Tommy doesn't remember calling Sal, but perhaps the fact that he’d been drinking all night and hadn't answered his phone is what made Sal come over. And so Sal—who knows where the spare key is hidden—found Tommy sitting on his kitchen floor amidst boxes, looking not so good, just a day before he was set to move to another state.
"That’s no way to say goodbye, Kinard. You could’ve at least called me."
"You hate my beer," Tommy muttered.
"That never stopped you or me." Sal sat down next to Tommy, pushing a few bottles aside with his hand. "And that’s not the point."
"There is no point." Tommy tilted his head back and let out a deep sigh.
"Oh, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" But the teasing tone didn't last, replaced by concern. "You don't have to move, Tommy."
But Tommy has to. It was part of the 'disciplinary deal', what he got because his coworkers, friends, Sal included, are there for him. Tommy was surprised to realize just how many people actually had his back—and now he was going to lose them, sort of.
The last helicopter he stole hadn't earned him a medal or a boyfriend. On the bright side, he was already heartbroken, and he’d been let off without the infractions going on his permanent record. He kept his license, and his former captain was kind enough to secure a new place for him—just not in L.A.
So all Tommy replied was a
"And lose my wings?" with a scoff.
"You aren't going to fly if you can't walk in a straight line, you know that, right?"
Tommy knows it, and he also knows he’s being grumpy. His plan was just to drink until he forgot everything for the night and then start clean tomorrow. Great in theory, but he wasn't twenty anymore and knew he wouldn't be in good shape the next day, so it was a good thing Sal was there.
Tommy looks at him, rubs his eyes, and tries to smile.
"I'm going to need your help."
"I got you." Sal smirks. "I already spoke to Gina; I'm off tomorrow and the day after. I'll go with you."
Tommy can't help but smile more genuinely this time.
"See, I knew I shouldn't get you drunk."
"Uh-huh, all part of your master plan," Sal says wryly.
"I do think of everything."
"Is that why you didn't answer my calls or reply to any messages?" Sal raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah." Tommy points upward. "I left my phone locked in the bedroom. Out of sight, less chance of a final drunken mistake."
There’s a pause before Sal replies, calmly.
"Maybe you should do that."
The fact that he doesn't seem to be joking catches Tommy off guard.
"You're not being a good friend right now," Tommy chides him.
"Come on, Tommy." Sal gets closer and squeezes his shoulder. "It’s been months, and it doesn't seem like anything got resolved."
"It did."
"So why haven't you moved on?" Sal doesn't miss a beat.
"I am moving," Tommy replies, a bit more exasperated, gesturing toward the packed boxes in the kitchen.
"You’re moving out," Sal points out. "And not entirely by choice."
Tommy just blinks and doesn't answer this time. Sal continues.
"You know, Gina and I used to wonder what the deal was." Sal shakes his head. "And even after you came out—which explains things, I guess—Gina thinks you're too good to be single. And then, after the kid…"
"He's not a kid."
"It was a whole picture of it, Tommy." Sal ignores him.
"What?" Tommy feels a flash of anger slip into his voice.
"If it’s something you want, that’s okay. But, and this was kinda something she said, it seems like 'you keep giving up on a place you’d like to be'."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Doesn't it? I don't know, it's none of my business," Sal says, stepping back a little this time. "We just…"
"Mm-hmm." And that’s where they leave it for a few minutes.
Tommy feels like he needs to get something off his chest, off his mind, and maybe the way to do that is by clearing his throat and speaking up. He can still go through with his original plan. Forget about today and start over tomorrow.
"I didn't give up," Tommy says defensively. "I gave him a way out, and he took it."
"Why did he need a way out?"
"If he’d just called me back…" Tommy laughs bitterly. "But he just wanted to make sure things were over."
"You walked out the door, Tommy."
"And I beat myself up for making the wrong choice that time, Sal," Tommy says dryly. "You were there; you saw it. I just needed a sign…"
"I thought you weren't the superstitious type."
"I know it wasn't fair," Tommy says sadly. "I just wanted time… for him to be sure before I took the leap."
"And now?"
And now Tommy couldn't try again, he thought. But Sal wouldn't understand since Tommy hadn't talked about him and Evan sleeping together months after the breakup, and about what came the next morning. The way Tommy had thought there might be a chance, how he let that hope surface only to confirm what he already suspected: he was good for filling time, a fun time for a few nights, but it couldn't last. At the first slip of insecurity he made, it was all lost, so next time either he would hurt Evan, or Evan would leave, going to find what he was really looking for in someone, a kind of security that Tommy wouldn't be able to offer even if he tried. He wasn't part of his family.
"Did you two talk after the funeral?"
"By text." And then Tommy tries to shrug and look for a closed bottle. He's out of luck. "It must be for the best."
Tommy whispers that, but Sal hears him anyway.
"I'm sorry." And Sal had never seemed so sincere.
"Howie was saved," Tommy says. "Diaz is back. They all have each other. It's not easy, but Evan isn't alone."
"And are you sure you don't want to say goodbye to them? To him." Sal offers. "Tomorrow before we go?"
Tommy shakes his head no. He's not going to explain to Sal that the last message he sent Evan was a "sorry. If you need to talk," to which he received a "thank you." At the same time, he feared that Evan would invite him to his house, not to talk, but to avoid being alone and to distract him. It should be a relief, but the worst part was that no invitation ever came. Why would it? Evan wasn't alone. And then Tommy withdrew from the scene. He took care of his own business and repercussions at Harbor Station, and months later politely declined when Chimney called him to the ceremony honoring Bobby. The truth is, the whole situation reminded Tommy that grief can destroy you if you're alone, if you feel like you've lost your anchor, and Tommy once again felt the urgency to stop this process before it got worse.
"My father's an asshole," Tommy said, lost in thought.
"You mentioned that."
"He never went easy on me. I think he knew. He thought I was too soft for a five-year-old." Tommy swallowed hard. "But I think he could have tolerated me."
"What?"
"He wasn't good with me. But he was with her," Tommy said, his voice breaking. "I think she was the only person he truly loved, that I witnessed at least. I have this memory of him smiling, and he was less rude when she was around. It was magical. A guy like him, a product of the army, you'd think he'd never back down, but he adored her. Sometimes I can't reconcile the kind of person he was… But, uh, he traveled, spent a lot of time away, so there's that… While my mom raised me. She and I watched a lot of movies, mostly animated films or rom-coms, and she seemed to really believe in that stuff… 'romance'." Tommy makes air quotes with his fingers. "So, I think she lived some of that. But when I was eleven, she died, and whatever good was in him died along with her."
Tommy doesn't know if Sal says anything back, because he’s closed his eyes and is letting sleep take over. He’s still awake, though so exhausted it feels like he’s hovering somewhere between consciousness and dreaming. Lately, Tommy has been thinking about his mom more often. He even tried calling his father, but the calls went straight to voicemail and were never returned. According to his uncle, his father is doing fine, so there’s nothing more Tommy can do.
The truth is, as he grew up, trying to distance himself from his father left him in a state of conflict—a contradiction as hard to reconcile as the images he carries of the old man himself.
