Chapter Text
There are different stages of grief. Buck read all about it.
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. People don’t always experience them in this particular order. People don’t even necessarily go through all of these stages. They might skip one. Or have a delayed reaction.
Buck knows he hasn’t been in denial. He is fully aware that Bobby is dead. It happened.
Only when he sleeps does he dream up a world in which it didn’t happen. He sees Bobby sitting at the table with the team, and it feels so real, so right. Buck wakes up with wet cheeks and an ache behind his eyes. He wishes it hadn’t happened. Wishes he could go back in time and change something, like in the movie: Butterfly Effect.
But that doesn’t mean that he can’t accept the cold, hard truth. Bobby is gone. Buck isn’t in denial.
Anger, though … Anger is his companion. It’s a pressure, constantly pushing against his chest. It’s in his throat too, rising like a flood. Hot, blinding, exhausting. Why? Why now? Why did it have to happen like this? Why? And why … Why did he give up? They never give up. Never. It’s a rule. Rules are important when you live in a dangerous, chaotic world filled with change you can’t control.
You never give up.
Buck curls his hand into a fist, feeling the hot water rising high enough to suffocate him. He did give up in that lab. He curled up in the hallway and cried. While Bobby died. While Athena watched him die.
Bobby was supposed to be there until retirement. He was supposed to build a new home with Athena. He should have been there to see all the kids grow up. Maybe even … Buck’s kids.
Fuck.
Everything Buck feels is tinged with anger. Angry sadness. Angry exhaustion. Angry resignation. It’s on the couch with him, as he stares at the TV, not even seeing what’s on the screen. Angry loneliness.
There are too many people at the funeral.
Buck feels overwhelmed by the buzz of hushed noises, the occasional laugh, and the thousands of sad words. He wonders what Bobby would think if he were here. He would probably squirm and soon leave to hide in his office.
Someone pats his back and tells him, “My condolences, Buckley,” and Buck nods automatically, only noticing it was Gerrard when the man has already walked on. Buck makes his way through the crowd to find someone from the 118 or Maddie - and promptly almost bumps into Tommy.
Tommy.
Close up, he feels warm and smells like … familiarity. Buck takes a step back, his face heating up. “Sorry.”
Tommy looks handsome in his dress blues. His blue eyes scan Buck’s face, fingers fidgeting with his cap, his face calm and serious. Closed off. “Evan.”
At least it’s not "Buck" anymore.
I don’t want him to call me Buck ever again.
They haven’t talked since the helicopter chase. Buck’s mouth is dry when he remembers. These few hopeful moments right before disaster. He felt anxious during the distraction they caused. But he never felt unsafe. Because he knew Tommy would get them down on the ground.
“Are you okay?” Tommy asks.
If Buck were able to put the storms of emotions into coherent words, he probably would say: That’s kind of a stupid question. Look at me. Do I look okay? How can anything be okay? Bobby is dead. And I fucked up. And you are not with me.
He just shrugs. “I guess.”
He just shrugs. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry about Bobby. I know what he meant to you,” Tommy says, his eyes softening.
Buck nods, his throat tightening.
Do you know that Bobby knew what you mean to me?
Bobby never told Buck to get over it and move on. Bobby never took his phone. Bobby just put a plate of lasagna in front of Buck and calmly said, “Life is complicated. Love is messy. But if it’s worth fighting for, you’ll figure it out.”
I wish I had half as much confidence in myself as he had.
Why can’t we turn back time and relive situations when we thought about what would be the right thing to say?
Buck feels the sudden urge to grab Tommy and pull him out of this crowded, stuffy, sadness-filled space. Wants to go outside, maybe get a coffee, and talk. About Bobby. Because he’s been Tommy’s Captain, too. After Gerrard. And Buck knows nothing. He almost panics with the sudden realisation of how little he knows about Tommy in general. Why? Did they really always talk about Buck? Did Tommy hold back on purpose? Did he not trust Buck with his secrets?
The moment stretches - and then someone bumps against Buck’s shoulder, apologising. Buck blinks, becoming aware of his surroundings again. Of people getting ready to take their places and listen to Chief Simpson talking about Robert Wade Nash. The hero who gave his life for the people of Los Angeles.
They can’t leave. Not now. Maybe never. Because everything feels sore, and Buck doesn’t know how to fix it.
“Thank you,” Buck says hoarsely. “And thanks again for, for showing up to help. You didn’t get into any trouble for that, did you?”
