"By answering your questions. By showing up when you ask me to. By telling you when I can't talk about something instead of lying."
Noah looked at him for a long time.
"And if I don't ask you to show up?"
"Then I won't force my way into your life."
"You'd leave again?"
Ethan shook his head.
"I'd give you space. There's a difference."
Noah glanced toward the plaza.
The families were beginning to disperse.
Graduates posed for photographs.
Parents adjusted collars and embraced sons and daughters.
Noah watched one young officer laugh as his father pulled him into a tight hug.
Something in his face shifted.
He had imagined moments like that for most of his life.
He had never imagined receiving the opportunity and not knowing what to do with it.
Finally, he turned back.
"Do you have somewhere to live?"
Ethan nodded.
"Not far from here."
"Are you going to be all right?"
"I'll manage."
Noah gave him a skeptical look.
"That sounds like something someone says when they don't want to answer."
Ethan looked at him.
For the first time that day, his son sounded unmistakably like him.
"I have a room," Ethan said. "And some work. It's not much, but it's honest work."
Noah considered this.
Then he asked, "Are you going to let Whitmore help you?"
Ethan nodded.
"Yes."
"Good."
A small silence followed.
Noah glanced down at his white uniform.
"I worked four years for this."
"I know."
"I wanted today to be perfect."
Ethan's face fell.
"I'm sorry I ruined it."
Noah looked toward the stage.
"You didn't ruin all of it."
Ethan waited.
"I still graduated."
"Yes, you did."
"I still earned my commission."
"Every bit of it."
Noah looked directly at him.
"And whatever happens with you, nobody gets to take that from me."
Ethan's eyes filled.
"No. Nobody does."
Noah took a slow breath.
Then he asked something Ethan had stopped allowing himself to hope for.
"Would you like a picture?"
Ethan froze.
Noah looked uncomfortable.
"Just one. I don't know what else I'm ready for."
Ethan could barely speak.
"I'd like that very much."
Noah took out his cell phone.
He glanced around, then spotted Whitmore speaking with another officer near the walkway.
"Admiral?"
Whitmore turned.
"Yes, Ensign?"
Noah raised the phone.
"Could you take a picture for us?"
Whitmore stared for a moment.
Then his expression softened.
"Of course."
He accepted the phone.
Ethan stood beside his son.
At first, there was nearly a foot of space between them.
Whitmore looked through the screen.
"Whenever you're ready."
Noah glanced at his father.
"You're standing like you're waiting for inspection."
Ethan looked down at himself.
"Old habit."
Noah let out a short laugh.
It surprised both of them.
"Relax a little."
Ethan tried.
His shoulders remained stiff.
Noah shook his head.
Then, almost reluctantly, he moved closer.
Their shoulders touched.
Ethan felt the contact as sharply as he had felt the submarine bulkhead close twenty-two years earlier.
But this time, no door stood between them.
Whitmore raised the phone.
"Ready?"
Noah nodded.
Ethan looked at the camera.
The admiral took the picture.