Buck's standing in a kitchen and Tommy is leaving. Taylor is leaving. Tommy is leaving- No Buck's sitting in a jeep and Maddie is leaving- standing outside the Jeep keys in his hand and Maddie is still leaving. He's standing at the airport doors and Abby is leaving- Eddie is leaving. He's standing in a kitchen and-
---
A quick character study of Buck on his hamster wheel. Minor spoilers for S09E01
Read Here on AO3 or below
Buck's standing in a kitchen and Tommy is leaving. Taylor is leaving. Tommy is leaving- No Buck's sitting in a jeep and Maddie is leaving- standing outside the Jeep keys in his hand and Maddie is still leaving. He's standing at the airport doors and Abby is leaving- Eddie is leaving. He's standing in a kitchen and-
It starts like this. At the beginning. Or really at the end. Buck's had a lot of endings that were beginnings in his life.
Somehow it always starts. Always ends. The same way. Buck standing there as someone is leaving.
He's supposed to leave his feeling on the other side of the glass doors.
He's standing on the other side of the glass-
So he's standing in his kitchen, a driveway, the road, watching Maddie drive away, watching Eddie drive away.
He's standing in a hospital waiting room and Maddie's gone. He's standing in a hospital waiting room and Bobby's not waking up. He's standing in laboratory-
And Tommy's there.
No. That's not right.
They say it ends the same way it starts. But Buck never knows when it's really started. He's never paying attention, so how is he supposed to recognize when it ends? (In his kitchen, another relationship falling apart around him again and again again, on a call, watching his world fall apart).
They say things come full circle, but Buck still doesn't know how you're supposed to know. A circle doesn't have an end or a beginning it just loops around forever. How're you supposed to know when it started. Or when it ends.
Buck's always going in a circle. Everyone always sees who he was was, never how far around he's going.
Buck remembers being on a carousel when he was a kid, spinning round and round. He hadn't been sure he wanted to get on but his father had encouraged him, felt like they were getting away with something mom wouldn't approve of and Buck didn't want to say no, didn't want to waste this moment of rare father son bonding and hopped on anyway.
He remembers going round and round, his father's face blurring until it was something unrecognizable and all Buck felt was sick as he clung on tighter and tighter. He wanted to get off the carousel so badly but he couldn't make himself let go, couldn't waste this, couldn't let his dad down. So he pasted on a smile and held on tight until he could convince himself he was having fun. That he didn't need the ride to stop.
When Buck was 10 when he messed up in the school choir. He'd gotten too excited, come in too early and ruined the whole song. Buck felt terrible, he hadn't meant to do it, crash through the quiet pause too early, too loudly, knew everyone was looking at him in disappointment. And then people laughed. And Buck did it again. And people kept laughing. And Buck convinced himself he didn't feel miserable at being laughed at, didn't care that they thought he was ruining things on purpose when he'd just been excited, cause they were looking at him and paying attention to him. He convinced himself he was having fun, the hot glow of shame was the warm light of their attention.
Buck still doesn't sing along to songs anymore.
When Buck was 15 he ran laps on the football team. He did it to impress a guy who bet he couldn't beat their time. Buck ran until he made himself sick but they patted him on the back later as he stood on trembling legs. He could barely walk the next day but the quarterback remembered his name at lunch and Buck convinced himself it was worth it even if he could still taste bile in the back of this throat.
When Buck was 22, a girl taught him to surf at Virginia Beach. He pretended he knew what he was doing and wiped out, hard. Felt the water wash over his head and the roaring in his ears as he spun and spun and spun. When he surfaced, the girl simply laughed. Buck pretended his heart wasn't pounding, that he was short of breath because of her and not the water still sloshing around in his stomach. His body, his fear, was collateral damage, it didn't mean anything if she kept smiling at him like that. Kept placing her hands on his spine and pressing him along the board in a way that felt branded into his skin. He'd keep spinning if they'd keep looking. He doesn't want to get off the carousel.
Buck always feels out of step. Too big for the space he has to take up, ducking down and pulling in his limbs to be smaller and smaller until he's a more palatable size. He's reckless, he's careless, he's Maddie's kid brother, he's the dumb probie, he's the the one who never grew up. He's the one coming home to that empty kitchen.
He's standing in a kitchen-
It feels like everyone got a manual that he was never allowed to see, how to act, how to be liked, how to be loved, and Buck's just been picking up scraps and pieces left on the floor. A pantomime of a real human that only sometimes moves and sounds right and everyone can tell. He wants to get off the carousel by maybe if he holds on for one more round he'll finally figure out which pieces of him were put together the wrong way and he can fix it.
It's Abby's choice, when she leaves him. Of course it is. Buck would never force her to stay, could never bring himself to put his open need for her on such display and ask her to stay. Stay. Love me. Come back.
Abby never asked.
Buck doesn't fight it when Ali leaves. he's fought enough just to be here, on this couch, even when he feels his whole life crumbling underneath him, pieces so small and scattered he thinks there'll always be gaps no matter how hard he works to patch it all back together. And he will. He will try. He'll hold on so tightly to anything anyone will give him, claw his way back to the 118, to the only thing solid in his life, keep the fractured, bleeding thing that is Evan Buckley held together with his bare hands and nothing else. He couldn't expect Ali to want to hold onto the fragments of himself anyway. He'd never ask.