To get away, he ended up enlisting as soon as he could, then following Gerrard and hiding in his shadows, as if his father were constantly present even in his absence. He felt fear and he felt alone. Tommy went so long without feeling like his own person that he forgot he could want things for himself; even scarier, he forgot he might one day actually get what he wanted. Now he thinks that a part of him was buried along with his mother too, and as time went on, he kept feeling like that eleven-year-old kid who desperately wanted to go home, hug his mom, and have someone look at him with love for the person he might become. Until that happened, it felt like he couldn't face anyone else. And that would never happen.
So, it all was like baby steps until he stopped lying to himself and the people in his life; until he requested a transfer and went back to flying, because that is what he loves. Tommy loves being able to give something back, to help save lives. He can't bury it.
Last year, Tommy realized he still wasn't truly free of that weight from his past, and that it wasn't fair to drag anyone down with him— specially when Evan seemed to navigate life so easily, overcoming the very obstacles Tommy still stumbled over now and then. Evan called him "brave." And even though Tommy was brave in his own way, Evan still deserved more.
Tommy feels Sal helping him up, an arm slipping behind his shoulder. Tommy doesn't resist, even though his footing isn't very steady.
"I'm going to call Lucy. It’s not good to leave you alone these first few weeks."
"I'll be fine,"
"Oh, you will be," Sal agrees, taking a step toward the living room with Tommy. "But that’s what friends are for, to be a pain in the ass and help with moving."
"Don't call Evan."
"I heard you the first time."
Tommy stops halfway and grips Sal’s shirt tighter.
"I have to give up the place before I burn it down."
"Tommy, we’re all firefighters," Sal sighs, then says more to himself. "You guys would figure it out."
"I just need to sleep."
Sal settles Tommy onto the sofa and goes to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. Tommy’s eyelids are growing heavy, and he dreads the dreams that await him. Tomorrow, he’ll try to start over again. But it’s a haunted fresh start. He’s unsure which parts of himself remain buried and which he’s still trying to save, keeping them as hidden as if they were underground, far removed from the sky he loves so much.
As a society, we need to go back to understanding that strangers on the internet are, you know, strangers. I feel lately that I'm seeing a rise in 'An author I love blocked me because they took my comment the wrong way' posts on the ao3 subreddit, and then the comment is them calling the author a fucking bitch or something like that.
Don't do this. Tone doesn't translate well in text, and if you don't have a rapport with that author, they are not going to interpret, 'You're a fucking bitch' as, 'Author I hate you for being so talented and making me feel so keenly.' They're going to interpret it as you being an asshole. You can shit talk with your friends because you have an established relationship with them and can distinguish between playful banter and genuine anger. You do not have this with a stranger, no matter how much you like their fics. You will have a much more pleasant time in fandom and not get cockblocked from interacting with your favorite writers if you remember this.
#I don't often see comments like these when I'm reading a fic but there have been a few that made me raise an eyebrow#I don't know if I would block over someone calling me a bitch on a fic I wrote but I'd probs try to gently tell them it's not right#coz honestly I feel like this is an issue with younger age groups who are new to reading fics and might not understand fandom culture#or at least I hope it's younger people who simply don't know better 😬#otherwise... yikes
This isn't some esoteric niche aspect of fandom culture, strangers at the potluck also do not like being called a fucking bitch.
The way humor works is that you (speaker) are saying something so counter to my (listener) expectation that the contrast becomes funny.
If I don’t know what I can expect you to normally say, what you’re saying isn’t funny. It’s just the baseline you’re introducing yourself with. I’m going to think you’re just an asshole, not a nice person pretending to be an asshole for comic effect, because I don’t know what you normally sound like.
yippee! closing in on the end of fulcrum fic, here. have some Maddie POV:
She has to scroll quite a ways back to find her text thread with Buck, but she does find it, and she composes the nicest message she's ever written in her life.
He answers almost immediately: when/where? This is good, she thinks, writing back with the address of Bobby's after-school program. The ice will thaw. They'll get back to normal, and Buck will slot himself back into her life.
She does all the work. She tells her husband, and the school, and she makes the meal-prep so that Bobby will have something to eat when he gets home, and she writes out a list of instructions so that Buck doesn't get confused and the two of them don't burn anything down. And then all there is left is to wait.
The first thing she sees when she comes home that night is his haircut - someone’s taken buzzers to his head and shorn him all the way down. It makes his head look too small for his body, if she’s being honest. “Your hair,” she exclaims.
“Yeah,” he says, running a wet hand over his almost bald head. “It’s a long story.”
"Did you lose a bet?" she asks, and his face immediately darkens.
"No," is all he says.
They're interrupted by Jee-Yun stomping through the door after her. She'd been mad about the conference, about her science teacher who wants her to focus less on reading ahead and more on actually digesting their units. Jee has the opposite problem that Bobby does. She's always ahead, always pushing past the material in their classes, always ready for the next thing. Jee catches sight of Buck and shrieks in joy, a sound Maddie hasn't heard in ages, and runs over to hug her uncle, and that sets Bobby off yelling, and the two of them tousle and pull each other down the hallway to talk about whatever, which gives Maddie time to look around the kitchen and notice the fucking mess.
"Did you cook?" she asks. She hadn't asked him to cook. There were meals stacked in containers in the fridge, earmarked for each person for each day of the week. Her counters are piled with dishes, and the wok is on the stovetop and it's filled with something that admittedly smells delicious but definitely was not today's planned dinner.
"Yeah, B-Bobby wanted to know how to make dan-dan noodles so we stopped at the store on the way home. Wasn't sure if you had any. We made enough for leftovers!" Buck is grinning, one hand full of suds from the sink, like he doesn't see anything wrong with the situation.
"We had a meal plan," she says, gesturing at the words written on the smart fridge screen.
"I didn't know that before we stopped," he says, and shrugs. "It's healthy! All the macros and everything! And B-Bobby wanted to help out."
He's missing the point. "It's important for kids on the spectrum to have stability, especially when it comes to food," she says. She feels like she's parroting her son's therapy team. "You should know that."
"What?" he asks. He turns off the sink. He'd been rhythmically washing dishes since she walked in the door, and now he's finally standing still.
"Being on the spectrum," she says.
He frowns at her. "I'm not on the spectrum, Maddie," he says.
Great. Yet another thing their parents had hid from him. But he's forty years old; he has to know by now. "You're—you're just like Bobby," she says. His face contorts. She realizes he might be thinking about the other Bobby Nash. A decade on and he's still always thinking about that Bobby, tripping over her son's name, welling up when the conversation turns to him, working in Bobby's old job. It's a lot. She quickly points in the direction of the kids. "Our Bobby."
"Okay," he says slowly.
This conversation is going off the rails. "How have you been?" she asks, to be polite.
"Oh, you know. Busy." He's still frowning like he's trying to decide how offended to be.
"And your… husband?"
"He's, um, he's okay," Buck says.
Three months into marriage and the best he can manage is okay. Christ. "I don't understand why you would marry him," she says before she can stop herself. "Why you would elope, of all things. That's so—"
"That’s so what, Maddie?"
She casts around for the right words. "Irresponsible? Ridiculous? Attention seeking?"
Buck scoffs.
"Why wouldn't you at least have a wedding? Let people see that you're serious? Get presents?"
"We've been busy," Buck snaps. "We've been overwhelmed with some stuff. This made more sense for us."
"Yeah, but it's you. He should've made time for you. For a wedding."
“Wow, Rav,” Chim says, tilting the box beneath the station lights. “Not too shabby.”
