He doesn't regret pushing them so hard during training. Every drop of sweat they'd shed had saved them at least one in blood, had kept them from becoming just more birds who flew into panes of glass and broke their necks. He doesn't regret saving their lives.
What he regrets is pushing them away. They'd only been kids, and he'd pushed them away when they'd needed him most. When he'd needed them most. He'd done his best to teach them that nobody was to be trusted (even himself), and he regretted that it had worked so well. He regrets that he's so bad with those he's closest to, that he's shoved them so far away, that they think he doesn't want to remain in contact with them if they aren't in the business anymore. Sometimes he fears that they know how he feels and just don't want to speak to him.
What he regrets is that even though he can race into a field of gunfire without a second thought, he can't manage to raise the courage to pick up the phone and call one of them.
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