Ali can already see the cracks and she decides for them that they're too big to handle. Buck doesn't try to stop her as she walks out.
He falls into things with Taylor, their ragged edges catching on each other over and over until they finally stick; mistaking the catch and pull as missing pieces finally fitting together. Even when those pieces begin to grate, Buck holds on tighter. The ride is making him feel sick but if he lets go who knows where he'll be flung to. He just wishes his broken pieces wouldn't have so much collateral damage, shrapnel ripping through his life and blowing a hole in Taylor's.
Buck's standing in a kitchen breaking up with Taylor breaking up with Tommy Abby is leaving Ali is leaving, Tommy is leaving. He's standing in baby Bobby's bedroom and Maddie is the kitchen and Buck is leaving.
He's standing in an empty kitchen.
Buck is clinging to the carousel horse. He closes his eyes and the room is still spinning behind his eyelids and he wants to get off.
It's all Buck knows how to do, hold tighter and tighter, emotions swirling in his gut as his life spins out of control around him. He falls into things, he waits for someone to tell him what the right thing to do, waits to know how to act, what to say, what rules and words and actions will finally be the ones that make him understand, that make him lovable. Buck's so tired of it, so tired of being along for the ride with no voice and no say, his insides screaming to uncoil his fingers even if it's not what he's supposed to do, not what anyone wants. Buck wants to get off the carousel.
He grabs his keys. He gets in his truck. He drives 10 miles to Tommy's mid 50's bungalow with the lawn is too dry to grow grass and the peeling paint he's been meaning to redo one weekend but never gets around to. He walks up to the front door. He knocks. Buck gets off the carousel.
"As you can see, the house does need some cosmetic work, but it's in your price range, and the kitchen has a good-sized island, the windows in the living room and the master bedroom face south, so you get gorgeous light." Theresa, the realtor for this viewing, pauses and then opens a narrow door. "But I think this will the selling point of this kitchen: a walk-in pantry."
Buck hums as he peers into it, eyebrows raising in appreciation at the sturdy steel racks already set up. In his mind's eye, he can see it being stocked with snacks, dry ingredients and staples, labeled and ready for use. He can picture himself cooking meals in the kitchen. That's how he knows he wants this house.
"I want a safety inspection, and anything that needs remediation, I'll get a quote and I'll want it taken off the asking price." Buck knows it's not really a buyer's market right now, but he doesn't want to spend money on a place that would be a money pit. Odds are, he can do most of the repairs himself - the doors aren't hung properly on the second floor, for one thing - but Theresa doesn't need to know that.
Theresa smiles. "Knew that pantry would clinch it."
---
Buck moves in on a Thursday, the first day of two weeks' PTO that he has finally taken. It's not a coincidence that it's Eddie's first few days back.
He doesn't want to see Eddie. He really doesn't.
He has already updated his address online last night, pausing to wonder if Chimney will notice his change of address. Doesn't matter. Administrative paperwork may be dull but necessary.
The heavier pieces of furniture are moved onto the moving truck he rented. He hauls the chairs and couch out, secures the rug again before tossing it in, drags boxes of his books with his little trolley.
It's two in the afternoon when he sees a familiar truck heading towards his new place. He skips down the few steps to the path and saunters out to the sidewalk.
Tommy steps out of his truck, clad in a loose tank top and faded jeans, muscled arms already covered in a sheen of perspiration. It's really hot and humid. "Ready to help," he says.
Buck smiles at him and jerks his head towards the inside. "Got a few boxes for you."
The heavier boxes are his books. Tommy hefts one box into his arms and wanders back out to the moving truck. Buck wonders if Tommy saw the coffee maker box stacked together with his kitchen appliances on the side of the door.
---
It's 4pm and they are both drenched with sweat from the afternoon heat. Buck calls for a break from unpacking and Tommy drives them to the nearest strip mall to look for something to eat in someplace where the temperatures do not come from Satan's armpit.
"I'll need to fix the air-conditioning," Buck grumbles as he slumps down in the old pleather seat of a Chinese restaurant. "And re-hang the doors. Maybe repaint the bedroom - that pale green reminds me of hospitals."
Two kids are doing homework in the corner and an uncle in a stained tee is at the roaring stove frying up their orders. Tommy nods at the surly young man who slinks over with their fried rice, coffee ribs, bok choy in oyster sauce and mapo tofu.
"I'll help," Tommy offers. "Just let me know when and how."
Buck smiles and nudges his foot against Tommy's. "Payment in beer or in pizza?"
"In desserts," Tommy replies blandly.
The food is excellent. Buck steals the last of the ribs from Tommy with his fingers instead of chopsticks. Tommy scoops the remaining quarter of the mapo tofu onto his rice in retaliation.
They share a mango shaved ice after that and Buck thinks, We can do this.
---
When Buck gets back to work, Chimney asks how the new place is.
"Needs some work, but the foundation's good," he says.
No one offers to help with fixing it up. Later, he thinks about it, and realizes that that he didn't expect them to. He still wishes someone did, though.
---
They get a new air-conditioning system from a guy Tommy knows (30% off is a good-sized discount, and Buck is thankful). They take the doors off and hang them properly so the corners don't scrape against the floor.