Hen plucks it from between his fingers and tips her glasses, leaning in for a closer look. “It’s beautiful, Ravi.”
“When are you gonna ask?” Eddie says, sliding behind Hen and stretching on his tiptoes, trying to get a better peek himself.
“Who’s gonna ask who what?” Buck’s voice booms behind them, boots scuffing on the staircase before he winds through the loft and plunks down onto the sofa, right beside Ravi.
“Ravi’s asking May to marry him,” Harry beams, arms crossed standing facing the group. He’s smiling ear to ear, the teasing edge whenever he talks about Ravi softened into excitement.
It’s his sister, how could he not be excited for her?
“Congrats, Rav!” Buck says brightly, hopping back up to his feet and pulling Ravi in for a hug. It’s all limbs, big arms stretched around Ravi’s shoulders, but the smile that’s still on his face when he tugs him in is clear, genuine.
“Thanks, guys,” Ravi beams as Buck sinks back onto the couch, taking Ravi with him. Ravi seizes the opportunity and tears the ring box away from Eddie, slamming it shut with a loud thwack. “I’m gonna ask her this weekend. I got us a reservation where we had our first date–”
“After she paid for you,” Chim teases. Hen elbows him and he tosses his hands up in surrender, “It’s a joke, Henrietta.”
“Call me Henrietta again,” Hen tsks, straightening her glasses before she heads into the kitchen.
“And I’m going all out,” Ravi continues without missing a beat. “I’ve got a five-course meal lined up – her favorites – and then when dessert comes out, I’m gonna get down on one knee–”
“A little old fashioned,” Harry mumbles under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“It’s a classic for a reason,” Eddie points out, brows raised.
“Yeah,” Buck adds, “Plus if you’re down there it’s less noticeable when you cry if she says no.”
“She’s not gonna say no,” Ravi grits out, still shoved between Eddie and Buck on the couch.
“She might say no,” Eddie reasons, mostly to Buck.
Buck looks around Ravi and nods, “It’s always a possibility.”
“She’s not gonna say no,” Harry says. “She’s been dropping hints for the last three months.”
Ravi gestures to him and nods, “Exactly. And she hasn’t exactly been subtle about it.”
Harry offers a fist bump and pulls Ravi up as Eddie trails after Hen. Chim plunks down next to Buck and they lean against one another, arms crossed.
“There can only be one,” Harry jokes, laughing when he sees them lined up, brother facing brother, in-law facing in-law.
“I can’t compete with those arms,” Ravi says, pointing at Buck. “Plus, Chim is surprisingly scrappy.”
Buck and Chim stand and laugh theatrically, looking at one another before they head to the kitchen themselves. Just when they think they’re safe, Chim turns and lunges at Harry who jumps easily, pulling a burst of laughter from Chim’s chest while he jogs away.
“We work with some weirdos,” Harry mutters.
“You get used to it eventually,” Ravi shrugs.
*
*
“I can’t believe you kept it a secret,” May laughs, shoving Harry before they settle across from one another on the couch, Athena relaxing into the chair nearby.
“I’m good at keeping secrets!” Harry scoffs before his mouth tips into a grin.
“Too good,” Athena says, giving Harry a look that reminds him a little too much of the one he got when she found out he was arrested.
They fall into conversation easily, May filling in parts of the story she hadn’t got to already, showing pictures and diving into her Pinterest board before Harry’s attention starts to drift.
There’s a FaceTime call with Michael and David, a request to Hen and Karen to borrow their garden for engagement pictures, and somewhere between one call and the next, Harry realizes they’re running low on snacks and champagne.
Since his mom and May are deep in conversation discussing the benefits of a spring wedding versus fall, Harry sneaks off to the kitchen to refill.
When he gets back, May’s face is a little less bright, her eyes shimmering with something that looks suspiciously like sadness.
“You okay?” Harry asks, topping off her glass. “I…if you want to show the flowers again, I’ll pay attention, I didn’t mean to–”
“No, no” May laughs before wiping at a stray tear that’s gotten away from her. “I just…talking with Dad and David it’s just…”
She looks to Athena, reaches out her hand, and their eyes catch in a conversation that fills enough of the quiet for Harry to understand.
“I thought he’d be there too, you know?” May’s voice is shaking as another tear tumbles down her cheek, and even though Harry usually teases her when she gets a little too emotional, his heart aches at the sight.
“He will be, baby,” Athena murmurs, reaching out for Harry with her other hand. The three stay connected for another moment, the space shifting and softening into something a little less heavy, a little warmer. Like Bobby’s there with them in that brief flash of time, bringing it with him into the room.
Harry clears his throat and points at the now-filled glasses of champagne on the coffee table. “He’d want you to be happy. To celebrate.”
Harry reaches out and takes a glass, offering it to May, giving the other to his mom before raising his own.
“For Bobby,” Harry says and May smiles again, cheeks dry and rosy, Athena’s hand still wrapped in hers.
“To Bobby,” they both echo, and the three share a toast in his honor.
*
*
Buck’s had Harry’s back ever since he could remember. He’d been there the awful night he’d been kidnapped as a kid, in the waiting room at his side when his mom or Bobby were in hospital beds, through training for the academy, pushing his way into the 118, and every week when his favorite contestant would – once again – be left without a rose on The Bachelorette.
But Buck isn’t the only one.
Hen and Karen babysat him more times than he could count, him and Denny arguing over video games and class projects and who had better taste in movies. Chimney and Maddie became more protective of him after May joined dispatch, and he found his way into their house in the middle of a collision of horrible shifts, always offered pizza or extra pjs when he needed them.
Eddie and Chris were around as much as the Wilsons, and usually he and Chris found their way into some corner of a 118 barbeque, giggling and teasing everyone within direct eyesight.
Harry’s always had people, but he still struggles sometimes to feel like he belongs. Bobby was his step-dad, Athena is his mom – the pair were an intimidating duo, and he feels like he’s living in their shadow in so many ways.
Still, when May and Ravi got engaged, it felt only natural – their family growing across a new generation, building strength and support along the way.
And when May mentioned how much she longed for Bobby to be with her on her wedding day, Harry was lit up with an idea.
He’d seen the occasional post on social media about using old clothes for wedding day projects, and one felt like the perfect fit. But he’d have to sew it himself.
The problem is, he doesn’t know how.
A memory came to mind when he thought about it, though, one that May told him long after Bobby’s funeral had come and gone. A pit-stop at Eddie’s house for him to stitch up the sleeve, a skill he’d picked up through necessity.
And right this moment, his timing couldn’t be better.
Eddie’s the only one left in the locker room this morning, lacing his boots as the others dig into breakfast in the loft, the smell of coffee lingering and sinking down to the apparatus floor.
Swinging the door open, Harry slides in and lets the door shut softly at his back. Eddie spares a glance and a smile before getting back to his boots. Harry doesn’t move.
“Something I can do for you, Harry?” Eddie says.
“I, uh, I’m hoping there’s something you can…teach me?” Harry doesn’t quite know how to ask, doesn’t want to ask for time outside of work, still feels a little bit like he’s asking his friend’s dad for a favor.
Eddie straightens his pants over his laces, and chuckles, pivoting to Harry. “You wanna be more specific?”
