face was stained, blotched red and his eyes glimmering. "Be kind, then, Matthew. Please. I do not have the strength tonight."

He took in his employer slowly, so unraveled a part of him was now disgusted that he had once so reveled in his appearance. Matthew swallowed, drawing in a slow breath of night air, and met Yang's gaze. "I've been coming at this the wrong way."

Silence, and then he scoffed. Yang raised his cigar but did not bring it to his lips. His mouth hung open. "What?"

"My demands, I mean."

"Are you going to add more? Make me suffer in this kind of existential dread?"

"No, that's something I want to avoid." He stepped forward. "You didn't come because you were stuck."

"That's a word for it," Yang sighed.

"My point," Matthew continued, "is that I didn't approach it fairly, if at all."

"I could have told you – "

"Jun."

Yang snapped his mouth shut. He brought his cigar to his lips, inhaling so deeply Matthew was certain the cigar would burn his fingers.

"I want you to be there for them. I do. There isn't malice on my part for that. I want you to be there for them, but forcing you to, essentially, shift everything you've done to this point to bend to my demands isn't how that works." He muttered under his breath, "As annoying as that is." Matthew shook his head and continued, "My point, is that demanding you be there for them, for everything, doesn't work. You have your priorities, and I – I can't make you care more and do something you don't believe in."

"I do care," Yang insisted.

"I know, but there's this...disconnect between words and actions with you." He stepped forward. "I need to know, and I won't tell them. What would happen if you were there for them more?"

Yang glanced away, scoffing. "This is not a therapy session, Mr. Robinson."

He waved. "Masters of Psychology, sir."

"I did not ask you – "

"You didn't. But I'm still leaving, and I need to know they're okay when I'm gone."