Tommy also helps him find a larger fridge as well as a chest freezer, and patiently loads the pantry according to Buck's system. Buck makes tiramisu for Tommy's troubles, and if they lean a little too close while sharing the dessert... Well.
---
Buck has decided on a blue for his bedroom, but he can't decide which of three different blues he wants.
When Tommy sees the swatches on the walls, he points to one - a muted cornflower blue - and says wistfully, "This looks like the sky the first time I flew."
---
"You busy this Friday evening?" Eddie asks. "I was thinking if you can watch Chris."
"Sorry, I gotta go pick up a dresser," Buck says. He doesn't offer to change his plans when Eddie waits with raised eyebrows.
After a beat, Eddie sighs and walks over to Hen to ask if she minds Chris popping over for a catch-up with Denny.
Buck resumes washing the rig. "It's in Orange County," he mutters to himself. "Solid maple. Vintage. Owner's moving to Spain and letting it go at a tenth of its value."
---
The next time Tommy comes over, the room is already painted, and Buck holds out a hand. Tommy stares at it, and then takes it with a tiny smile.
But Tommy laughs as they twirl around and around. When they stop, Tommy's face is all scrunched up in his biggest grin, and Buck knows his own face is flushed.
"Let's move that vintage dresser where you want it," Tommy murmurs. "Can't have you living in a house with nowhere to put your clothes."
Buck doesn't release him. "Can I keep a drawer for you?"
He sees Tommy's grin gentle into a smile, he sees him swallow and lick his lips. Finally, he nods. "I'd love that."
"I'm gonna dig up more projects to do around here," Buck warns him. "You're gonna need lots of changes of clothes. Best keep that drawer full."
Chuckling, Tommy presses his forehead to Buck's. "I'll do that."
Buck closes his eyes and the distance between them.
Crack-fic spec with spoilers ahead based on the Buck picture that just dropped (and was whisked away again 😂) Read here or on ao3.
Buck and Tommy rebuild more than just Buck's new house:
Buck should feel guilty about it.
He bought this place knowing it was going to be a fixer-upper and honestly, he'd been relieved at the idea of having something to take up his time. To keep him occupied and too busy to think about B—
To think about all the things missing from his life right now.
It was a solid plan, until he started pulling the place apart and realized exactly how in over his head he was. He needed help. Desperately.
But Chim and Maddie had their hands full with Jee and the baby and Hen and Karen were taking time to have a summer of fun with their kids now that Mara was officially adopted. Eddie was reconnecting with Chris. Ravi had buildings of his own to take care of. Athena was...not someone Buck wanted to bother.
Josh laughed in his face when Buck asked him if he was interested in helping after they ran into each other at the grocery store. "How desperate are you?" was the exact quote.
Desperate enough that he'd found himself calling Tommy's number and asking for his advice on the bathroom which turned into an hour long conversation which turned into Tommy offering to help with the reno and Buck, with an embarrassing lack of hesitation, said yes.
Tommy showed up that afternoon, letting out a long, low whistle when he finally got a look at the mess Buck had described in fairly good detail over the phone. "You weren't kidding."
Instead of turning around and leaving, maybe giving Buck the name of a guy he knew, some contractor whose actual job it was to handle something like this—Tommy stayed. They sat down with the coffees he'd brought and made a list of everything that had to be done and made a plan.
Tommy stayed and worked side-by-side with Buck, every day off they'd had for the last three months, even fitting in some time between shifts. Hours and hours. Together.
Buck should feel guilty for taking up his time and accepting his free labor, but he was too busy drinking in the sound of Tommy's laughter, watching his strong hands as he sanded down kitchen cupboards, and memorizing the lines on his face when he grinned at Buck for making his favourite sandwich for lunch.
His days were too full to feel guilty.
And if he was being really, really honest with himself...
Buck was happy. Something he did feel guilty about. Being excited about his life again—looking forward to things like grouting the bathroom tile with Tommy—at first, felt like such a betrayal to—
To Bobby.
He'd admitted as much to Maddie one night, when she was up late with a fussy Bo and Buck was up late with noisy thoughts.
"The last thing he'd want is for you to stop living," she said. "And I think he'd be happy to see you so happy, Buck. To see what you're building for yourself."
"I wish he was here," Buck said on a shaky breath. "I keep picking up my phone to text him and send him photos and ask questions and I—it hits me every time that I can't."
"It always will," Maddie said softly. "But part of him is still there with you. In what he taught you."
"Yeah," Buck sniffed. "I know." The two of them sat in silence for awhile, the sounds of Bo babbling at his firetruck mobile making Buck smile.
"And," Maddie finally broke the quiet, voice turning teasing. "he'd definitely be happy to see Tommy step up to help. The two of you spending so much time together. How's that going? Anything you want to talk about there?"
"W-we're not—it's not—" Buck sighed. "We're just friends," he said, firmly enough to maybe convince himself this time. "A-a-and that's good, Maddie. It is. I'm just happy to have that and that he's willing to help me out so much with the house."
"Just friends?" Buck could hear Maddie's raised eyebrow over the phone. "That's what I walked in on last Tuesday?"
"He was showing me how to use the table saw!" Buck was glad they weren't video chatting when he flushed at the memory.
"You've worked in construction before," Maddie laughed. "But if that's the story you're sticking with..."
