Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.”

Chapter Text

Everybody is staring at Tommy when he arrives at Harbor Station in the morning, walking right to his Captain’s office. He can feel the glances following him. Can hear the whispers.

Of course, the story has already made the rounds.

Another stolen chopper. Another case of insubordination. Another crime casually committed by Tommy Kinard for someone from the 118.

Tommy would do it all again. For Chimney. And for Evan. Of course, he would. And it was fun. In a way. That’s not what he’s going to tell his Captain, obviously, but he did like the thrill of being chased.

Deep down, he knew there would be consequences as soon as he landed the helicopter on that rooftop where Evan, Athena, and Moira were waiting. He knew there would be more than just a brief and stern talk this time.

This is different from flying into a hurricane and making fake mouth static at the chief. He definitely won’t be getting a medal out of this. The military and the FBI aren’t people you joke around with.

Even though he prepared himself, it still hurts when it happens. When Tommy learns that he’s grounded for the time being.

At least it’s temporary. It could be so much worse.

But oh, it does sting. They tried to save lives that night after all. They tried to do the right thing. A good thing.

Tommy struggles to stay calm and keep a straight face through all the humiliation and anger trying to overwhelm him.

His Captain studies him, her stern expression softening. “I’m sorry about Captain Nash,” she says gently. “We are all shocked. But you served under him. It must have been hard to be there, unable to help him.”

Right. Bobby. Tommy’s chest clenches.

They couldn’t save Bobby.

It still feels … surreal. Bobby Nash has been such a solid pillar of this world. It always felt like he would be there forever. And now he’s gone. Now the last thing they can do for him is a hero’s funeral.

Tommy will be one of the pallbearers. He was asked. And despite his first hint of nervous should I really be there? After all, it’s been years … he wants to do it. Bobby meant a lot to him. And to Evan …

Oh Evan.

Memories rise to the surface. Evan talking about Bobby with a certain gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face.

Bobby is … He is like the father I never had, you know?

Tommy knows. And yes, it hurts to think about Bobby. It’s an ache deep in his chest. But he will be fine, because it’s much worse for others, who have been close to Bobby for years. Others, who have looked up to him, who have learned from him, and who have been invited to his home. It’s so much worse for everyone at the 118. For Evan. So …

“I’m fine,” Tommy says automatically.

“You should talk to someone about it,” his Captain says seriously. “Take some sessions with our Counselor. Grief can be a delayed reaction.”

Right. A Counselor. Tommy instinctively recoils from that idea. The last time he talked to a counselor was when he left the army. It wasn’t fun. 

No. Tommy will carry his heavy heart home and distract himself until the ache goes away, like always.

Seeing Evan at the funeral feels like getting punched. At the same time, Tommy’s treacherous heart works like a magnet, pulling him into Evan’s space.

Tommy is well familiar with masks. He immediately knows Evan is wearing one right now. A mask of “I’m fine” and “I’m calm”. He’s pale and his eyes are bloodshot, but he's holding himself too straight and walks through the crowd like on eggshells, his face too serious, too absent.

Did someone hug him? Did someone hold him? Did someone comfort him?

Tommy hopes so. Wishes he could do it right now. But he's not sure he's allowed to. Or if he should. After all, they have never talked about … what they are right now. Are they friends? Are they less than that? Or more? 

Evan doesn’t even know that Tommy watched him on a monitor.

The memory is still vivid. Evan, breaking down in that hallway. The tears streaming from his eyes. The agony on his face. The desperation in the way he curled into himself. Alone.

I'm so sorry you had to be alone down there. I wish I had been able to be there for you in some way. No one deserves to be alone in their greatest moment of pain.

Tommy was lost in memories and thoughts. So he isn’t really prepared when Evan suddenly stands right in front of him. He fidgets with his cap, squishing it between his fingers. Why is this always so difficult? Finding words, stringing them together, not wondering if they make sense, or if they are perceived in the way he wanted them to be perceived …

“I’m sorry about Bobby. I know what he meant to you,” he says.

