Okay here's my 5+1 take on this prompt from @v88sy ! Thanks for putting this out there!
“You're always leaving!” Buck gasped. Tommy's face was ashen. Empty. “Why won't you stay with me, Tommy? Why won't you ever stay? Please!” His words were rasping, exhausted things. Somewhere dimly, in the back of his head behind the desperate panic and the habit-trained professionalism that were working in tandem to give Tommy CPR, some part of him wondered if his angry, broken begging could ever tempt Tommy back from wherever he was going this time. He brought his mouth to Tommy's and pushed air into his lungs. Please, Tommy. Please.
The first time. It will come to him later that Tommy probably didn't have a shift to get to at that time of night. None of the houses did split shifts like that. But Buck was too dazed to think of it in the moment, his brain (and body) too warm and syrupy to consider much of anything. For a long time he just stood in his kitchen, his fingertips brushing over his half-smiling lips. He felt like he was thirteen all over again, getting a kiss from Deborah Rollins who was fifteen and much too cool for him. Only this was better because instead of asking him for change for the snack machine and going off with giggling friends and a handful of Buck's quarters, Tommy had asked him on a date. In the space of one kiss, his bewildered obsession with the cool pilot had clarified. A crush. Buck had a crush. Not just a ‘you're hot, want to come home with me?’ sort of thing. A can't-stop-thinking-about-him-crush. A holy-shit-there-better-be-more-kissing crush. A why-isn't-it-Saturday-yet crush. It was probably a good thing he left, probably a kind thing that he left, because it must have been obvious that Buck's brain had been taken entirely offline by that kiss. Buck couldn't wait for more.
The second time. Except it didn't seem there would be any more because he'd been an idiot. Why had he gotten so flustered about Eddie? Okay he knew why. Buck wasn't used to having people close, having people who cared. Was it so wrong to worry about what they thought? Only he hadn't thought about what Tommy would think, had he? What Tommy would feel. Tommy was kind of right, Buck wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to watch Tommy's Uber drive away. He wasn't ready for all the hope and possibility and excitement and longing he'd felt since Tommy kissed him to just be over.
The third time. How was Tommy walking away again? How was Buck once again standing in his kitchen wondering what the hell had just happened? Only this time instead of feeling like he might float away from the lingering tingle of Tommy's lips, Buck felt like he might crumble, like the world he thought he knew and all the facts of it had just vanished and the gravity holding him together had become too powerful and would crush him. God. Crush. He'd had a crush and now he was crushed.
The fourth time. There was a small, distant part of Buck hidden somewhere deep inside that registered that he'd fucked up, that had clocked the emotions on Tommy's face before the wall came down behind Tommy's eyes and he walked away again. But right at the moment it was drowned out by anger. No, something worse than anger. Something ugly and vicious that had wanted to score a hit and was delighted to see he'd drawn blood. He'd been confused for a moment, confused by Tommy and confused by himself, both. But then Tommy was gone again and the anger took over. The fury. How dare he? How dare he?
The fifth time. There were words echoing in Buck's ears, words he hasn't stopped hearing for hours. Bobby’s voice, over and over and over. Buck was sleep walking through a nightmare, barely aware of the things and people around him. Bobby was gone. Bobby was gone. Bobby would never call him kid again, never… never do anything again.
“Where are your keys, Evan?” Buck looked up, blinked at Tommy. He looked down at himself. He wasn't in his gear anymore. When had he taken his helmet off? The thought dissolved into Bobby taking off his helmet, blood running from Bobby's nose, Bobby saying…
“I'm going to check your pockets, sweetheart. I'm sorry. We need to get you inside.” Tommy started patting him down but the sensation was coming from a million miles away. Buck couldn't feel it, not really. He was too far away. He was drowning. He was underwater and no one could even see him, he was so far down.
He was walking. Sort of. When had they gotten inside? Keys. Tommy had wanted his keys.
“Keys,” Buck murmured.
“I've got ‘em,” Tommy promised softly, still escorting him down the hall. “Let's get you comfortable and I'll go back and lock up.”
Buck nodded but he'd already forgotten what Tommy had said, had already forgotten Tommy was there. All he could think of was Bobby. Bobby turning away from him. Bobby ignoring him as Buck screamed. Bobby's resigned acceptance.