It was, Buck assured her as they said their goodnights. It had to be.
After how solidly they'd messed things up, Buck was just happy to have Tommy back in his life.
With the reno filling the monumental task of keeping their hands busy and off of each other, he and Tommy were talking. Actually talking, slowly at first, about their lives and their histories. The tiny pieces of themselves they'd never gotten around to sharing before, but were such an intrinsic part of understanding the whole.
Little things, hesitantly shared, grew into deep conversations where tools were put aside and a day's work turned into making dinner together so they could keep talking.
"My dad taught me woodworking. He was...exacting. Nothing was finished until it was finished right. I wasn't allowed to leave the garage until whatever I was working on met his approval. It was a pretty high bar."
"His name was Daniel. I was born to save him and I-I think it broke my family when I couldn't. I grew up knowing something was wrong, that something was missing, but I never realized it was my fault."
"Even after I was out, when I thought I was ready, it was overwhelming. Having the life I'd always dreamed of actually available to me was terrifying. When it was a dream, there was no risk of me messing it up."
"I'm trying to be okay with the idea that nothing is ever going to be okay again. Maddie said losing someone leaves a hole that your life will eventually grow around, but this feels so big. I don't know that I could ever live enough to stretch that far."
With every part of the house they fixed up, Buck thought about smashing another to keep Tommy around even a little bit longer. Anything for more time, more stories, more pieces of the Tommy puzzle that Buck's brain horded like his own personal treasure.
'Just friends' was the magic phrase he hid behind as he let himself venture further and further into territory neither of them were putting a name to yet. Hoping Tommy'd be there to meet him in the middle. Terrified he'll find himself out there alone. Again.
The house was starting to look properly house-like by mid-September. Buck might actually get to decorate for Halloween at the rate things were going. He brought it up to Tommy while they were tackling the attic that Buck hoped to turn into a spare bedroom. (One that would be perfect for Jee and Bo to stay in when they were a bit older...or maybe Buck's own kids. Someday.)
"Let me know when you go shopping," Tommy said, scrunching his nose up as he laughed. "If memory serves, you can't be trusted to pick out Halloween decorations on your own."
"Hey!" Buck protested, smothering his own grin. "That worked out for the best in the end. We put Billy to rest a-a-and that was a good thing, right?"
"Yeah," Tommy nodded, his smile softening. "It was." The moment stretched out between them before he cleared his throat, turning back to the insulation he was installing along the far wall.
Swallowing back the words that were aching to get out—too soon, don't ruin it, not again, be happy with what you have—Buck shook his head as he refocused on patching the wooden flooring.
A glimmer between the boards caught his eye. Buck crouched closer, digging his fingers into the gap, trying to fish out whatever it was. His nail caught the side of it and he pulled out...a ring.
The simple gold band was tarnished, but as he tilted it in the light, he could make out a faint inscription on the inside.
Piece by piece.
A cut-off breath broke the silence and Buck looked up to see Tommy staring at him with wide-eyes.
"Evan?" he choked out. "Uh—"
Panic slammed into Buck as he suddenly realized how it had to look from Tommy's perspective. "No! No, no, I'm not—" He bobbled the ring, nearly dropping it. "This isn't—I just found this in the floor and was looking at it. It's not what you think. Don't worry. I'm sorry. Please don't leave."
A whole host of emotions flashed over Tommy's face as Buck word-vomited his way through the stress of possibly having messed everything up.
Shock. Disbelief. Disappointment. Sadness.
"Leave?" Tommy blinked, looking up and away—a sure sign, Buck had learned, that he was trying not to cry. "Evan, I—I wouldn't. Not again."
The words settled between them, taking a moment to sink in. Buck stared up at Tommy—whose hair was flattened by sweat, face covered in grime, and he was still the most beautiful man Buck'd ever seen—and he knew he needed to be standing for this conversation.
With a grunt, he got to his feet, stumbling a bit over his stiff leg.
"I told you I should have done the floor," Tommy murmured, reaching out to help steady him.
Buck huffed out a laugh. "Not with your back," he said, straightening up. He grabbed Tommy's hand as he let go of Buck's arm. "Do you mean it?" he asked, pulling Tommy closer. "Really?"
"That I would have done the floor?" Tommy flashed him a quick smile, barely hiding the nerves Buck knew how to look for now. "Of course."
"You know what I meant." Buck shifted until Tommy met his eyes. He gripped Tommy's hand, battling back his own fears because this was it. They were here, in the moment, and Buck wasn't going to let either of them be too scared to face it again.
"You won't leave again?" he asked, searching Tommy's face.
Tommy closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath before meeting Buck's gaze again. "No," he said. "Not if you'll have me."
"Think I'm getting the good end of the deal here," Buck joked and Tommy immediately frowned, reaching up to cup Buck's cheek.
"You have no idea, do you?" he whispered. "I want everything with you, Evan Buckley. Only you. As much as you're willing—"
"I want everything too," Buck cut in, not able to hold the words in any longer. Needing Tommy to know he was in, just as much as Tommy was. "Always with you. That's all I thought about while we were broken up, when I bought this place, while we've been fixing it up—everywhere I am, my life is better with you in it." He held the ring in between them. "This is too soon and—and it's not ours, but I want this with you. Someday."