And it’s not enough. 

I wish I could show you. Wish I could just hold you and take all that pain from you.

“Thank you,” Evan says hoarsely. “And thanks again for, for showing up to help. You didn’t get into any trouble for that, did you?”

That’s easy to answer. Because Tommy knows he doesn’t want Evan to feel guilty. Doesn’t want him to worry about Tommy, when he already has enough to worry and be sad about. This is not about Tommy. So he just says, “Nothing I couldn’t talk myself out of. Just like last time. I’m a very good pilot. Everyone knows that.”

The lie slips over his lips so easily, compared to every truth. At least Tommy can tell himself it’s for a good reason.

And suddenly, they’re at the point where they tell each other, “You can text or call anytime you need something.”

So. Maybe they are friends now. Tommy has always struggled with labels. But whatever this is, he’d really like it if Evan stayed in his life in some way.

Working on the ground is not the end of the world. It’s just different.

Tommy still misses the sky every single second.

After a few days, Lucy drags him into a bar, telling him he’s too “mopey” and needs to “brighten up”.

“I’m fine,” Tommy mutters, rolling his eyes. But he doesn’t resist when she pulls him into a booth, together with Henry, another pilot, and Sam, a probie at Harbor. Who immediately blushes and stares at Tommy like he’s some kind of celeb.

“Did you really race a chopper against the military?” He blurts.

“Yeah.” Tommy takes a sip of his beer and raises a brow. “Don’t try it at home.”

Henry chuckles. “Sam here wonders how you’re not in prison.”

“Kind of am,” Tommy points out dryly, while Sam looks at Henry wide-eyed and betrayed.

“Oh, come on.” Lucy nudges his shoulder with hers. “It’s just a few weeks on the ground. You just temporarily turned from a swan to a penguin.”

“Wow, thank you,” Tommy says. But he’s smiling. This is kind of nice.

Eventually, it’s just him and Lucy. She tells him what happened at Harbor, and he tells her about how he almost slipped on the stairs of a burning building yesterday. He always feels a little clumsy on the ground. Like … Well. A penguin.

“Hey, at least you’re not Buck,” Lucy says, chuckling. “I bet they have a hospital room reserved just for him.”

“Probably,” Tommy says quietly, feeling a sting. He stares into his beer, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

He remembers a night when the moon was bright enough to lighten up the room. They were both on the bed, naked, tracing scars on skin with fingertips and lips, sharing stories where they came from …

He remembers the night when they stumbled into Eddie's house not that long ago, kissing each other wildly and desperately like they both were starving for each other and maybe already feared it might be the last time. Tommy had scratches and bruises the next day. He touched them in the shower, thinking back to the way his name sounded when Evan gasped it ...

“It still hurts, huh?” Lucy says.

Tommy feels caught. He looks at her, at her gentle smile and knowing eyes. “Yeah,” he admits.

Lucy sighs. “Buck is an idiot,” she says crisply. “But he’s a loving idiot. I saw him looking at you. I truly think what you two had - have - is special. Why did you break up anyway?”

Tommy thinks about it, tracing the edge of his glass for a moment. “I was scared,” he says quietly. “He told me to move in with him. And I was scared. Because it seemed too good to be true. That he thought about a … a future. With me.”

Lucy huffs. She reaches out to grab Tommy’s hand, and Tommy looks at her in surprise. “You’re always thinking too little of yourself, Tommy,” she tells him sternly. “You are a good, handsome, smart guy. You deserve a happy future. Don’t take it from yourself and regret it later.”

Tommy stares at his phone. He can’t believe he seriously thinks about reaching out to Evan. About texting him.

It’s probably not a good time. Evan must still be grieving. But what if he wants to talk about that with someone? With Tommy? Tommy would always listen. He’s good at listening. Better than at talking.

He’s still hesitating.

And then startles, when he actually gets a call.

It’s not Evan. It isn’t someone from work. It’s … his uncle Richard.

