The way he tells it is scattered, but as the pieces come together, North can pick together why that is. He got shot, and whether he died or just came damn close, it did a number on him after five years of no one to talk to but the AI planted in his skull.

The cold, rational part of his mind wonders how much this makes him an operational liability, while the part that's practically fused to Theta worries what the hell happened to his friend.

"Wow. That's . . . flattering, but-"

He knows he doesn't have to finish, that York can fill in the rest. They just fit like that.