"Me too," Tommy said, tears finally spilling over.
"Soon," Buck demanded because hell, yeah, he was going to press his advantage while he had it and Tommy laughed, pulling him in for a kiss.
"Soon," he agreed.
For the first time, standing there, kissing Tommy in a half-finished house, Buck felt his life growing a little bit bigger around the hurt.
Tommy's good people. He's good for you.
"What?" Tommy pulled back when Buck's smile broke their kiss, amusement tugging at his own lips.
"Nothing," Buck said, dipping in for another peck. "Just happy."
i'd like to say that i have no idea what possessed me to write 3.5k words of bucktommy in rome while buck's going thru it grief-wise but i'd be lying!!!! i wrote this as a birthday present for myself bc i needed an indulgent way to work through the existential dread of getting older.
have fun!!!
Of all the places Buck thought he'd find himself at the end of the summer, Rome wasn't one of them. The hot, narrow streets of the city lull him into an unusual, dreamy sort of comfort LA's sprawling cityscape hasn't been able to offer him.
The stone wall of their holiday coffee spot is baking hot against Buck's back as he leans against it. Beside him, Tommy plays navigator with his phone in one hand and a comically small espresso in the other. Three-wheeled delivery trucks rattle along the smooth, time-polished cobblestones and scooters and bikes zoom by as locals dodge and weave around them with preternatural ability.
Everything is so alive here, Buck thinks. It's not like LA isn't thriving, too, but he's been witness to too much death on its streets for it to feel like anything other than a transient space he's responsible for care-taking.
Here, though, he doesn't have to be a hero. Sure, if the delivery guy sucking back a cigarette at double-speed keeled over he'd jump in but, otherwise, what's happening around the corner is none of his concern. There's no response necessary other than acknowledging his boyfriend's efforts to give Buck the kind of break he needs.
Tommy's a big leave it to me kinda guy and for the first time, maybe ever, Buck's ok with someone else doing the heavy lifting. Loving hands can make light work of the heavy burden of grief, and though Buck's finding new and creative ways to carry it, sometimes he needs a little nudge to remind him it's ok to put it down.
Luckily, he has a boyfriend who's a former expert at running away from his problems. 'Even better at flying away from them,' Tommy corrected him, before suggesting ten days as strangers to everyone but each other.
Tommy always excelled at sweeping Buck off his feet and now, relaxing into their second go around, he's still managing to do it.
_
'I can picture you in the arena.' They're looking down into the ruins of tunnels used by those awaiting their chance to live or die. The Colosseum offers them an overwhelming panoramic of a structure so ravaged by time that it's difficult to imagine it was ever anything more than a skeleton.
Beside Buck, Tommy snorts and leans so far over the railing that Buck throws his hand out to brace his chest. Maddie used to react the same when she thought Buck was going to step off the sidewalk and into the path of an 18-wheeler. Tommy turns his head, pushes his Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose before they slip all the way off. Buck presses a little closer, his sweaty bicep resting against Tommy's own. 'Picture me how?' Tommy asks. 'Bloody and victorious or like, in a loin cloth?'
'Yes?' It's absurd and easy to imagine someone as captivating as Tommy holding an audience in the palm of his hand. It's more enticing than imagining lost men in dank tunnels waiting to be pulled out and thrown onto a battleground surrounded by bloodthirsty spectators. Tommy must sense the subtle shift in Buck's expression; he pulls himself back and uses his hands to steady Buck instead.
'I think I've got more of an emperor's profile.' Tommy straightens up and motions to his nose and chin, says, 'Marble carved, right?' and when Buck starts laughing he says, 'Hey! I'm just saying I wouldn't look out of place on the back of a coin!'
Buck's not sure about that but he knows this: if sixty-thousand people had been chanting Tommy's name and begging him to draw blood, Buck would have been the loudest and most disruptive of all.
Later, at a museum, Buck spends time comparing Tommy's face to those of men who these days only exist as works of art. Men who, at a pinpoint in time, ruled the world. They were everything then. And now? They're just faces in the crowd. Anyone who knew their truth is forgotten to time, unrecorded and lost forever.
He kisses Tommy more that night. Hand in hand on the slippery, weaving streets Tommy stops to kiss him, too. He slips his hand down the back of Buck's shorts when they reach the shadowy mouth of alley and Buck's ready to be fucked full of promise right there in the street.
Warmed by the humid night air, wine and the sweaty press of Tommy's body, Buck feels a desperation he can't articulate so he drags Tommy back to their hotel and drops to his knees before the door to their room snicks shut.
There in the dark he lets the flat press of his tongue and plushness of his lips do the talking. Tommy's body, strong and sure, guiding him and holding him down when they're both aching for something to take the edge off. His palm burning a brand between Buck's scapula. The glide of Tommy's cock inside of him, and the force of his searching hand holding Buck open to stare at the place where he'll hide his mark.
Buck, not yet anointed, but ready to be.
—
They move with the crowd in the Sistine Chapel. The barely veiled bite on Buck’s collarbone aches as he cranes his neck to take in Michelangelo's legacy. Buck feels a jolt of lust remembering the sting of Tommy's wine stained mouth and the bounce of Tommy’s legs around his waist. Pressing the bruise and rolling it over the bone, he feels a pang of sympathy for the man who suffered for his art long after he put his paintbrushes down.
