#s9e14

“Nobody sent me.”

“Then how do you know?”

“That you’re suspended? From Hen.”

That seems to surprise Buck; he squints and scratches his chin. “So she sent you.”

Tommy feels like he’s stuck in a loop. He stands in the doorway, squinting up at the sun. He shakes his head. 

“I—didn’t picture it this way either, you know,” he says.

Buck’s hand slides down the doorframe as if it’s suddenly gone limp. 

“Cryptic, Tommy,” he replies with more cynicism than Tommy has ever heard from him; he opens the door wide and steps aside. “Come in.”

It's a start, isn’t it? Tommy doesn’t hesitate. Buck’s living room is dark; the curtains are drawn. The air is stale, it smells of chow mein; on the coffee table lies a half-empty takeout container. 

“So?” Buck crosses his arms, standing in the middle of the room. 

Tommy has seen all this before, has smelled all this before; the memories seem to wash over him like a wave on the beach. To keep them from breaking over him, he strides to the window and pulls back the curtains. Buck remains still, frowning. Tommy stands indecisively by the window, unaware that the sunlight is casting an almost ethereal golden outline around him. 

“You’re the last person I expected to see here,” Buck says. He sounds defensive. But also curious, and that’s a good sign. A first step.

Tommy takes a deep breath; he forces himself to relax his fists, which clench almost automatically as he speaks. “That’s what my father said, too. I hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty years, then I got the call from my sister.”

Buck opens his mouth slightly, then closes it again; it looks as though he’s chewing on the words. Finally, he says, “You—you once said you had no contact with your sister.”

“Apart from Christmas cards, yeah. But back then she called me, said our father wasn’t doing well, she didn’t know what to do.”

He leaves a few things out: the way she almost begged him to take on a share of the responsibility he had fled from decades earlier. Even back then, he hadn’t been ready for it, but something inside him knew he had to go. It’s a part that Buck might even understand. The part that keeps hoping against all hope, that believes people and circumstances can change.

“So I went there,” he continues. “He was surprised to see me.” He speaks more softly now, looking out the window; the past is vividly before his eyes. “His apartment was full of empty bottles. His eyes were completely yellow; he smelled like a liquor store.”

Tommy will never forget the smell. It wasn’t just alcohol; it was piss and sweat and ammonia, the kind that comes with liver failure. By comparison, Buck’s place smells almost pleasant. But the signs are there, and they scare him, and that’s why he’s here. At least, that’s what he thinks. 

“You don’t have to save me.” Buck suddenly sounds very sober. Wrong assumption, right motive.

“Why not?”

Buck blinks in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

Tommy takes a step toward him, then stops as if he’d crossed an invisible line. 

“I’m not telling you this because I couldn’t save my father, Evan. I’m telling you because you couldn’t save yours. And because you understand the guilt one feels.”

Something in Buck’s face breaks. His lower lip trembles.

“You hated him. Your father, I mean. That’s something entirely different.”

“I didn’t hate him,” Tommy objects dispassionately. “Sometimes you turn away from the people you love. Because they’re the wrong kind of feelings.”

“Wrong?” Buck laughs bitterly. “I feel like Bobby was the one holding me together.”

“That’s not true. And I assure you, the pills aren’t holding you together either.”

Buck throws his hands up. “Then what?” he shouts. “What’s supposed to help me? You? You left me too. Wrong feelings… do you mean us?”

Tommy shakes his head. “That’s PTSD, Evan. It can be treated. But not on your own.”

Something in his voice seems to get through to Buck. He tilts his head. 

“You—you say that like—”

Tommy nods. “One more thing I never told you. That was wrong.”

Buck, suddenly drained of strength, slumps onto the couch. 

“So much was wrong. Is wrong.” He looks up. “Would you… would you tell me about it? What happened to you, I mean.”

Tommy’s heart clenches. A first step, a tiny spark of hope. Not just for Buck, but for him too. For both of them, perhaps. He sits down, very carefully and keeping some distance, next to Buck. His gaze lingers on Buck’s hands. Maybe, one day, their fingers will intertwine again. He takes a deep breath.