“So, May is engaged. You know this, of course you know this, i-it’s to Ravi,” Harry stumbles, starts again after a breath. “May was talking about Bobby missing out on the wedding.”
Eddie nods slowly, mouth tilting into a frown. It’s then that Harry realizes Chris won’t have Shannon at his if he gets married one day. The thought kicks him in the gut and nearly takes his breath, and maybe this is a bad idea after all–
Eddie must sense his apprehension, because he dips his head down and finds Harry’s eyes, smiling. “I can’t bring people back from the dead, despite what you’ve heard from Buck.”
“What?”
“May’s wedding,” Eddie prompts with a teasing grin, patting the bench next to himself, encouraging Harry to take a seat. He does and immediately feels a little more at ease.
“Right,” Harry says, wiping his clammy palms over his thighs. “May told me before Bobby’s…that you helped sew up his uniform.”
Eddie nods solemnly, “I did.”
“Can you teach me?”
“How to sew?” Eddie nods and nudges Harry with his shoulder. “’Course I can. I thought you were gonna say something worse. I half-expected you to ask me to kill Ravi for you.”
Harry laughs and it settles the tension out of his shoulders. Eddie wraps an arm around him and squeezes his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Harry says earnestly. “Because I have an idea…”
*
*
Harry’s pacing outside the bridal suite, palms sweating even though he’s very much not the one who should be nervous today.
Still, he’s heard enough about May’s flowers and photographer and how the guests better show up on time, or so help me God, so maybe that’s what feels like lead in the pit of his stomach.
He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping the gift wrap so tightly until he hears it crinkling in his palm and he curses under his breath, working to straighten out the now very evident wrinkles.
Eddie started teaching Harry some sewing basics the week he asked for help, and after his fourth attempt, he’s pretty sure he finally got it right.
Eventually, the rhythm became peaceful, the slide of thread through fabric and the quiet draping of familiar cotton pressed against his hands the only thing that mattered in the moment.
Harry isn’t sure if God is real, but if Heaven is, he knows Bobby’s there, and if Bobby’s there he was helping every stitch align. He can only hope it means something to May and that she’s grateful for the effort, even if it’s imperfect.
The door yanks open and Harry startles at the noise just as May’s best friend and maid of honor scurries out of the room, letting Harry by. “I’ll be back in ten minutes!” she shouts before she runs off, and Harry tilts his head deeper into the room.
“May?” he says quietly.
There’s nobody else inside, only May and his mom, maybe the photographer, the tables lined with bridesmaid bouquets, hair spray and makeup, the air thick with perfume and the remnants of mimosas long gone.
“Back here,” Athena calls from around the corner, and Harry follows the sound of her voice to a smaller room off to the side, her hands smoothing out the bottom of May’s dress as he enters.
She looks stunning, her hair curled and placed just so, jewelry glinting in the early afternoon sun. Her dress is draped, cascading to the side, the soft, barely shimmering fabric nestled beneath lace trim and floral embroidery.
She’s smiling so hard, Harry’s worried her face will get stuck like that, but if she looks this happy forever, he’d be just fine with it.
“You look beautiful” he says quietly, tears burning his eyes before he has a chance to stop them.
“Thank you,” she says, her smile somehow growing. Athena’s image reflects her daughter, joy and excitement tucked between each wrinkle.
“I got you something,” Harry says, shuffling closer, careful not to step on her dress or any stray flowers.
“You didn’t have to,” she says, already slipping her nail under the tape to open the small parcel.
“I wanted to,” Harry says. His heart is racing, he didn’t realize making something for someone would cause this much anxiety, and now he’s way too deep to escape the vulnerability.
When she pulls out the fabric, she flips it over, studying it carefully.
“It’s, uh….” Harry starts when May gasps softly.
“Harry.” May exhales, fingers tracing the stitching carefully.
Athena gets up and stands beside May, her hands reaching out to see what Harry made, and when she looks up, her eyes are filled with tears.
Not pain, not sadness, but something equally as profound.
“It’s Bobby’s?” Athena says.
Harry nods.
It’s a handkerchief, one he’d made from pieces of Bobby’s old uniform, from the ribbon on his medal of Valor, with the lining of his turnout coat. Eddie had shown him how to delicately stitch script and finish the edges with care.
He’d lined the whole thing with silk, added red thread and made sure Nash was clearly printed along the border straight from the embroidery on his uniform.
“I know you’re sad he won’t be here today,” Harry adds, voice tight with emotion. “But I thought he could still walk with you down the aisle.”
May and Athena are looking at him with tears in their eyes, and May reaches out, pulling him in for a tight hug.
“Thank you,” she murmurs when they collide. “It’s perfect.”
Athena pulls him in next, hands brushing his back in slow circles. “It’s beautiful, Harry.”
“You made this?” May asks as she pulls the kerchief up again, fingers tracing each detail, eyes wide with fascination.
Harry nods, “Eddie taught me how to sew.”
Athena smiles at that and nods, and May dabs at her cheeks with the handkerchief.
“It works,” she laughs through the tears.
“He also, uh,” Harry reaches for the kerchief and spins it around, unbuttoning what used to be the collar and pulling out what once was a boot lace. “He helped me make this.”
Harry reaches for her bouquet and adjusts the handkerchief, folding it into thirds so just the navy blue and the stitching face outward, tying the lace at the back of her bouquet, Bobby wrapped around the stems where her hands will lay as she carries it down the aisle.
“That way you don’t have to hold onto it,” Harry says with a smile.
“It’s beautiful,” May says, pulling Harry in for another hug. “Now all of my dads will be with me.”
Athena nods and reaches out for the two of them, wrapping her arms around them both. “They already are.”
*
*
They make it through the ceremony without a dry eye in the crowd, and Harry watches as May’s hand grips the handkerchief during the readings and when she thrusts her bouquet into the air in celebration after the I Do’s.
Eddie pulls a chair up next to Harry at the reception, offers him a drink and slides into the seat, and Harry reaches out to shake his hand. Eddie squeezes a few times, knowing the effort Harry put into the gift, knowing how much it means to them both.
“Thanks, Eddie,” Harry says, gesturing to May. She’s swaying gently on the dance floor, face tucked into Ravi’s neck with her eyes closed, a smile burned into her cheeks. She looks so happy.
“No problem,” Eddie says before tipping his own drink towards Harry, offering cheers. Harry obliges, and after they take a sip, the rest of the 118 grunt and grumble their way into chairs around the table with them.
The cacophony of noise and the image of May and Ravi settle something in Harry. He finally feels like he’s made a home, one that Bobby would be proud of, one that Athena knows will have his back, and one that May will be a part of with him.
The 118 stitched like the handkerchief, collected from bits and pieces of each of them, made up of memories of heartache and joy, always at the ready for whatever comes next.
Saving this post to show my boss who I told the AI flier makes us look lazy and ignorant, and offered to hand draw one. She still printed tons of ai fliers and I'm tempted to make a better one just because it annoys me so much.
Tommy hasn't reconnected with Buck because he went to Minnesota and found a new job at the Minnesota Wildfire Air Operations under MNICS and every time he gets a Saturday off he goes and visits Bobby and Bobby's family and cleans away the weeds etc.
Buck finds out when he finally goes to visit Bobby. There is some yelling and a lot of kissing and then they get married a week after that, 2 days of which is spent getting their marriage license and then flying in to New York because they don't wanna do it in L.A. where everyone else will definitely shout about it. Buck tells Athena alone. Tommy tells Sal.