Tommy stares in stunned disbelief.

They haven’t talked in ages. For various reasons. One of them is the fact that Tommy doesn’t like to think about the past, especially not about his childhood. He doesn’t like to remember the place he grew up. He left that all behind him. A clean cut. He tends to do that, doesn't he? Leaving. Starting again somewhere else. Rinse and repeat.

And now his past is calling him.

Tommy forces himself to pick up his phone and accept the call. “Richard?”

“Hey, Tommy. It’s been a while. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tommy swallows, guilt burning in his chest. “Are you okay? And … your family?”

There’s a pause. Then, Richard says, “Oh yeah. We are all okay. I’m calling because of your father, Tommy. He’s dead.”

Oh. 

Tommy freezes. He sits there, holding the phone, staring straight ahead without seeing anything, his heart racing in his chest, blood rushing in his ears.

Dead.

“Tommy?” Richard asks. “You still there?”

He’s dead.

Tommy inhales shakily. Forces himself to talk. “How … How did he die?”

Richard sighs. “He had an accident. Drove his car against a tree at night. He was drunk.”

Of course. Of course, he was drunk.

“Okay,” Tommy says. He doesn’t know what else to add.

“Are you coming to the funeral?” Richard asks after a pause. “I mean. I would understand if you don’t want to …”

Tommy runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t … I don’t know. I have to think about it.”

“Okay.” Richard clears his throat. “Listen. I have to go, but if you want to talk or if you decide to come, you give me a call, okay?”

“Okay,” Tommy says weakly. “And … I’m sorry.”

For the silence.

“Don’t worry about it,” Richard says. “I don’t blame you. Never did.”

And then he ends the call.

Tommy sits there, staring into the void, not quite sure what he’s supposed to feel.

Numb. He feels numb.

And … alone.

Tommy really wishes he could fly. Flying always makes him feel at peace. It’s easier to think up there. But now, he doesn’t have this. He just has the ground and a situation he doesn’t know how to deal with.

In the end, he decides to take some days off. That’s probably what you do when a relative dies anyway, right? Right.

Tommy still doesn’t know about going to the funeral.

Every time he thinks about his father, he feels anxious and like some wall in his mind is about to break, about to flood him with emotions and memories he’s been trying to keep back for years.

Tommy tries to keep himself busy. He does some renovations around the house. Buys some plants he can take care of. Watches movies he’s never had time to watch. Reads some books that have been piling up. Helps his neighbour with her car.

But eventually, there’s nothing else he can do. He sits on the couch, stares at a wall, and feels cold.

It’s not grief, Tommy tells himself. Not for … for this guy. He grieved Bobby. He felt sad about Bobby’s death. Because Bobby was a good guy. But he’s not sad about his father. He just isn’t sure if he wants to go back to the place where everything happened.

Tommy shudders and glances at his phone again.

This time, he doesn’t even really think about it. He just … yearns.

Hey.

How are you doing?

Tommy’s heart starts to race while he stares at the letters. This is probably a bad idea. He groans and is about to hastily delete the messages when he sees the bubbles appear. Oh. Evan is bubbling him. Already?!

Evan: Doing alright. I’ve been watching a docu.

Oh. Tommy exhales shakily, not able to suppress a smile. With a warm glow in his chest, he quickly types: Yeah? About what?

And that’s how it starts.

Texting with Evan is nice. It helps with the silence. And with the constant pressure behind Tommy’s eyes. It doesn’t feel like a normal headache. He tries to get it away with tea, painkillers, rubbing his temples. Nothing really helps. But texting with Evan is a good distraction.

He should probably tell Evan the truth soon, Tommy thinks. But he doesn’t want Evan to worry when he’s still trying to process Bobby’s death. There will be a time. Later. Later, when Tommy decided how to feel about all of this.

But then, Tommy receives a text from Evan that makes him freeze.

Tommy. I know you’ve been lying to me. I talked to Lucy. She said you were grounded?! What the hell! Why didn’t you tell me? You said you talked yourself out of this! 

