(no subject)

Max keeps his face carefully neutral. Patience is required.

"Yes, it's okay to tell a grown up they're about to be hit by a bus."

"What if a teacher asks a question? How do you know if they know the answer you're about to give?" Fry asks.

"You're allowed to answer the question." Max says.

"Then how am I supposed to know in what circumstances telling an adult something I know more about than they do is 'smart mouthing'?" Fry asks.

Max considers this carefully for a moment, trying to word his explanation.

"It's not so much about what you tell someone as the way that you do it." he says. "You can actually give the exact same information and be praised or criticised."

Fry looks at him, confused. Max has been his psychologist since he was a baby, and frankly, he'd trust the man with his life. So he's pretty sure this isn't a trick.

"This isn't one of those 'tone' things is it?"

"Partially." Max says. "But if you can't hear the tone, you can work around that to an extent. Let's say your teacher tells you that the world is flat and you know it's round..."

"Spherical." Fry corrects. "Although, not precisely spherical."

"Okay, spherical. Now if you say to your teacher 'It's not flat, it's spherical!', you're saying it in a way that implies that they're an idiot. Whereas if you put your hand up and say 'I heard there was some evidence it was spherical, is there any truth to that?' or 'How do we know it's not spherical?', then you give them time to think. That makes them feel less foolish and makes them less likely to resist you."

Fry considers this for a moment.

"So it's not telling people the things that upsets them, it's telling them that they're wrong?"

"Yeah." Max says. "Nobody likes to be wrong." He watches Fry digest this tip of information. The lad hasn't sat still the whole time they've been in the session, and according to Mrs Carter, has been upset and twitchy for days. "Is this what's been bothering you?"

"Kind of." Fry says, picking a loose bit of plaster off the windowsill. It's almost precisely a centimetre cubed.

Max gives him a moment, recognising this as Fry not wanting to give the entire information but not wanting to tell a direct lie. Fry is known to be a master a not talking about things if you push him too hard, and if interrogated too much, can decide to stop speaking to people for days at a time.

"I hate being so weak." Fry says, crumbling the little bit of plaster.

Max frowns. "Why do you think you're weak?"

"I lost to the mugger so easily. My self-defence was okay but as soon as I got a hit in, I saw blood and passed out. It's pathetic at my age." Fry says, sitting down on the bean bag in the corner.

"It doesn't make you weak, Fry. The mugger was a lot bigger than you."

"Nigel says I'm pathetic."

"That was unkind of him." Max says. "And unfair. A lot of grown men and women are phobic of blood, and you've had experiences that make it perfectly understandable.
You know, blood phobia can be overcome, with some exercises that keep your blood pressure up. We can work on that together if you like?"

Fry considers this, and nods. He feels slightly faint just thinking about it. But ever so slightly relieved, at the same time.

"Thanks Max."

"No problem kiddo." Max tosses him a biscuit.

"You're my actual friend, right?" Fry asks, catching the biscuit, tackling another source of anxiety. "Not just because you're paid to see me."

Max looks slightly caught off guard by that one.

"If you mean do I like you, then yes, I'm your friend. But not a friend to hang out with like Lenny or James, because I'm also your psychologist. Does that make sense?"

Fry nods, slightly relieved.

"We'll go through some exercises then I'll see you again each week for a little while until you get back on your feet, that sound okay?"

"Yeah, thanks Max."