And there is a lot of yelling afterwards when Buck puts in his notice to the LAFD but there isn't much Chim can do about it, Buck has a really good record and Minnesota is thrilled to have him in one of their firehouses. Tommy is still not mentioned until he comes to help Buck pack up and U-Haul his stuff away. Cue even more yelling, but too bad, so sad, Buck is a married man and he has married man responsibilities
No 'bird' or 'note' but of course there's sighs-aplenty! So here's one from the age flip fic and one from were-dog Tommy.
From age flip:
Only once Tommy was sitting, leaned back with his leg raised as much as they could on another chair, did Evan ask, “What happened?”
“Glass slipped,” Tommy answered with a wince as he pulled the cut-off edge of his sweatpants leg loose where it was sticking in the blood on his leg.
“Shit,” Evan muttered. He crossed the kitchen and opened the cupboard over the fridge, grabbed a bright yellow plastic box and brought it back. He crouched beside Tommy as he opened it and set it on the floor beside him.
He quickly found a wound cleaning wipe and tore it open and began working on the cut.
“Doesn't look too deep; that's good.”
“Can I have one of those wipes?” Tommy asked.
“Huh? Yeah,” Evan looked up as he handed one over.
When Tommy began cleaning his palm, Evan gave a soft, almost disappointed sounding sigh. “What are we going to do with you?” He asked, pulling Tommy's hand close to inspect it. “I leave you alone for five minutes…”
His tone and his gentle care made Tommy's eyes prickle. He couldn't answer, not that Evan was expecting one. He couldn't do anything but watch, unable to even protest being taken care of.
And from were-dog Tommy:
Blanket in his arms, he turns to see the dog has already settled across the end of his bed.
“Oh. Guess your people let you on the furniture, huh?” Buck shrugs and puts the blanket back in the closet. “Fine. You can sleep up there, you spoiled thing. But don't hog the middle, shove over.”
Buck pulls his sweats off and climbs in just wearing his boxers, tugging the blankets back as the dog gets up and shuffles himself over. As soon as he's settled the dog lands against his back with a soft thud and a heavy sigh. The weary sound coming from the animal makes Buck laugh and he forgets to be annoyed by the fact he's now basically the little spoon in his own bed.
Thanks, B! Oh my god I need to write less sighing! There were 15 sighs between these two WIPs.
post 9x12 Buck who has learnt to knit from the grandmas and gets super into it. he starts knitting gifts for everyone baking-style. when he gets back together with Tommy, he knits him a sweater but then later finds out about the superstition that you should never knit a sweater for your partner before marriage because the relationship will end. safe to say buck freaks out and it takes tommy a while to calm him down and assure him he won't wear the sweater until after they're married (the marriage talk gets them both very giddy and in love)
He saw it coming, when Hen came to get him. ”I'm sorry,” she said, but he was quick to wave her off.
”I'm the strongest, I know.” He got up to help move Tommy somewhere safer.
Buck sat at the foot of the bed, next to Tommy's legs. ”Bold choice to get wasted at an all ages event.”
”Wasn't– Wasn't the plan,” Tommy muttered.
Buck figured it would be good to keep him talking. If he was talking, he wasn't vomiting. ”You had a plan?”
”Mm. Was gonna talk to you. Ask you how you were doing.”
”And the liquid courage didn't come?”
”It did not.”
”I'm surprised you came.”
”Thought it would be easier with other people around.”
”Was it?”
He could hear Tommy shake his head against the bedding. ”Haven't heard a fucking thing anyone's said to me.” He managed to dig up some courage from somewhere and asked, ”How are you?” a few minutes later.
Buck exhaled deeply. ”Not great.” He looked at Tommy's knees. His jeans were wearing through. ”How much have you heard?”
”Something about a car accident. And a hostage situation. Something about you clearing out an ambulance?”
He frowned at Tommy over his shoulder. ”Really? That's what they're saying?”
”You know how it is.”
”Yeah,” he huffed. ”The worst game of telephone.”
”Is any of that close to the truth?”
Buck gave up and lied down, too. They lay there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at Hen's bedroom ceiling.
”I didn't clear out an ambulance, but I thought about it.”
”What'd you need it for?”
”I've been flagged for doctor shopping. Didn't know what else to do.” Tommy flailed for a second. It startled the shit out of Buck. He watched him stumble off the bed and out of the room. ”Tommy?”
Tommy didn't reply. Buck didn't know what to make of it. He didn't really feel like moving, so he didn't.
A couple of minutes later, Tommy came back. He looked a little green around the gills and was holding onto the door jamb like a life raft.
”Sorry, had to puke.” He wiped a hand across his brow. ”Did you get hurt?”
”Uh, yeah. They gave me oxy at the hospital and I guess I can't handle that.”
”They gave you a prescription?”
”Yeah.”
”That seems stupid.”
Buck smiled. ”It was.”
”And now?”
That was a very good question. He thought about tranferring. Again. He was sober, in every way. He wasn't sure if he needed to be, but it seemed like the smart thing to do. He was still trying to figure out how to handle his grief.
I prefer when my thoughts are more articulate than this, but I've been thinking about a world in which actions have consequences. Being with Tommy is amazing. Buck is having the best time. Tommy is so cool and so good and so hot and Buck can't believe he's this lucky. Except, having a good relationship makes him reflect on the bad ones. And there have been a lot of those.
He dated a girl in high school. She was fun, everyone thought so. Super animated, with strong opinions and she always wanted to do stuff. Yeah, sometimes she got a little too animated, but it happened. And yeah, sometimes Buck stood a little too close and she'd hit him, but she was so small and he was so big, and really, she didn't mean to hit him. Not like that.
Buck himself wasn't that great. For a few years, he got blackout drunk whenever he got the chance, but it wasn't a weekly, let alone daily, thing. A little too often, maybe, but he was young! That's what you do when you're young! And sure, there were a lot of alchohol he couldn't touch even now, because it tasted like vomit in his mouth.
But he handled that and he didn't do that anymore. Except for that one date with Tommy, where Tommy wanted to be adventurous and got a mixed drink, and when he kissed Buck, it took a lot of effort to not gag directly into Tommy's mouth.
But the alcohol was largely a non-issue.
The cheating was an issue. God, the cheating was a big fucking issue. Tommy worked with Lucy. If he didn't already know, surely he'd know eventually. If Tommy knew Buck was a cheater, would that be a dealbreaker? It should be, right? Mature people thought cheating was bad. Of course cheating was bad, but there's bad and then there's bad. Bad as in I never want to see you again bad.
Buck had to admit it wasn't the first time. He'd never had sex with someone, but there had been kisses. He'd never initiated! But that probably didn't matter in terms of unfaithfulness. Someone had kissed him, someone he wasn't dating.
He had a string of girlfriends who probably wouldn't call him their boyfriend. Really, they only wanted one thing, but Buck wanted that, too, so he didn't look at it too closely. Having something was better than nothing.
Besides, he was good at it. He was great at sex. He never came first, could always get it up when he needed to, always willing to experiment and try everything twice.
