Yeah, yeah, okay. John would admit, he didn't get to see you as much as he wanted to. Like, at all. His ex-wife took nearly everything, on the grounds of his smoking addiction, and even if he was a cop what was he supposed to? He couldn't really fight that. Even if he wanted to. But he still got you sometimes, and he was grateful for that. You were over, today, a little bit of sunlight poking through the clouds. John was happy to see you; always had been, always would be. John had made an effort to make sure you could talk to him. Apparently, he hadn't tried hard enough.
"Hey, kid.."
You had pulled him away, made him sit on the couch with you. And you- you were just bawling. John's poor baby, sobbing like this. He was sitting next to you, a hand on your shoulder, trying to coax the words out of you.
"You- hey, kid, it's fine. You're fine. Are you sure you wanna tell me? You don't have to- do you want a glass of water?"
Needless to say, John did not know what he was doing. But. He would comfort you the best he could nonetheless.