As Buck stares at God reaching out his right hand to Adam, he thinks of himself and Bobby, and wonders if Bobby knew he’d created Buck in his image, too. He keeps the thought quick and on the right side of curious; he's heard a lot about heresy and doesn't want to run the risk of getting struck by lightning for likening his dead father figure to the actual Father.
There's not a holy bone in Buck's body but even he feels moved by something he can't really put his finger on. Kinda like Adam, he thinks, and waits for the hum of electricity.
Tommy's a recovering Catholic. One day soon, Buck's going to ask him to elaborate on what that means in the grand scheme of things. For now, he brushes his pinkie against Tommy's, careful and unseen, and asks him what he knows about the most famous ceiling in the world.
'Michelangelo didn't actually go blind,' Tommy says quietly, barely audible over the cacophony of spirited tourists. 'He had eye strain.' He dips in close enough for his teeth to graze Buck’s ear and whispers, 'Catholics love drama.’
The wink and grin Tommy throws his way feels rebellious, and Buck’s heart trips over a confusing mix of fear and want. He’s treated to his own private art show when Tommy tips his head back to stare up in awe. The stretch of his neck, the bump of his Adam’s apple, and the faint red smudge underneath his ear — all of them masterpieces for Buck’s private collection.
When Buck finally tears his eyes away he looks up, too, and presses his shoulder into Tommy’s. Well, he thinks as he soaks up the heat from Tommy’s skin, at least we’ll be wiped out together.
—
Despite fulfilling most of the seven deadly sins behind the door of their hotel room, neither of them face the wrath of God or anyone else. It feels complicated when Buck's grief takes a backseat; Tommy's hand in his, the fresh and sharp scent of his cologne reapplied before dinner, the old-fashioned, romantic way Tommy insists on pulling Buck's chair out for him — all of these things are the most beautiful distraction for the dull ache inside of him.
He wants to be free of it, and he wants to hold onto it. He doesn't want to face the guilt he feels every time he realises the grief slipped from his mind to be replaced with the fullness of love.
It's like the tide, he reminds himself, in and out, and smiles bright and true when a stranger takes a picture of him and Tommy set against the blush sunset kissing the Tiber.
On their sixth day they take it easy. They find a spot serving the kind of pork sandwiches that have probably tasted the same for fifty years. Buck picks up a few trinkets for the guys and the most lurid fridge magnet he can find for Tommy. Tommy doesn't have the kind of friends he'd buy souvenirs for but Buck's going to spend their remaining days convincing Tommy to buy a few things for himself.
It's not a conscious decision to kill the last of the day in a crypt. Buck had felt indifferent about visiting it when he'd put together a list of things to see. Last time he'd come into contact with a corpse he'd ended up with a dislocated shoulder and an eruption of boils, and yet here he is, literally lining up to repeat the experience under more sacred conditions.
With headsets on, they wander through a neat museum and though they comment that it's probably just a necessary step before the macabre payoff, they both find themselves invested in every exhibition. It's not just the presentation of artefacts and collections that captivate them, it's the links to their owners and the lives they lived. Meagre earthy possessions, remnants of the daily lives lived by men who took simple vows. Shoes with uneven heels and pocket watches to remind. Wire-framed spectacles to study the holy word more closely, and notebooks that were likely never meant to be seen. The room is uncomfortably hot but Buck shivers when he peers through the glass case to observe the hooded robe belonging to a man who served and bled. Beside it, a portrait of a friar kneeling in search of answers.
He searches for Tommy then, and finds him bent at the waist trying to decipher handwriting written in a language Tommy doesn't speak. He pulls his headphones aside when Buck brushes up next to him and says, 'What a life.' Tommy straightens up and pulls his headphones down around his neck. 'You ok?'
'I-I'm ok; it's just hot in here.' It's a lie but maybe he can throw some euros in the donation box to atone for it. If Tommy senses his nerves he doesn't say anything. His smile is soft and caring, and his hand is gentle and guiding when he moves Buck along, through the last of the displays and down the stone steps into the crypt.
Chilled humidity is new, as is the smell of centuries old bones and carved stone of several tiny chapels. Buck faces the reality of death every shift, but to stare at the result of what remains years after someone flat-lines is surreal. The words What you are now we used to be; what we are now you will be etched into a plaque like a threat. All that separates Tommy and him from thousands of bones and drooping skeletons pinned to the wall is an iron gate and pair of mismatched heartbeats. Beside him, Tommy rubs his goose-bumped arms and they stare for a respectable amount of time before moving to the next bone-adorned chapel. Buck thinks of Bobby six feet under the dread that settles over him is as heavy as the dirt must be on top of Bobby's grave.
They exit through the gift shop in silence, and the sun is blinding when they step outside. Maybe a beautifully macabre display of mortality isn't what he needed right now, and Buck's not afraid to admit it. The apology for not being a bunch of fun slips out quietly and Tommy does that thing he's been trying to shake where he laughs in genuine disbelief at the absolute absurdity coming out of Buck's mouth.
'It's ok,' Tommy says and his hand is a comforting weight on Buck's shoulder when his chest heaves, lungs fighting to fill with air. 'Hey, Evan —' Buck's world narrows to the concerned look in Tommy's eyes. Traffic zooms past, indifferent.