Buck was in bed. There was light coming from the window and he didn't know if it was morning or afternoon. He turned on his side and pulled the blanket over his head.
“I've got it,” a familiar voice said.
He heard the scrape of the curtains and then the glow beyond the blanket went away.
“Better?” Tommy asked. Buck didn't know if he answered. He meant to but then it was Bobby's voice in his ears and he hadn't answered Bobby. Not like he should have. Not like he meant to.
“Bobby…”
“I know, baby. I know.”
Then there was warmth. Then there was darkness. Buck slept.
He woke up again, the room blessedly dark and cool and for a moment he didn't know. He didn't remember. He just blinked into the inky blue of the room, catching the shapes around him.
“Evan? Can you drink some water for me?” The voice was so soft and patient and gentle but Buck startled.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But you need to replace some fluids, sweetheart. Please?”
A big thermal spill-proof cup was pressed into Buck's hand. He drank. “Thank you. That's good. That's so good. Do you think you could eat?”
Buck shook his head and burrowed back under the blankets. He slipped back into sleep with a warm hand rubbing his back.
The next time he woke there was light again. “Evan? I'm sorry to wake you but I need you to drink something, please.”
Buck shook his head. He didn't want anything, not food or drink or to even be a person.
“I know, baby. I know. I'm sorry. But just drink a little please? I have to go but I need to see you get something in you first. Just a little. Half, okay? Half a protein shake?”
“You're leaving?”
“I'm sorry, I swear I wouldn't but if I don't, they'll probably come arr-”
“Go,” Buck croaked. “Just go.”
“Evan…”
“Go! Leave! Everyone leaves! Especially you!” Buck threw himself out of the bed and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. Tommy was saying something at the door but Buck couldn't hear it over Bobby's voice in his head and the sound of his own dry heaving.
Eventually he heard a car engine turn over in the driveway. He fell back into a fitful, nightmare sleep, curled on the tile by the toilet, tears leaking endlessly down his cheeks.
“Everybody leaves,” he whispered. “Everybody fucking leaves.”
The last time. “Tommy, please,” Buck gasped. “Please don't leave me again. Please. I'm sorry. I did it all wrong. But please don't leave me again.”
He already had though. Because you don't do CPR on a living person. You do it when they've stopped breathing. When their heart isn't beating. You do it when their body has quit. You do it to try and convince that body to go a little more. You do it to show the body how to keep going. You do it to circulate the air and blood and give them a chance to come back.
“Come back,” Buck begged instead. “You always come back. You've got to do it again. Please. Please, baby, please come back.”
Time was meaningless. Buck kept going. His arms were burning but he didn't care. He'd do this forever. He'd do this as long as it took. Help was coming. Help was coming and they'd shock him and make Tommy come back. But only if Buck kept going. Only if Buck kept him close enough to return.
Chest compressions. Breaths. The cycle continued and Buck kept begging when he could spare the words. Then he was being pulled away. He flailed, fighting.
“We've got him, Buckley!”
Lucy. It was Lucy. She pulled Buck back as someone - Donahue? - called “Clear!”
Buck's voice failed. All he could do was watch, whispering again and again, “Come back. Come back. Please come back.”
Buck scrabbled forward, tearing loose of Lucy's grip. “Stay with me,” Buck demanded, grabbing Tommy's hand. “Don't you dare leave me.”
“Not…” Tommy answered, his face scrunched tight with pain. “Not if I’cn help it.”
Sobbing, Buck squeezed Tommy's hand. “That's right. Be the stubborn jackass I know you can be. You fight like hell, you hear me? You fight like hell or I'll never forgive you.”
Lucy pushed in close and worked a collar around him to stabilize his neck, murmuring instructions neither of them paid attention to.
“Hate when you're mad at me…”
“Then don't you dare leave me again.”
It was all he got out before they were getting him ready to load on the helicopter. The uncrashed one Lucy and maybe-Donahue arrived in.
“Come on, Buckley. We gotta get you looked at, too. I'd check you here but I know how you and your husband are.”
“Yeah,” Buck agreed. He scrambled up into the helicopter as soon as they had Tommy secured. “I'm right here, babe. I'm right here.”
“Me too,” Tommy managed. “Right here too.”
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