Fuck. Tommy grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what to say.

His finger hovers over the screen, unsure.

Evan texts: ???

Right. He’s seeing that Tommy read his message.

Tommy sighs. He should just tell the truth.

I’m sorry, he types. Didn’t want you to worry. Especially not right now, with everything that’s been happening. Yeah, I’m not flying. It’s just temporary. I’ve been working on the ground. But I took a few days off because my father died. I’m fine and -

Evan: YOUR FATHER DIED? 

Tommy frowns. Why is Evan writing in caps? Yeah.

Evan: I’m coming over. Stay where you are.

Tommy’s lips part as he stares at the message, making sure he read that right. What?!

Chapter Text

Buck has learned a few things about grief lately.

One: Grief doesn’t come with an instruction. Everyone grieves differently.

Two: Grief has no expiry date. You can still be mourning while someone else has already moved on. So grief can make you realise you’re … lonely in a way. Even when you’re surrounded by people.

Three: Grief brings up many memories. Sometimes even the ones you thought you forgot or buried long ago.

My father died. 

Buck stares at the words Tommy just sent, his throat tightening and his heartbeat picking up. Oh. Oh God. After Lucy told him Tommy lied to him, Buck was so angry. And disappointed. But this … He didn’t expect this at all. I took a few days off because my father died.

I’m fine

Buck has to close his eyes for a moment. The echo of his own repeated song of “I’m fine” is too loud. But then he writes: YOUR FATHER DIED?

Tommy: Yeah.

Buck exhales shakily. Tommy never talked much about his family. His past. And Buck accepted that, even if he sometimes wanted to know more. He thought that Tommy would tell him when the time was right. Of course, he also thought they would stay together.

But he does remember the little things, the bits and pieces here and there. He was like Gerrard. So … Loud. Grim. Homophobic, most likely. Tommy didn’t speak to him. There must have happened something … ugly. Between them.

He could feel it in the way Tommy’s expression and tone changed whenever his father was mentioned.

Buck’s heart grows heavy in his chest.

Tommy’s father. Dead. So … What about the memories of him? The memories living in Tommy’s head and heart?

Buck doesn’t have to think about his next step at all.

He types: I’m coming over. Stay where you are.

“Evan,” Tommy says when he opens the door, a combination of surprise and confusion on his face. He looks like he can hardly believe Buck really came. “I, uh, I didn’t exactly tidy up.”

Buck raises a brow. “Never cared for that,” he says, entering Tommy’s house. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy repeats the words he sent, voice blank.

“Tommy. Your father died,” Buck says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Tommy blinks, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Well. Yeah. He did. But it’s not like it’s a big deal, Evan. I haven’t talked to that man ever since I turned 18. He was a total asshole. Good riddance.”

His posture, his voice, even his eyes … Everything tells Buck that Tommy put up walls, and he isn’t supposed to look behind them. It hurts. Hurts to realise how little he actually knows about Tommy’s past. Should he have insisted on knowing? Should he have pushed more? What he definitely thinks now is that they should have talked more in general.

He remembers a talk with Maddie after the breakup, when he told her that he did imagine a future with Tommy, that he definitely was - is - in love, and Maddie asked, “Did you tell him?”

The answer to that was no.

And Buck feels guilty again.

Sometimes it seems like Buck either says too little or says too much. He thinks some things are clear, but then they’re not.

He remembers Bobby smiling. Remembers him saying: Tommy is good people. He’s good for you.

Did anyone ever think about whether Buck is good for Tommy? Did anyone ever figure out how to get rid of self-doubt? Did anyone ever find a way to not trip over words and mess things up that you really don’t want to mess up?

Get a grip. Focus on why you’re here.

Evan really came.

He’s standing in Tommy’s house. A longing thought turned reality. Wishful thinking turned into flesh and bone.

And Tommy … Is overwhelmed. He’s horribly unprepared for the situation: my ex-boyfriend decided to check on me. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he says. And means it. Because it isn’t. Tommy left the past behind.

