He starts when the hands grab him, shake him, a fight he wants to have until he sees who it is. His throat closed as tightly as his fists, old scars threatening to ache phantom aches. He's over it, he is, this anger and grief surrounding his old man, but somehow they've poured out now. Thoughts about the dad he never knew, the few chances that hey got to; holding him in his arms, getting one last time to speak. That he's out there, waiting for him on the other side.

A son without a father. Is a story enough?

'We...I...'

"You think you know everything," he finishes for Roland, not as bitter as it could be. The tears not coming, though his eyes feel damp. His gaze drops from Roland's face to the space that he occupies. A silence between them, that ghost possessed loosening its grip.

"...He suffered for ten years. He gave his life because he believed. I wish- he found a better way, but... he tried. I'm proud of him."

What else is there for him to say? The exhaustion takes over him too, whatever point he was making, wherever either of them were going lost in the sea of their histories.

And yet.

"It's not wrong...to talk to your son."