'I'm not ok,' Buck gasps. 'I gotta go clear my head or something.'
'Whatever you want,' Tommy says. 'Hey, I love you, ok?'
Tommy stays with him until Buck's ready to move. It takes a little convincing for Tommy to leave him and they part on a crossroads. Buck watches Tommy walk down the hill towards their hotel until he's lost in a thick crowd of tiny bodies before he turns and heads the other way.
—
Buck walks and lets the sound of the city revive him. People drive with the kind of controlled chaos that would entertain him for hours under different circumstances but the sky has turned as dark as the feeling inside of him, so he jogs down a narrow alley to look for a shelter just as the first fat raindrops hit his head.
He expects to find a doorway to hide in; he doesn't expect a hidden church. Golden light spills from open doors onto the cobbled street creating his own yellow-brick road to refuge.
The interior is tiny and opulent, and rich with the smell of incense. It's beautiful but nothing Buck hasn't seen in every church he's stepped foot in so far on this trip. He takes a seat near the altar as the storm releases a torrent outside. Lit by candles the welcoming light won't fail here, though the flames struggle and flicker with the breeze.
It's easy to understand why Bobby, a man filled with limitless guilt and with grief cut deep into his marrow, found solace in the church. Buck looks to an image of Jesus falling with his cross and thinks of Bobby sobbing on his couch, his own cross to bear too heavy, as Buck and Hen held him. Buck's own words maybe ask for help once in a while, reminding Buck of the lessons in life he's still learning.
He can't shake the feeling that someone should be joining him, but the person he wants to see most isn't coming to fill the empty chair beside him. The shape of him is easy to imagine: his straight spine, always relaxed and alert at the same time, head forward and eyes fixed in reverence to observe the painting of Mother Mary hanging over the altar. Buck would have leaned in close to make a remark about how Mary's eyes seemed to follow them when they walked in, and Bobby would have told Buck that didn't need to know why or how, just to accept what he could hold in his hands, instead, and have faith in what he couldn't.
So, in that tiny church, wrapped up in the memories of someone who lit the right path for him and gave him the space to grow, Buck cries. He lets the sadness pour out of him, the sound of his soul bouncing off the marble and stone, until some space inside opens up and the physical ache of it feels earned.
He's lighter on his feet when he approaches the altar and steals a flame from the dying wick of another candle to light one for Bobby. He doesn't check if anyone's around when he tells Bobby he loves him because he wants everyone to know.
Back at the hotel there's someone he wants to hold and share his burden with. Inside him, there's the spirit of the man who made it possible. Lessons and teachings and hard truths that Buck will pass on, too
And so, he reminds himself, Bobby will live on.
—
Tommy's asleep when Buck slips into their room. He's fallen asleep to a game show with an overzealous host, and Buck knows Tommy was watching it with the same intensity he'd watch one in a language he understands. He looks peaceful, relaxed in a way he never fully is when he's awake — not to Buck, anyway, because he's learned to look when Tommy thinks he isn't.
Buck strips off his wet clothes and leaves them on the side of the bath. He's greedy with his need for touch, and he presses himself close to Tommy's warm body in search of some heat. Tommy would always reach for Buck in his sleep and now it's no different: he works his arm under Buck's head and pulls his thigh over his waist and relaxes into him. Buck has so much to say; it's 6 pm and they really need to get out and take advantage of the night but Tommy feels safer than the church Buck just bared his soul in. It only takes a few minutes to drift away to the sound of Tommy's breathing and when he wakes up a new, cosy darkness has settled over them.
Tommy's eyes flicker open when Buck cups his jaw. Tommy's shocked inhale tells Buck that he didn't mean to fall asleep, at least not for as deeply as he did. The side of his face is a mess of pillow creases when he rolls over to check the time on his phone, and they join the creases when he smiles hello and pulls Buck closer.
'Where did you go?' Tommy asks quietly, his voice rough and finding itself.
'Just got lost for a while.'
'Find anything good?'
'Kinda.' Tommy's bottom lip is smooth under the pad of Buck's thumb. 'I went to a church.'
'Yeah?' Tommy's teeth always feel so good pressing into Buck's skin. He misses them when Tommy pulls his mouth away to say, 'You thinking about converting?'
'From what? I'm not baptised,' Buck says and swats Tommy when he mock-gasps in horror. 'No, I just needed somewhere quiet to um, think about Bobby.'
'That's good.' Tommy keeps a tender hold on him as Buck tells him the parts of the story Tommy needs to know.
In a final rush of truth, Buck admits — 'I've been worrying I don't have enough space inside of me to love you how I want to.'
'You've been loving me fine, Evan. I don't anything could ever take away your capacity for love.'
It's one of the most self-affirming truths Buck's ever been told and Tommy says it like it's the most straightforward and obvious thing in the world.
He likes the feeling of Tommy's scruff against his neck and even though he's doing his best not to fall into the trap of looking too far ahead, he's already thinking about how sad he's going to be when Tommy's clean shaven and not within arm's reach. He pushes Tommy's shorts down and tugs on the hem of his tee. All Buck's wearing is a pair of briefs, and Tommy pulls them down the length of Buck's legs until Buck's shaking them off his left ankle while Tommy uses his mouth to tell Buck he loves him for the second time that day. Accept what you can hold in your hands, Buck reminds himself, and takes the love Tommy's giving him with a greater sense of peace.