But Evan sighs, like he expected the words. “I’m not here because of him, Tommy. I’m here because of you. I know that … that losing someone stirs up memories. I know it too well now. And I remember what you told me about him. It wasn’t much. But … It was enough to get a picture. I didn’t want you to be alone with all of that surfacing.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Tommy asks, baffled. “You’re here because you’re worried about what happens when I remember?”

“Yeah.” Evan looks at him, his expression open. Honest.

Tommy can’t decide what emotion to settle on. It’s … endearing. But unnecessary? He’s … fine. He’s not sad. He left all that behind in the past. Now Bobby … That’s a fresh and still aching wound. He’s still sad about Bobby. But not as sad as Evan. Evan, who has more right to be sad. He should be sad now. He shouldn’t be standing here, worried about Tommy. He should …

“Tommy?” Evan asks, frowning.

Oh.

Tommy winces, feeling caught.

He did the thing, huh? Just … said nothing.

I wish I had a script for this kind of situation.

Tommy clears his throat. “Thank you. It’s kind that you came here to check on me, Evan. But really, I am fine. I’m just trying to decide if I’m going to attend the funeral or not.”

There was no wondering when it was about Bobby.

Evan shifts his weight, crosses his arms over his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? About being grounded? I could have … You could have talked to me.” He sounds hurt. Genuinely hurt.

“You just lost Bobby,” Tommy says. You lost the man who was like a father to you. A good father. A kind father. Someone who really cared about you. Someone you could look up to. That’s the definition of a painful loss. I lost … A stone. A weight on my chest I only allow myself to feel when I’m having nightmares.

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything else while you’re grieving,” he adds quietly.

“We lost Bobby,” Evan points out. “He was your Captain too.”

That’s true. But still. It’s not nearly the same. Bobby was a great man. He was always kind. He cared and made it seem like something natural. Tommy will forever be grateful for Bobby’s encouragement to transfer to Harbour. But the sadness he feels … It can’t be what the 118 - and especially Evan - are feeling.

“I’m sad because of Bobby,” Tommy admits. “I will always be sad that he died. But I’m not sad because of my father. He got what was coming to him. And I’ve been free of him ever since I left my childhood home.”

His childhood home.

That house.

That too huge, too silent house, where his mother used to sit in her chair by the window, staring outside but seeing nothing, a cigarette between her fingers, her expression stony, as the grey fog of depression pressed on her every thought until it was too much. 

That too huge, too silent house, where his father took a swing of his bottle, stared at Tommy with his redrimmed, hazy eyes and growled, “You see what happens, Thomas? People leave. They don’t care about you enough to stay. They leave you alone with all the work. Selfish. Disappointing.”

And he looked down at Tommy then, with an expression that said clearly enough: You’re just as disappointing.

That too huge, too silent house, which didn’t even have stairs that steep. But Tommy still stubbornly told everyone at the hospital he broke his arm falling down the stairs. He told his uncle Richard, the brother of his mother, too, who had driven miles just to visit him, stared at Tommy with his cast for a moment, and then left only to show up a day later, with a bag filled with Tommy’s things. Books. Mostly books. 

“Get in the car,” Richard said tensely when Tommy’s father approached them in front of the hospital, looking angry. No. Not just angry. Furious. He was furious. Tommy did get in the car, and he watched as Richard and his father had a brief but intense screaming match.

Richard finally entered the car with a grim but determined expression on his face. “No more accidents,” he said quietly when he parked the car in front of his house hours later. And Tommy relaxed.

“Tommy?”

Evan’s voice pulls him back to the present.

Tommy blinks, the world a little blurry as tears gather in his eyes. He rubs at his arm that is aching with phantom pain. Oh.

Evan studies him, worriedly.

Tommy swallows. “So. I might not be as okay as I … as I thought I am,” he admits.

“Memories?” Evan asks quietly.

Tommy nods.

“Okay. I’m going to order us some food,” Evan decides. “And then … Then we’ll talk.”