The corner of Tommy’s lip ticks up. “Nothing I couldn’t talk myself out of. Just like last time. I’m a very good pilot. Everyone knows that.”
“Yeah. You are,” Buck agrees.
Tommy’s gaze lingers on him. Eventually, he says, “You can text or call anytime you need something, Evan. I mean it.”
“Thanks,” Buck says quietly. Adds quickly, “You, uh, you can call me too. Just in case you … didn’t know that.”
Fresh guilt blooms in his chest.
Of course, he didn’t know that, idiot. You never told him.
Tommy gives him a small smile, and when he starts to walk away to his seat, Buck wonders if this is the moment when they start to put the label “friendship” on whatever is going on between them. Would that be bad? At least it would mean that they stay in each other’s lives, right? He likes Tommy in his life.
A wave of anxiety rolls through him at that thought. Because … He can’t be sure people stay in his life no matter what he does or says, right? The world could take them away.
With a heavy heart and a knot in his stomach, Buck sits down, straightening his back and keeping that mask of seriousness in place.
If only he could keep people from leaving.
If only he had been able to save Bobby.
If only there were a way to make sure Tommy will still be in this world tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for all of time.
During a shift, it’s better.
The storm in Buck’s mind calms down when he has to focus and stay alert. There’s only the emergency and the question of how to save people. Everything else moves into the background. Muffled. Numb. Sometimes, though, he can hear Bobby’s voice in the back of his head. Giving him instructions. Or he sees Bobby standing behind Chimney, smiling fondly, proudly. But he shakes that off.
Tells himself: He’s fine during a shift.
As soon as he has a silent moment, Buck’s thoughts start to spiral again. During dinner at the firehouse, he looks down at his full plate and frowns. He isn’t really hungry. Food doesn’t taste much like anything right now. He doesn’t tell that to anyone of course. It’s weird. They would probably start to worry. And Buck doesn’t want that.
The others are talking. About the shift. About Denny’s upcoming birthday. About this and that. Stuff that is going on in lives that move on.
Buck listens half-heartedly, smiles now and then when it seems appropriate, and while he doesn’t feel much, he wonders if he’s finally past anger now. Is this depression?
One day, they get called to a car crash.
It’s a couple. And one of them is dying. There’s no heartbeat. Just a lifeless body on bloodied asphalt.
“Don’t give up,” the wife begs, held upright by Buck, watching as Hen and Eddie perform CPR, trying to get the husband back. “Please, don’t give up. Please, you can’t … He can’t die now. Not now. Not like this. We had plans.” She sobs, staring at Buck with wide, tear-filled, desperate eyes.
Buck swallows. He watches. And he can feel the pull of the flood inside him. It’s trying to tear him out of reality, back into the past, back to the resignation in Bobby’s eyes, back to Athena’s tears, back to that hallway, where he curled up and cried and screamed and held himself. No. He can’t. Buck forces himself out of it. Forces himself to put a hand on the wife’s shoulder. Trying to comfort. It’s not ever yet. It’s not …
“He’s gone.” Resignation in Eddie’s voice. They sit up, shaking their heads. Sighing.
It’s over.
They are giving up.
Buck closes his eyes. He listens to his wife’s agonised wails and wants to go back in time.
Death is everywhere. Who knows when it will come for someone he cares about again?
What is the next step? Probably moving on. Like the world, like all the clocks. Time is never standing still. Neither is the city. The 118 is needed.
Buck is needed. And he needs to be needed. Needs to have a routine and a purpose to keep himself sane. But … He also still feels surreal. Stuck in time, while everything and everyone else around him seems to be moving.
Hen and Eddie get along so well, it almost hurts to look at them, to see them laughing and bickering. It’s another kind of change. Just like Chimney being Captain now. And Buck working with Ravi. And everything else. Everything changed. Bobby is not telling him goodnight after the shift. Tommy is not waiting for him at home. Home. It still doesn’t feel like it, no matter how much Buck tries to decorate his new little house. And his new little garden. Everything so new and shiny. But … He still can’t get himself to care much about it.
Sometimes, the anger comes back, and Buck wants to yell at everyone around him. How can you laugh? How can you act like nothing happened? How can you …
Why am I like this?
Time is moving. The world is turning. Things are changing.
It should stop hurting so much.
It doesn’t.
I should probably call my therapist. Make an appointment.
