[ And there, finally, a slight softening. It starts with a faint lift of the chin as John first notices his mistake, then a loosening in the tautness of his expression as he goes on to acknowledge it.

This time, his voice has gentled - stripped of its hard line, assuming more of the familiarity of their everyday. The warmth and wisdom of a father who had very rarely had cause to raise his voice to a son who had always yearned for his approval. ]

You're entitled to your weaknesses. Contrary to popular belief, none of us are without them. But I want you to remember that when you tell yourself you'll never be my real son, you're telling me I'll never be your real father. If that's how you feel, I'd ask you to tell me clearly. If it isn't, you need to stop feeding yourself the whispers scattered about for hungrier birds than you to peck at and poison themselves with. They're not meant for us.

[ And now he rises, making his way around the desk to stand before John, face full of earnest imploring. ]

You speak to me when you have a concern. You speak plainly, and we do one another the favour of honesty. No more stewing on burdens you needn't carry alone. Do you hear me?

[ There is so much more risk in John's silence than his speech, difficult as that may be to imagine. If playing therapist once in a while is what it takes to keep the skies clear, so be it. It's not a step he can afford to skip. ]