And Tommy doesn’t want to say no. It’s so nice to have Evan here. To not be alone with this pressure in his head and the lingering feeling that something he thought he buried deep enough is trying to resurface to haunt him all over again.

“How did your father die?” Evan asks, taking another slice of pizza out of the box between them.

“He crashed his car while he was drunk. It’s not really a surprise,” Tommy says bitterly, reaching for a tissue to wipe his greasy fingers. “He loved his alcohol. More than anything else in the world.”

More than me. Of course. In his eyes, I was a disappointment anyway. Weak. Whiny. Not man enough. Never enough.

“After my mother died, my father always seemed to be drunk. I used to sneak around him, while he was snoring on the couch, to get something edible out of the fridge without waking him up. He really didn’t like to be woken up. Once … No. Forget about it. You don’t need to hear this,” Tommy mutters, his throat tightening.

Or do you not want to remember it?

“Tell me,” Evan says quietly.

“Once I tripped and broke a glass. That woke him up, of course. He yelled at me and broke my arm. Told me to say I fell down the stairs.”

“Jesus,” Evan breathes, his voice shaky with shock and anger. “Piece of shit.”

Tommy swallows. “After that, my uncle Richard decided to take custody. He’s a good guy. Always told me to follow my dreams. And when they included flying, he encouraged me, even though he wasn’t too fond of the army. You know … In a way, Richard isn’t that different from how Bobby was. Richard was also the one who called me about my father’s death.” 

He stops, looking at his hands, guilt rising up again. “It’s been many years since I talked to Richard. Even more years that I’ve seen him. I just … I couldn’t. Something kept me from reaching out. From … diving back into that part of my life.”

“It’s the pain,” Evan says quietly. “I’m sure he understands. I do.”

And he reaches out, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. A warm and solid weight. Comforting in a way that makes Tommy tear up. 

He tries to push it back. Tries to resist the pressure. But he’s so tired. 

His thoughts keep circling back to the past. Back to the feelings of never being good enough. Back to the quiet hatred he already felt for his father, that mixed with the confusing need to make him proud. Not that different from how he used to feel about Gerrard for a while …

Richard is proud of me. Bobby was, too. They both said so.

Tommy starts to cry. It’s been ages since he allowed himself to cry like this. It feels like a dam broke inside, and now all the tears he held back are coming at once. A flood.

He cries. And then, arms wrap around him. Evan pulls Tommy close until his head is resting against Evan’s warm chest. Evan. Who is crying too. They’re crying together. In shared grief and memory pain.

Tommy decides that he doesn’t want to go to the funeral. He just wants to see the grave. And Richard.

So Buck calls Chimney, who tells him to take all the time he needs. And tells Tommy: “I’m going to drive you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Tommy asks not for the first time, frowning. “It’s going to take a few days.”

“Stop asking me,” Buck says, sighing. “We are already sitting in the car.”

Tommy glances at him then and smiles softly. “Thank you, Evan.”

“Sure,” Buck says, his heart doing a little flutter. He's just glad he can help. 

They're going to need you ...

Of course, this also includes Tommy.

“Look at you!” Richard exclaims, a full belly laughter shaking his massive body, and he’s just like Tommy remembers. Huge. Beardy. The lines around his eyes deepen when he laughs. His hair is dark and curly. He looks so much like Tommy’s mother. He pulls Tommy into a tight hug. “You’re so grown up. Even at 18, you still were a little scrawny, but that’s all gone.”

Tommy smiles, still a little nervous, because it’s been so long. And he really didn’t waste any time leaving back then … “It’s good to see you. Uh, this is Evan.”

Richard looks over at Evan, who’s politely waiting in the background, his eyes curious as he takes in the scene.

Tommy hesitates, suddenly at a loss for words. Should he say more? How exactly is he supposed to introduce Evan? After they spent so much time in the car, talking, laughing, taking naps while the other was driving, the word ex-boyfriend feels even more alien. He doesn’t want to say it.