And sure, things got a little complicated once he made it to LA. Being a first responder put him in a lot of vulnerable situations, with a lot of vulnerable people, but he also met a lot of people! The lines were all kinds of blurry, which made it hard to navigate sometimes, but he did his best. Looking back, maybe he could've been a better boyfriend to Abby, Ali and Taylor, but he doesn't know what he could've done different.
Sometimes he thought about that therapist, the one he'd slept with. He was older now, but he still wasn't sure why it left a bad taste in his mouth, especially all these years later. One time he thought about it too hard, which had him dry heaving? Which felt like a weird reaction? Especially so long after the fact. He definitely shouldn't have had sex with her, but it was just a dumb thing he did.
He's not the same guy anymore. He's really, really not the same person. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and the sight of himself gives him pause, because in his mind, he's still the lanky kid who arrived in LA, and all this, the muscles and the scars, none of that feels permanent, not in the way it should. It's like the kid Maddie left behind can't seem to be overwritten. He's somehow stuck in time and unmoored all at once. His sense of self is all over the place. When someone tells him he is something, whether that's a hero or kind or smart or annoying, he takes it as gospel, because who is he to say what he is? Tommy calls him kid and Buck thinks, sure. On bad days he feels ancient, but this is the oldest he's ever been and if Tommy thinks that's young, maybe it is. And it's not like Tommy is the only one who calls him that.
And he knows bad things have happened to him, but they don't feel real. How is he supposed to conceptualise dying when he doesn't remember what it felt like to not be alive. Most days he doesn't remember what it felt like to be pinned under the ladder truck, or the recovery from that. He remembers what the painkillers felt like, how alone he felt, how scared he was, how sore his throat was from screaming – but it still feels like it happened to someone else. The dreams he has about it feel more real than the actual event.
All of these things start swirling around in his head, and they don't stop. He gets distracted at work, which is very not good, and when Bobby asks, Buck doens't know what to say. He can't sit in Bobby's office and tell him he missed a step today, because he was thinking about how bad of a person he is and how he shouldn't be anyone's partner, let alone Tommy's, who he has a date with tomorrow night.
It gets so bad that Tommy is the one who sits them down and tells him, ”If you don't want to be with me, you can tell me. I want you to tell me.”
And Buck shuts down. He sits there, eyes on the floor, nowhere near Tommy, and says, ”I think I'm a bad boyfriend.”
And Tommy sits there, like, ”Excuse me?” because Buck is a fantastic boyfriend. He listens and learns and cares and goes out of his way all the time. He's been distant lately, but even when he's distant, he still shows up.
Buck is the one who nearly blows up the whole thing. He stumbles through a long and tangled explanation, with twists and turns he doesn't mean to take.
It only gets worse, when after all that, the only thing Tommy asks is, ”You were assaulted?”
A little Buckley sibling ficlet for your enjoyment. Takes place at the end of season 8.
The lights in the hospital room were dim, shades drawn, the room quiet and peaceful. It was welcome after the whirlwind that was 8 hours of labor and everything that comes after. Though now it already felt like a hazy, distant memory.
Maddie looked over at the transparent bassinet beside her where her son slept. He’d been expertly wrapped in a tight swaddle by one of the incredible nurses. A little pink, blue, and white striped hat covered the wispy dark hair that covered his head. She reached over the side of the bassinet and let her hand rest against his warm, sleeping body, feeling an overwhelming rush of love.
Over on the windowseat, Chim was curled on his side, arms folded around himself while he slept. She looked at the way his lip curled in, identical to the tiny infant in the bassinet beside her.
If anyone had told her ten years ago that this was how her life would be, she wouldn’t have believed it. She wouldn’t have even been able to imagine it. A loving husband, two beautiful children, her brother close by, and friends that were more like family.
Her parents didn’t know yet that the baby had been born, or even that she’d gone into labor. She wanted some time before the smothering began. Her mom would probably get that hurt, victimy look she always got but Maddie would rather have the guilt than her mother’s presence any time soon.
Buck knew. Chim had kept Buck up to date as labor progressed and Buck relayed it to everyone else.
She remembered the day Buck was born. His birth had brought such a sense of hope to her parents. To Maddie, he was another brother to love. She remembered visiting her mom in the hospital, looking through the glass at the rows of babies until she found Buckley, Evan. He’d been easy to pick out once she’d noticed his birthmark.
She’d watched him through the nursery window as long as she could. He’d been so wiggly. He’d lost his hat and broken out of his swaddle twice in the time she’d watched.
Maddie wondered now if the nurse who’d swaddled her son could have swaddled Buck tight enough to stay put.
She picked up her phone and sent Buck a quick text before she closed her eyes to take a short nap.
***
Buck knocked on the door to Maddie’s hospital room, flowers and a mylar balloon in one hand, a grease stained bag of fast food in the other.
Maddie had texted, saying she wasn’t ready for a lot of visitors, but that he could come by as long as he brought her a cheeseburger and fries. He was more than happy to oblige.
Usually their roles were reversed and Maddie was the one coming to see him in the hospital. And never for something good.
Maddie had always been the one taking care of him. Everything from scraped knees and broken arms to recovering after being struck by lightning. She’d been there for him his entire life like no one else had. Just like he tried to be there for her.
Sometimes it felt like it was the two of them against the world, pinkies linked together in solidarity.
Maddie was laying in the hospital bed with a tired, but happy expression on her face. He set the vase of flowers down, the balloon tied around it, set the bag of food beside it, and went right to her. She reached out a hand and he took it, held it in both of his. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then sat on the edge of her bed.
“Hey. You look great. How are you feeling?”
Maddie let out a tired laugh. “I look awful.”
“You don’t,” he said, and he meant it. She had a beautiful glow around her. “How are you feeling?” he asked again.
“Exhausted, but happy,” she said, her smile unwavering, then she glanced over toward the bag he’d brought. “Even happier if that’s a cheeseburger.”
“It is,” Buck said with some amount of pride. He pulled over her tray table then arranged the food on it for her. “I got some for Chim too, is he around?”
“He’s on the phone with his Dad,” Maddie explained, taking a big, satisfying bite of her burger. “God this is good,” she sighed.
“Well, if you want another you can eat his. We won’t tell him,” Buck said conspiratorially.
Maddie laughed then ate a few fries. She nodded to the bassinet and Buck looked over, noticing it for the first time.
“You wanna see your nephew?” she asked.
“Later,” Buck said, turning back to Maddie with a soft smile. “I’m here to see my sister.”
Chimney made him sit through the Marvel movies once. It had been a huge undertaking and happened over the course of a couple of weeks. Chimney was adamant they watched them chronologically. They were fun in the way action movies often were. The best one was the one they saw on the big screen. Buck couldn't remember which one it was, but movies were always better in theatres.
The only thing that stuck from that whole experience – other than he wanted to go to the movies more often – was Captain America. He didn't remember the words, but the sentiment was get up.
At the time, Buck had wondered why that was a big deal, or anywhere close to profound. Of course you got back up. You were not supposed to stay down, of course you got back up. It was a given.
Looking at the bright blue sky above, Buck felt the weight of it. He couldn't get back up. He wasn't pinned, no one was holding him down, but he couldn't get up. His turnouts felt glued to the asphalt.
”Buck?” Hen's face appeared above him.
”I can't feel my legs.”
Instantly, there was alarm in the slope of her brows. ”What happened?”
”I tripped.”
Hen was touching his legs through the heavy fabric. ”Can you feel this?”
