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“You’re gonna be ok, Buck. Remember that. They’re gonna need you.
“I love you, kid.”
The words resonate in Buck’s mind, a cruel reality attempting to sink in whether he’s ready for it or not.
“No, Bobby, I’ll get Hen. She–we… We’ll get Chimney’s blood, and then Hen can make a transfusion, right? And that’ll get you a cure.”
“Buck, listen to me!” Buck stops; he listens. “This is it, kid. It’s too late for me. But I want you to know that—”
“No!” Buck shakes his head. “No goodbyes.” He walks around looking for something to prod the door open, but nothing works.
“Buck stop!” He coughs, and that makes Buck stop.
Buck rushes back to Bobby, frustrated for not being able to help him, to save him. I’m losing him. I’m losing my dad. Bobby leans forward, coughing and suffering, blood splattering everywhere until he’s down to the ground, leaning against the glass that separates the lives of the living from that of the one that will soon succumb, and cease to exist.
“Eight years, Buck. I was blessed to know you and care for you for eight years.”
“Cap, you don’t have to. Save your energy for—”
“No, Buck. This is my last chance, and I won’t leave without letting you know that you are loved. You mean something. To me, to Athena, to May. To the whole One-Eighteen.
“You’ve come a long way, and I’m proud of you.”
Buck is quiet, processing the words. Trying is most likely—tears showering his cheeks without a single attempt to sweep them away. What’s the point if more will come?
“I hope you never stop trying to be better, Buck. Promise me, you will be better. I want to know that I left a world where you will move on and find the love you crave. You’ll stop being so stubborn and, for the love of God, fix things with Kinard.”
They try to laugh, but yet another coughing fit reminds them of the little time they have. Through the pained remnants of a smile, Buck's vocal cords, by pure training and not because he's actually capable of— release the words, "I promise."
“I want you to grow old and be happy, and remember me through happy memories. Even years from now, when you’re celebrating Christmas with the rest of the team, maybe with kids of your own.”
“But Bobby,” Buck begs once more, “y-you have to be there. W-with little Bobby, and m-maybe a little girl, and I’ll name her Daniella after my brother. Please,” Buck sobs, this time more intensely than any of the times before, “Please, Dad. Please! ”
“I will be there, Buck. Through every moment, every milestone. Every time you think of me, I will hear you, and I’ll be here.
“Now, get up, Buckley. Go be great. And get me my wife; she deserves the rest of my life.”
Buck fights.
He gets up, he grunts, but by God, he keeps it together. And he salutes his Captain one last time.
“I-I love you, Pops.”
A sigh...
“I love you, too, kid.”
And with that, Buck turns around and walks away, saying into the radio, “Athena, you need to come in here.”