Evan is faster than him, like usually. He steps forward with a smile.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Evan Buckley. Tommy told me so much about you,” he says brightly, shaking Richard’s hand.

Richard doesn’t ask. Maybe he senses the question mark between Tommy and Evan. Or maybe he just decides Tommy needs to be the one who talks about their relationship. About what they should label it. And Tommy is grateful. Richard has always been like this. Always offering an ear while never pushing.

“Well, come in, come in,” Richard says, “We just made a heap of biscuits we can’t eat all by ourselves.”

And just like that, Tommy feels like he did back then, when he walks into Richard’s house. It’s like he’s getting a warm, honest hug that takes away all the heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders.

“Firefighter pilot,” Richard says, leaning back on the couch with his coffee, smiling. “It has such a nice ring to it. I’m happy for you. And proud.”

“Thank you,” Tommy says quietly. He glances outside, where Evan is helping Richard’s wife, Sarah, in the garden. They’re laughing together. Of course they do. Everyone loves Evan.

Richard studies him for a moment, then says seriously, “You do know I’m not mad at you, right? No one is mad. You had every right to leave the past behind you. To move on from everything that happened. From everything that bastard did to you. I’m glad you did.”

“I think I didn’t leave it behind completely,” Tommy admits. “Just tried to bury it. And now it hurts again.”

Like an old wound that didn’t heal completely …

Richard nods. “I think that’s a normal reaction to something like this. You didn’t have to think about him. Until now. But you’ll get through it. Just … Let it go. Don’t linger too long. And remember, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Right,” Tommy says quietly, watching as Evan picks up a giant pumpkin and beams down at it as if he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Richard follows his gaze and smiles somewhat knowingly, taking a sip of his coffee.

Tommy stands in front of the grave, staring at the name on it, feeling … numb.

There’s nothing here, he realises. 

It’s not like Richard’s house. Or Evan’s place. Or the firehouse. Or Harbour.

These places … They are alive. Not like this one. This place is dead.

It’s the past, buried.

All the things he didn’t want to be. All his attempts to fit in, which led to all the things he didn’t want to say. All the mistakes he didn’t want to make. All the things that aren’t important.

They are buried here.

And he can leave them behind.

Evan stands beside him. He puts his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. A gentle, warm weight. A solid presence, holding him in the now. “Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. And it’s not a lie. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

And you were wrong, he thinks, staring at the gravestone. I’m never going to be like you. I’m never going to disappoint myself or anyone else like this.

Tommy puts his hand on Evan’s. “Tell me more,” he says quietly.

“Hm?”

“Tell me about your memories with Bobby. And I will tell you about my memories with Richard. Let’s talk about the people who made a difference in our lives.”

“I’d like that,” Evan agrees quietly.

Tommy knows he can’t bury the past. But he can make his peace with it and move on. And he can cherish the parts that mattered.

What Tommy can’t move on from is Evan.

What Buck can’t move on from is Tommy.

After their journey, they go back to texting.

Texting changes into calls.

Calls turn into “Let’s have dinner at my place. Let’s watch a movie after. Hey, I’m a little tired. Stay. You can have the couch. It’s alright.”

They meet each other in the mornings, hair still wet from the shower, breathing in the greeting smell of coffee.

And they talk. They talk for hours, learning to know each other in ways they didn’t know each other before. They talk through a night, while walls crumble silently.

“Are you two living together?” Maddie asks.

Buck is about to say no. But then he realises he doesn’t need to pack a toothbrush. Or his favourite shampoo. Because it’s already waiting for him at Tommy’s place.

“I think we do,” he says, a little surprised.

Maddie smiles. “So you’re trying again?”

Are we?

“I guess we are,” Buck says.

And suddenly, it feels simple. Feels like coming home.

“Do you want to cuddle in bed and talk?” Buck asks.

“I’d love that,” Tommy says.

Simple.

Grief is always with them. But to remember what they have lost is an act of love. For those who deserve it.