”Yes.” It felt like he was losing time. Suddenly, Chimney was there. And Eddie. He blinked and Ravi appeared behind Hen's shoulder.
He was pulled to his feet. He was as surprised as the rest of them, when he could stand on his own. Hen was professional, but the concern underneath was obvious.
”We're getting you checked out, just to be safe.” He only caught half of what Hen was saying.
”Do I have to ride in the back?”
”Just to be safe,” she said again.
His vitals were fine, but they hooked him up to the monitor anyway. To be safe. He watched the ceiling of the ambulance, as they rode to the nearest hospital. He didn't know who was driving. Eddie would make sense. Hen was talking to someone, but Buck couldn't really hear it. There were no sirens.
The transfer was weird. They had him take off his turnouts in the ambulance bay, before presenting him with a wheelchair. His legs worked, even though he couldn't feel them. The nurse holding the chair smiled at him. Buck sat down and let them take him away.
It was busy, like it always was. The noise closed around him like a blanket. Everything was muffled and sort of out of focus. If it wasn't for the uniform, they probably would've had him wait in the chairs, instead of taking him straight back. They stuck him in a bay. The person next to him had a brand new cast on their arm.
Someone pulled the curtain shut around the bed. The noise was still there, but it was easier to see. Hen was still with him.
”How're you feeling?”
”I don't know,” he muttered. Without his turnouts, he could touch his legs. He ran his hands up and down his thighs. There was some amount of sensation, but it felt dull. Maybe delayed. ”Where're the others?”
”Waiting room.”
”They should head out.”
Hen looked at him for a beat. ”They will, if you're OK.”
”I am.”
Time skipped again. Someone had asked him questions, but he didn't remember answering them. Hen was talking to them. They weren't wearing scrubs or a coat. His eyes tracked Hen, as she came back.
”They're gonna take you upstairs.”
”What's upstairs?” he asked.
”Psych is upstairs. They think you're experiencing a mental health episode.”
He nodded. ”OK. Are you gonna head out?”
”I'm not allowed to come with you, so I will, yes.”
He didn't like the way she was looking at him. It was soft and … and something else. He patted his pockets and started pulling stuff out. ”You should take my knives. I don't wanna lose them.” He handed over his knives and a handful of other bits. ”Can I keep my phone?”
”Probably. They didn't say if you needed to be admitted, but you're not on a hold.” He watched her cram his stuff into her pockets. ”Tell them to call me, when they know more, yeah?”
”I will.”
*
”Dissociative episode?”
”Yes, Mr. Buckley. A mild one.”
By the tone of her voice, he'd asked before. ”Is it dangerous?”
”Generally speaking, no. It may very well be a one off. Although, given your history, you might have been experiencing dissociation without noticing for some time. It's a symptom and I highly recommend you talk to someone. It's treatable, but I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for you here.”
”I can leave?”
”Yes, you can. I'd be more comfortable if someone came to take you home, but I can't stop you from walking out on your own.”
”I can make some calls.”
”Would you like me to do it for you?”
”Uh, no. I-I can manage.”
He instinctually went for the stairwell. If the building was up to code, it was usually the safest place to be. Sound travelled weirdly, but it was relatively quiet. He sat on their stairs and scrolled through his contacts. If he called the station, the whole crew would come running, sirens and all. They'd already done it once.
Maddie would be upset. She was at work, so she'd be busy, too, but she would probably drop everything and come anyway.
Tommy. It would be such a shitty thing to do. Come save me again. No, he couldn't ask him that. Although, maybe Tommy would know more about this than he did. He could call Tommy, ask some questions and hang up.
”Evan?”
He didn't remember making the call or putting the phone to his ear. ”Hi, Tommy.”
”Everything OK?”
”Do you have PTSD?”
The line was silent for a moment. Someone entered the stairwell above him, hurried down one flight, slamming the door after them. The sound ricocheted. Buck felt his whole body go tight.
”I have PTSD. Why do you ask?”
”Dissociation,” he forced out between clenched teeth. ”Have you– Do you know what that is?”
”I do.”
”How do I– How do you– What am I supposed to do?”
”Where are you?”
”First Pres. They told me I can go home, but I don't know what to do.” His throat was parched. ”You're on shift, aren't you?”
”On a call, actually.”
Great. He was still ex-boyfriend of the fucking year. ”Why'd you pick up the phone?”
”Because it was your name on the screen. Who's taking you home?”
His eyes were watering. ”I don't know. I'm here alone and I don't know who to call.” There was noise in his head. It took a moment to pinpoint it was coming from Tommy's end of the line and not the stairwell he was sitting in.
”I can be there in twenty minutes.”
”That's not why I called.”
”You're dissociating alone in a hospital. I've been there. Do you want me to come get you?”
”Please.”
*
He couldn't tell if it was getting better. He kept checking his phone for the time, but the numbers didn't stick. It could have been twenty minutes, it could have been more, it could have been less.
He'd moved from the stairwell, to a chair near what looked like the reception. He hadn't been to this part of the hospital before.
When Tommy found him, he was in uniform. Buck had called him on scene, knew the likelihood of him being on shift, knew the only way he could make it to the hospital in twenty mintues, was if he got a ride immediately, yet the sight of the uniform was what made all those things connect to each other.
”You left work for me.”
Tommy reached out, rubbing his hand firmly up and down Buck's arm. ”I did. Hi, Evan.”
”Hi.”
”Do you need to sign out or anything?”
”I don't know.”
”That's OK, I'll ask.”
He should have been paying attention, but he couldn't. His entire focus narrowed down to Tommy's hand on his arm and the way the light caught on the metal of Tommy's name tag and shield.
”Do you have your belongings?”
Buck nodded. ”Gave Hen my stuff before she left, I only have my phone and ID.” He patted his chest pocket, feeling the plastic. There was no pen in the pocket. He must have handed that over, too.
Tommy steered him out of the hospital, hand heavy and firm on his back or his arm, depending on how much space was available. He didn't register much, until he was sitting down. Tommy had sat him down on a bench outside.
”How're you feeling?”
”Weird.”
Tommy squeezed his arm again. ”Have you dissociated before?”
”The doctor said I probably have, but I don't know.”
Tommy nodded. ”Most people don't notice, until it's a problem.”
”Why are you squeezing me?”
”Can you feel it?”
”Not really. Is that bad?”
”No, it's not bad. It's a grounding technique. Different people need different things.” He held out his arm. ”Can you feel me?”
With both hands, Buck grabbed Tommy's forearm. His skin was warm, the hair was scritchy. ”I can feel you.”
”If it helps, keep going. Do you need me to call anyone?”
Buck stroked up and down Tommy's arm. The feeling of the hair against his palm felt good. He did the same thing to his own arm, but it didn't feel like anything, so he stuck to Tommy's arm. ”Maybe Hen? I don't really know what to do. I can't work like this, can I?”
”Probably not.” Tommy got out his phone. ”Once you get a handle on it, you'll be fine, but until then.”
Buck tried to pay attention, but it was hard to focus on anything other than how weird he felt. It wasn't like being tired. He'd been a bit panicked earlier, but he knew he could trust Tommy to handle things.
”Evan?”
”Sorry, what?”
Tommy held the phone away from his ear. ”Do you wanna swing by the station or go straight home?”
”My car's at the station.”
