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"I was hoping maybe, if you have a moment, you could tell me a little about him.”
“You want me to tell you about Bobby?
“I’d like to know more about the man who helped… raise my son."
Buck's heart leapt to his throat and he felt a swell of emotion that had been buried deep for too many years to count. His father and him had an understanding since he was a child: Evan and Phillip carried on separately. There was appreciation, but nothing deeper.
Phillip did raise Evan, but it was with distance and without depth. If Evan cried, it was his mother who coddled him for the few minutes she could spare until his tears ran dry. Phillip was a practical problem solver: if Evan broke his Razor scooter, he would purchase another one. It didn’t matter if his knee was stinging under his ripped jeans as long as Phillip dressed him in fresh clothes that looked brand new on the outside.
Evan maybe loved his parents at one time in his life, when he was ignorant to what love really meant. These days, Buck had care and appreciation for his parents, but nothing deeper.
Buck wondered if Phillip was jealous of Bobby. He wondered if Phillip was regretful. His brow narrowed in a calculating way - not angry, just curiously. Why the sudden change? Why the interest now?
It was emotional: to want the attention of his father and to want share stories about his amazing chosen family. He also wanted to guard it and protect his peace. A tiny, bitter voice invaded Buck's mind: Maybe his father deserved to hear what made Bobby so much better than him. Maybe Buck could finally show his father what he had missed out on by neglecting to care about his only living son.
On the other hand, for the first time maybe ever, he had the chance to find out his dad's side of things without his mother's input.
It was telling that Buck hadn't received a phone call from his parents about their visit at all. Their mother had called Maddie, and relayed the message of their arrival through her.
But... Phillip was finally showing up at his son's door, after deciding to divorce his mother. His dad was here, trying. It had to count for something.
"Why now? You didn't come to the funeral even though you were in the state." Buck sighed and shook his head. It was a painful truth to learn, but he appreciated the honesty. His dad didn't have to tell him that, but he had, and not in a spiteful way. He sounded genuinely regretful.
"I'm sorry, Buck. Your mother doesn't like funerals, or hospitals, or... well, a lot of things." Phillip's shoulders slumped.
"You're your own person," Buck said, disappointed.
"Sometimes after nearly forty years of marriage it doesn't always feel like that. I know it's a weak excuse. I can't change the past, but I can, hopefully, be better now and going forward. I want to make my own decisions and-and that starts with choosing you; not just Maddie, and not just the grandchildren. You matter, too, and... I'm so sorry I haven't shown you that in the way you deserve. I love you, son, and I want to get to know you if you'll let me."
Phillip's eyes were misty, and Buck could honestly say he'd never seen his father so emotional in his life. It mattered.
"Okay. Okay, yeah, I... I'd like that. Um... most of my pictures are on my phone so, uh, maybe I can show you some and fill in the blanks about what I've been up to."
"That would be great." His dad smiled and Buck copied him, tentative but genuine.
He showed him the 118, a few snapshots from rescues, and then excitedly went through his album of Christopher and Eddie. His father was receptive and interested, asking questions and making an effort to remember everyone’s role in his life.
Lastly, he showed him Bobby. Buck hadn't looked at his old videos since Bobby died and a few of them caused him to choke up. The barbecues and parties, the videos where Bobby was so happy and full of life: those were the ones that hit him the hardest. His dad politely didn't comment on his emotional reactions, but he did end up rubbing his back in comfort when his voice would break.
"You know, I used to be pretty reckless on the job."
Phillip let out a little huff of laughter and nodded. Buck smiled sheepishly.
"Bobby... he saw it for what it was. He knew I was trying to prove myself, prove that I was worth something."
Phillip's smile turned into a frown.
"But he taught me that I was worth something even when I wasn't putting myself in danger or trying to be a hero. He loved me for who I am, not what I could do or give to anyone else. It took a long time for it to stick, and he was patient and listened over the years. He never doubted me."
Phillip looked genuinely upset. He rubbed his hands over his face and Buck saw that it was probably to wipe away a few tears before they could fall.
"I'm so sorry, Evan." Phillip shook his head with regret. "I'm sorry that we didn't teach you that long ago. I'm glad you had Bobby."
Buck nodded tightly and held back his own tears again. It was something he'd yearned to hear as a child: something he searched for in strangers, searched for in different states and countries, searched for in odd jobs.
His father was hearing about the ripples his lack of unconditional love had caused. It was a raw, tough topic to face, but they were doing it together and his father wasn't making excuses. He was just sorry. Buck believed him.
"Bobby was a great man. He lost his first wife and two small children years ago. He had this way of just appreciating people, I think because he knew what it felt like to lose them."
Phillip looked stricken by the information but he nodded. "With Daniel... we... we didn't do that. We should have done that. Instead we just missed him and let the hurt dictate our lives."
Buck nodded and Phillip looked thoughtfully down at his clasped hands.
"Daniel was my mini-me. He copied everything I did, even wanted suspenders because I wore them to work. We would do the newspaper crossword puzzles together, and play I-spy in the car. He was so damn smart: he asked so many questions and I would answer every single one. We had that encyclopedia collection in my office, you remember? Me and Daniel would look up the answers to his questions at least once a day.
"You asked a lot of questions, too. You were so much like him in that way. But after Daniel, I was sad and angry. I want you to know that I... I wrote them all down. I kept a list for years, it was pages long. I had a list of your questions and I never answered any of them."
Phillip was crying, not trying to hide it anymore.
"I told myself I didn't deserve to teach you anything since I failed Daniel. What did I know? Who was I to do that to another son? I couldn't answer the one question he asked the most: why is this happening to me?
"He would cry and ask me over and over, and you can't know... what that does to a man. To a father. I wouldn't wish that on anyone." Phillip shook his head and swiped at his cheeks.
"But... But, Evan, I'm so sorry. I was punishing myself, but I was hurting you in the process, too. Shutting you out."
Buck was shell-shocked. He never knew. He never even had an inkling. His parents didn't even keep a baby book, but his father had kept a list of childish questions as a form of punishment.
It reminded Buck of Bobby's book, of the list of names he used to crucify himself over and over for years. For the first time in his life, Buck was seeing the resemblance between his own father and Bobby. Both had lost children, and both had carried the blame of the loss on their shoulders in some way.
Buck thought of Bobby when they'd first met: closed off, stern but friendly, and living alone in an apartment where he still set the dinner table for four.
Bobby's catalyst to change had been diving back into the bottle, only to be rescued by his team at the 118. Hen, Chim, and Buck had given him what he needed: a family, a support system to recover, and a safe space to be loved despite his misdeeds. Bobby was a flawed man, but Buck had always been on his side and loved him anyways.
Maybe his own father's time for change was now. Maybe Phillip had reached the bottom of his bottle and was asking for a hand to help pull him out of it.
Lucky for Phillip, Buck was always good at saving people.
"I forgive you," Buck said with conviction, meaning these words more than any others he ever spoke to his father. He grabbed his hand and squeezed, and his father squeezed back.
"Thank you."
Bobby had said, "They're gonna need you, kid."
His final words somehow linking back to Buck's own father felt like fate.