Sullivan: What’s the problem, Miller?
Dean: You.
Sullivan: Yeah, I gathered that.
Dean: You reached the level most black firefighters will never sniff, let alone see, and what do you do with all the success, everything they think we do. We have to work twice as hard just to be considered.
Sullivan: Well, that’s not exclusive to firefighters.
Dean: You don’t give two craps about making it harder for every other black firefighter.
Sullivan: Don’t assume that what I did doesn’t mean I don’t give a crap about it. Don’t you think I’m sorry? You don’t think I know what I did?
Dean: No, I think you knew exactly what you did; you just did it anyway.
Sullivan: I stole drugs because I’m an addict, Miller. You have no idea what it feels like to need a drug. You don’t know my pain.
Dean: Everybody here knows the pain of the job. Only one person stole drugs and lied about it. I’m not patting you on the back. I remember you at the academy, all high and mighty, constantly preaching about integrity. You pushed me to be better, and now you’re just a lying, drug-stealing thief with a free pass to do it again.
Sullivan: I was injured, Miller.
Dean: And you’re about to injured again, Robert, if you don’t get out of my face.