”We'll swing by the station first.” Buck couldn't tell if Tommy was talking to him or not.
Tommy put his hand on his knee and squeezed. ”Here's what we'll do. I'll order an Uber, we'll go to the station, get your things, tell Howie you need time off, and then I'll drive you home. Does that sound OK?”
He scritched Tommy's arm hair. ”Sounds good.”
*
Tommy must have covered it over the phone, because Hen didn't ask anything, other than how he was feeling.
”Tired. Weird. Out of it.”
”I bet,” Hen said gently, as she handed over the stuff from his pockets. ”Are you OK with,” she pointed to Tommy. Tommy made a face and she made one back.
”Yeah, I'm fine.”
”I can take you to Maddie's place, if you want?” Tommy said.
”No, I'd rather be home. She doesn't need a third baby.”
Tommy didn't say fourth, but Buck could feel him thinking it.
”You've got time?” Hen asked.
”Got a forty-eight off starting tomorrow. I already cleared it,” Tommy said. Buck didn't bother asking when he'd made the arrangements, because he'd probably been right next to him, out of his mind and not listening.
He got an intense sense of déjà vu, when he asked Chim for time off, even though he wasn't alone this time. Tommy was standing at his shoulder, still squeezing his arm intermittently. Here and there, he felt it more.
”Give me an update in a couple of days.”
”Thanks, Chim.”
”You've got it. Wanna keep Maddie out of the loop?”
Buck grimaced. ”For now, maybe? There's nothing she can do and I don't want her to worry.”
Chimney looked at Tommy. ”Want me to keep a lid on that, too?”
Buck sighed and looked to the heavens. ”Do what you want, I can't deal with whatever this is right now.”
”What?” Chimney frowned.
”The hostility. I'm gonna go home before I throw up. Thanks for the time off.” He grabbed Tommy by the hand and led them to the locker room.
Tommy took his duffel before he had the chance to do anything with it. ”Are you nauseous?”
”I'm a lot of things.” He fished his car keys out of the side pocket and handed them over. ”Can we go?”
”Of course.” Tommy shouldered the bag and moved the keys to the same side, so he could hold Buck's hand. ”Let's get you home.”
Tommy put his bag in the backseat, while Buck climbed in. It felt weird sitting in his car in his uniform. The car shook, as Tommy slammed the driver's side door. Ravi waved as they pulled out and gestured to the phone in his hand, in a way that probably meant text me.
Maybe he could ask Tommy to type a message for the group chat later. If he did it himself, he wouldn't know what to say. Sorry I lost my mind today.
They'd been driving for a bit, when he finally managed to make himself ask, ”Should I be scared?”
”No,” Tommy said. ”Not about this. It's OK if you are, it feels horrible, especially in the beginning, but you don't need to be scared of it. You're not about to be admitted. Nothing is going to happen to you. You'll learn how to handle it and you'll be OK.”
”That sounds too easy.”
Tommy smiled softly. ”It does. It's not easy, but the sun will still rise tomorrow.”
”The sun will still rise?” he huffed.
”I've got more, if you want?”
”Sure.”
”Even your worst day will end. Doesn't matter how bad it is, the day will end. Time doesn't care, it'll go on whether you want it to or not, and sometimes a new day is all you need.”
”You really believe that?”
Tommy shrugged. ”I don't know if believe is the right word. There's no way to pause time, so it's true, even if it sounds corny.”
”You think tomorrow will be better?”
”You hit your limit today. The limit is not always a hard line. It doesn't have to be dramatic. Once you hit you limit, you hit it, it doesn't have to be something big. I've had panic attacks in so many grocery stores. And it's never anything special. A toddler crying in the distance, when I haven't slept well. The lights flickering in a weird way. Catching my own reflection in a freezer door. It's stupid, it's annoying, it's always inconvenient. It sucks, but life goes on. Sometimes the next day is worse, but there's a day after that that might be better.”
”Sounds like suicide prevention.”
”It is.”
Buck wasn't sure he liked how easily Tommy talked about it. Tommy didn't talk like this, unless an engine was involved.
”Hey.” Tommy tapped him on the thigh. ”I'm a vet. I'm in the demographic.”
”Oh. No, I know, I just … I forgot.”
At the next red light, Tommy turned in his seat. ”Better or worse?”
Buck took a moment to check. His legs still didn't feel attached. He curled his toes in his boots. It didn't do much of anything, but that could just be the boots. ”Worse, I think. Or maybe just different.”
”What you said to Howie, what was that about?”
Buck brushed him off, ”Doesn't matter.”
He could hear Tommy squeeze the steeringwheel. ”Getting upset can make the dissociation worse. You looked upset.”
”He's been criticising me lately. I don't think it's warranted,” he sniffed. ”But what do I know, I'm not a captain.”
”I've been doing this twice as long as you, and you're better than me. If Howard has a problem with you, it's not about your skills. You're one of the best firefighters I've ever met.”
Buck looked into the middle distance. ”Can you pull over?”
Tommy checked all the mirrors. ”Not really. Hold on.” He changed lanes a little too tightly, earning two horns and a rude gesture.
Buck was out of the car, before it was at a full stop. He moved too fast and ended up on his knees. Tommy came around the front, as fast as he could.
”Evan.”
Buck was breathing too fast. His fingers were tingling. ”I don't like this.” The grass under his knees was brittle and dead.
”Talk to me.”
Tommy was crouched beside him. He fumbled for Tommy's forearm and dug his fingers into the skin. ”Why does it feel like this?”
”I think you're having a panic attack, honey. You're not breathing right.” Tommy's other hand settled between his shoulderblades. He could barely feel it.
”How do– How do I make it stop?”
Tommy took his hand. It felt weak and numb in his grip. Tommy flattened his fingers against his chest and held it there. ”Breathe with me.”
Buck felt stupid and useless. He knew how to talk people through panic attacks. He knew what to say, knew how to box breathe, but he couldn't make himself do it. He hated Tommy's shirt. It was full of buttons and sharp things. He wanted it to be soft like a t-shirt or bare skin.
”Evan, come on. You've got this.”
”I don't,” he cried.
”You do, come on.”
Instead of following Tommy's breathing, he curled into Tommy's chest. Weirdly, it was easier to breathe while sobbing. Tommy's arms felt heavy around his shoulders, and real, like nothing else had all day.
”I've got you,” Tommy said into the crown of his head. ”I've got you.”
”I hate this.”
”I know, baby, I know, it fucking sucks, but you're OK.”
He felt like a child. ”I wanna go home.”
”We'll go in a minute. Keep breathing.”
Buck hiccupped, until he couldn't cry anymore. Tommy was muttering into his hair, but Buck couldn't hear it over the rushing in his ears. As he looked over Tommy's shoulder, he recognised the gas station close to his house. ”Can we go now?”
Judging by the sound, Tommy kissed the back of his head. ”Yeah, baby, we can go. Can you stand?”
With Tommy's help, he could. Tommy practically lifted him into the car. The car wasn't quiet, but when the driver's side door closed, Buck's ears rang as if it was.
”Evan?”
”I feel like I overreacted.”
”You reacted. Nothing over about it.”
Buck fumbled for his hand and squeezed as hard as he could. ”Take me home, before I start crying again.”
dailybridgerton
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
snowghoul
kianamaiart
pixelskylines
janainaart