Buck glances at his phone. And decides: Later.
Later.
Hey.
Buck stares at the screen in surprise, his lips slightly parted.
Bubbles appear. Tommy is typing.
Then: How are you doing?
Buck exhales shakily, feeling warmer. He’s been watching a documentary about penguins. It’s been mildly depressing because the baby chicks keep getting eaten. But he only watched it halfheartedly anyway, his thoughts swimming. He didn’t expect Tommy to text him. Has no idea what to say.
He types back: Doing alright. I’ve been watching a docu.
Tommy: Yeah? About what?
Buck: Penguins.
Tommy: Cute.
Buck: Mostly. If it weren’t for the seagulls, the sealions, the orcas, and everything else that wants to eat them.
Tommy: Oh no :( Nature is beautiful and cruel. So. How are you really doing?
Buck: Okay. I’m kind of a mess.
Tommy: Tell me about your mess.
Buck: Are you sure you want to listen to that before going to bed? Because it’s all about death and the fact that we can’t go back in time.
Tommy: I’m listening.
Fuck. Buck’s heart makes a funny move. Feels like it’s jumping through a rollercoaster loop. His throat tightens with gratefulness. And … longing.
For a moment, he wants to write: I miss you. Please come over. Let’s try again.
But …
Too fast, Buckley. Like always. You offered each other texting. So texting it is for now.
Buck swallows. And starts to type.
They keep texting. And it’s comforting. It kind of reminds Buck of the time he was talking to Abby on the phone. But this … this is more. He feels like they are learning a lot of things about each other this way.
I like texting, Tommy admits to him. More than talking, to be honest. Because I like to think about what I would say in a certain situation. I do that a lot, actually. Feels like I’m scripting when I have to make an appointment or talk to someone on the phone. When I text, I can think about the words. I can take my time. I can change something. Can’t do that when I am talking to a person and also have to keep track of their face, body language, emotions …
Buck: Yeah. It makes sense. And you can use emojis. Sometimes, emojis are easier to understand than people’s faces! 😭
Tommy: 😅💯 Yeah, exactly. I have loved emojis ever since I discovered them. Before that, it was just: :)
Buck: 😂
One evening, they talk about Bobby.
Tommy: He was the one who encouraged me to transfer.
Buck: Really?
Tommy: Yeah. That’s when I knew that he was really listening, you know? When we had dinner at the firehouse or went to a bar after a shift. He always listened. I only talked about what flying means to me one time. That I was obsessed with aviation ever since I was a child. That I always felt free and at peace up in the sky. And he remembered that. So he encouraged me to transfer to harbour station and become a firefighter pilot. He said it would be a step forward. And he was right.
Buck: Wow. That’s amazing.
Tommy: Yeah. I owe Bobby a lot. He brought so much mutual respect to the 118. With him, it was more than a team. Everyone felt that. And I won’t lie. It did hurt to leave that behind. But it was the right thing to do. I needed something new.
Buck: It was similar for me when I arrived at the 118. I needed something new. I needed a purpose. And I found it. I was such an idiot back then. Bobby set me straight.
Tommy: He was a great Captain. And an amazing human being. Listen. I need to go, okay? I got a shift.
Buck: Alright. Be safe!
Tommy: You too. Bye Evan. And thank you.
Buck falls back into his bed, grinning up at the ceiling, holding on to his phone. His heart is beating fast, and his cheeks feel warm. Texting with Tommy is always the highlight of his day. He wonders if Tommy would be on board with video chatting. That would be awesome.
Buck watches the helicopter land, excitement making his heart race. They needed to call air support for a patient. And he really, really hopes Tommy is the pilot. Really hopes they can meet in person again.
He sees Lucy jumping out in her flight suit, and surely, Tommy has to be with her, right? They are friends after all. But Lucy is with a man Buck doesn’t recognise. He frowns, disappointment replacing his excited hope.
“Tommy is not with you?” He asks once Lucy is close enough, swallowing down the disappointment.
Lucy raises a brow. “No. Wait. You don’t know?” She exchanges a look with her colleague.
“Know what?” Buck asks, looking between them, feeling increasingly confused. “He told me - uh, texted me that he has a shift today.”
Lucy blinks, then shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe this idiot. He’s been lying to you.”
“What?” Buck’s stomach sinks.
“Tommy is not flying right now, Buck,” Lucy sighs. “They grounded him weeks ago.”