Leo listens, for long moments. He stays attentive, silent, and thoughtful, even after Alycia has stopped speaking. In the stillness, his whiteboards and papers speak for him. Chemical formulae. Equations and calculations that start from existing neurology, and push into foreign territory he's spent years researching. A list of books on child rearing, including a couple titles that talk about raising learning-impaired children or those on the autism spectrum. Maps of islands in the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, with a few circled. Hand-written notes that look like Aria's work, making comments on the work, or correcting an equation's terms, with an occasional red heart or frowny face. "Disease," says Leo at last. He holds up a hand - "hear me out." "You got a disease. You, yourself, aren't hurting the world. Right now, I mean, 'cause come on, you've probably done some shit nobody even knows about. But right now. So you got a, uh, infection, a virus, somethin'. Call it Fear Fever. Your past history. Your future potential. Whatever. And it drives you fucking insane, because these suits keep you under observation and run tests and have all these metaphorical wires up your nose and you want to go home , you want them to believe you, you aren't gonna hurt anyone, but they just don't know, y'know? And it's frustrating because can't they just tell you're sincere, can't they see you're not your dad, but the disease isn't you, it's the disease they're holding onto, you're just, like, a hostage that this fear has got hold of, and you want to say sorry, whatever it is you're doing you'll stop, but it's never good enough..." He pauses, reviewing this torrent of words. "That's me, sometimes. Your turn to pour water, if I'm way off base."