Disclaimer : I own nothing, except Ben. And Victoria. And Charlotte. Stepthen Brill and Disney own the Ducks.

Summary : I only wanted the best for my little boy, my beloved Adam. I loved him, and so I pushed him to be the best he could be. But my philosophy of his upbringing contained one terrible mistake...

Rating : PG 13

Author's Note : My little take on why Adam's dad treated him the way he did! I hope you like this!

=

=

=

I Love You, Son

Philip Banks POV

People think I'm too hard on my son.

My wife, my eldest son Ben, Adam's friends, Adam himself. But then, none of them know what I've been through. No-one except, Victoria, my beloved wife.

After Ben was born, we wanted another child. We'd always planned on having two kids, and the day Victoria told me she was pregnant again was one of the happiest of my life. We were told the sex of the baby at one of her scans – we wanted to know, so we could decorate the nursery and prepare. It was a little girl.

On the way home from the hospital we stopped at the store and picked up some tins of paint, lilac and white. We were so excited, we couldn't wait to start getting ready. Within a week the room was a baby haven. The walls were lilac and white, with white curtains and a big white wooden cot. We bought clothes, tiny little romper suits and t-shirts in purple and pink and yellow, stuffed animals, a changing table, and boxes and boxes of diapers.

We chose a name too. We decided to call her Charlotte. Charlotte Victoria Banks. A sonograph picture of her was on our mantelpiece – everything was prepared within four months, and all we could do was wait.

Then at five months, Victoria miscarried.

It was devastating – we sat and sobbed together, for hours, finding comfort in nothing. Our little Charlotte was gone. Neither of us could go in her room for months, it was too painful.

They say bad news comes in threes, and it did for us – my father passed away a week later, and a week after that we find out it was very unlikely that Victoria would become pregnant again. It felt as if the world was ending – Ben was the only thing worth living for, and he became even more precious to us than he already was.

Then one year to the day after the fateful news, our lives became bright again. Against all the odds, Victoria was pregnant.

This time we took it slowly. She had to have fortnightly scans, to make sure everything was running smoothly. Apart from one scare, the pregnancy was fine, and one week early Adam arrived. A beautiful baby boy, 7 lb 3 oz, with sparkling blue eyes and a tiny little snub nose. We'd decorated our last free room simply, not wanting to go overboard, in case we tempted fate, but as soon as Victoria brought him home I ran out and got everything we needed.

After sixth months, he was still perfectly healthy, and we finally stopped being so nervous about losing him. Although he hadn't replaced Charlotte, and we'd always remember her, the pain was lessened and we managed to take everything out of her room. We didn't use it for Adam, we couldn't, but we got rid of it and made the room into a guest room. Every time I go in there I think of the daughter I should have had, but we have Adam now. Our miracle little boy.

That doesn't explain why I'm hard on him, does it? You may think that with him being so precious we'd treat him with complete love and tenderness, worry about him all the time, give him anything he wanted. But it doesn't work like that.

He is precious, and I love him like hell. I do worry about him, I do try to give him everything he needs. He wants for nothing.

Except affection.

I wanted the best for my beloved son, and that's why I pushed him so hard. His brother played hockey, so it made sense that he would too, and as soon as he hit the ice I knew he had talent. Natural talent needs to be nurtured, and I made him train day after day. He tried out for the Hawks – they were the best team, he had to play for them. He got on the team easily, but I pushed him harder. He had to be the best player on the best team – he could be, he just had to work for it. I had him at the rink every day, skating laps, rollerblading everywhere, doing shooting practise on the drive outside our house.

He succeeded – he was the best Hawks player, the best in a long time. I could see his whole future ahead of him, the star on an NHL team, the next Wayne Gretsky. Then Gordon Bombay came along with his redrawn district lines, and my Adam had to play for District 5. They were a completely shambolic team – he wasn't going to get anywhere playing for them! So I protested, I protested like hell, but it didn't get me anywhere. Adam wanted to play, he loved the game, and that was the only team he could play for. I had to give him that.

I don't know what guardian angel Adam has watching over him, but it all worked out. The Ducks turned into a different team practically overnight, they even beat the Hawks. I was glad – I'd seen them injure my Adam, I was ready to kill the boy that had once called himself Adam's friend. Then they got chosen to play for the USA in the Junior Goodwill Games. My Adam, playing for his country at the age of 12! I was prouder than I'd ever been; I booked flights to LA straight away. But I pushed him even further.

"There'll be scouts out there, son," I told him. "Play to win. Make me proud."

My stupid words meant that he played with an injured wrist, an injury that never fully healed. It was my fault. He still made the final game though – he even scored. I almost hit the roof, I jumped so high. But all I could manage afterwards was a simple, "good game son." I still wanted him to improve, to better himself. He had to – he had so much potential, he had to fulfil it. Because I wanted him to.

He continued to make me proud, getting accepted to Eden Hall on an athletic scholarship. It's one of the best schools in the country, and though I'd have made sure he went there anyway, getting in on athletic merit was even better. He even got onto Varsity, the best team! The only way was up for my precious son.

But now it's all over, it's all gone. My wonderful son, with such a bright future laid at his feet, has gone. And it's all my fault.

I was the one who told him to blade to school for hockey practise. He was going to get the bus with the others, but I told him to blade. Any skating practise was going to aid him in the future, so I watched as he laced up his skates and headed out the door. As he skated down the driveway I called after him, "don't be late for dinner." The last words I ever said to my son were "don't be late for dinner."

If he'd been on the bus, he wouldn't have been skating across the road a few blocks away from home. He wouldn't have been anywhere near that street, he wouldn't have been anywhere near the car that hit him. He wouldn't have died.

It's his funeral now, and it feels like a nightmare. No father should ever have to bury his son.

Charlie steps forward, eyes brimming with tears, to lay Adam's Ducks jersey over the coffin. Coach Bombay sets a hockey stick over the top – Coach Orien follows with a puck.

The coffin is lowered slowly into the deep grave. I can hear Victoria crying, completely distraught, Ben doing his best to comfort her. I am completely motionless, frozen in disbelief, until the coffin hits the bottom with a gentle thud and I cry out in silent anguish.

Julie and Connie step forward, and each throw a red rose on top of the coffin, before turning and being comforted by Adam's other team-mates. More flowers rain down, scattered by his friends, his family, his teachers. So many people who loved him; so many people whose lives he touched, just by living. Just by being my Adam.

People start to leave – Ben takes Victoria away, it's too much for her. I feel supportive hands dropping onto my shoulders as people pass me, but I cant respond.

All I can think about is how, although I thought I was doing the right thing to push my precious son as hard as I could so he could be the best possible person, I made one fatal mistake.

I never told my son I loved him.

I never told him, and now all I'm filled with is regret.

I drop to my knees by the side of the grave, and grasp a handful of the dry earth. Looking sideways, my eyes flicker over the words engraved on the white marble headstone.

Adam Banks

1980 – 1997

Beloved son, brother, friend and team-mate

Ducks Fly Together

Tears flood my eyes, and I look down at the smooth mahogany of the coffin, holding my fist of earth out over it.

"I love you son," I murmur, extending my fingers and letting the earth fall.

=

=

=

A/N : I'm kinda proud of this, so review and let me know what you think! Thank you!