They get pizza afterwards. There's a moonlit piazza with a fountain a short walk away, and Buck and Tommy make themselves comfortable on a bench with a dozen other late night lovers. Their beers aren't nearly as cold as they need to be, but their pizza is hot between them.
'You're sure you're having a good time?' Buck pulls a piece of his pizza free and lets it cool away from the rest.
'Yeah,' Tommy says breezily. 'What more could I want? I'm in one of the most beautiful cities in the world with the guy I'm in love with, so…. '
'I know I've been a downer, I just… you know when I woke up the other morning I didn't think about Bobby for almost an hour? I just thought about you and how happy I am.'
Tommy nods in understanding and Buck can see him physically fighting and then losing the urge to say, 'You're not being a downer.'
He's no stranger to grief, Buck figures. Tommy's a guy who’s lost a lot and had a lot to lose. Buck's whole life has been shaped by grief, even before he knew it to be the reason he never felt the love he needed to grow and take shape. It's a thread that unites them, but where it used to pull them down it's changed course to draw them up and towards each other.
'Bobby liked you a lot, you know. He told me so, actually.' Buck smiles, remembering the relief he felt at Bobby's approval. 'I bet he'd be so proud of you if he knew you'd put it all on the line to save Chim's life.'
'I owed Chimney.' Someday soon, Buck's going to find a way to stop Tommy deflecting every kindness that comes his way. 'And I owe so much to Bobby. Without him, I never would have chosen the path I needed to take. The one that let me find myself… and you.'
'Earlier when you asked if I found anything, I did. He's sitting right here in front of me. I guess we've been on that same path the whole time.'
They seal it with a kiss and a toast, two beer bottles clinking over the hum of late night traffic and the rhythmic splash of a fountain filled with wishes.
Not attached to anything I'm writing, feel free to add on or adapt into your own stuff
+++
Evan's at the pond in the park near Tommy's place, tossing handfuls of birdseed into the water for the ducks.
Tommy sits next to him. "Most people give them bread."
"My bread is too good for the birds," Evan says, bumping his shoulder with Tommy's. "You should try it sometime."
"I'd like to."
They sit in silence for a while, until Evan runs out of birdseed. Then Tommy ventures, "How's things with you?"
Evan doesn't reply immediately. Tommy waits. Finally, Evan says, "Everything sucks." He blows out a breath and chuckles humorlessly. "Understatement of the century."
Unsure if his input is needed, Tommy leans against the younger man, and waits some more.
"I'm supposed to... I'm supposed to be okay, to be fine, but I'm not, and it's stupid, I should be fine, but I dread waking up every day. I dread it. I wake up and I wish–" he cuts himself off before he finishes the sentence.
On impulse, Tommy hugs him and presses a kiss to his temple, and another to his cheek. "You should feel whatever you are feeling, Evan. But never wish to be... Never wish to be not here, okay? Please. I don't think I can bear a world that doesn't have you in it."
Evan's breathing grows ragged. "Th-that's what I used to think, about... about Bobby. That it's not, it's not a world worth keeping, if he isn't here, and it isn't, Tommy, it isn't, it isn't fair that he's gone, and I can't bear it..." He trails off on a broken sob.
Trailing his fingers through Evan's curls, Tommy thinks desperately for something he can do or say. He holds Evan, who is shaking apart in grief in his arms here in the park on an overcast morning.
After a long moment, when Evan's weeping calms down enough for him to pull back and swipe at his puffy eyes, Tommy says, "I heard this a long time ago. I didn't understand it when I first heard it, but over time I've come to get it."
Evan sniffs and raises a quizzical eyebrow.
"The hardest thing in the world," Tommy intones, looking right at Evan, hoping all of his care and all of his love is evident from his gaze, "is to live in it."
Evan inhales sharply, and then smiles. A shaky, watercolor of a smile that's been left out in the rain, but Tommy will take what he can get.
"It is," Evan murmurs. Then he nods. "It really is."
"But you gotta do it. For him."
"It hurts, Tommy."
"I'll help," Tommy promises. Heart on a platter again. Fuck it, Evan's worth it. "I'll help however I can."
do you know buck is lazing on his pool mat right now and floating in his boyfriend's pool and it smells like chlorine and he's wearing v tiny swim shorts? and do you know tommy is grilling garlic bread and veggies and halloumi on the grill for them all and ravi is sitting on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, sloshing them around. And he's sipping on a mocktail and he quizzes buck with this trivia app they both downloaded. and he splashes buck every time he gets an answer wrong. and buck keeps glancing at tommy in his ugly dad shorts and the slutty tank top. and then he paddles to the edge of the pool and beckons tommy in for a kiss and ravi calls them gross and buck goes: hey! you get kissed by him, and then try staying away from those lips. and tommy says he doesn't wanna be pimped out and the tips of ravi's ears go slightly pink and he loudly says ANYWAY (and doesn't think abt tommy's broad hands and buck's pink lips at all). anyway. do you know that that's happening,
tags: set post s8; future fic; kid fic; depictions of depression/suicidal thoughts; grief/mourning; emotional hurt/comfort; bucktommy fix-it; 118 criticalish; anti eddie diaz
notes: so this is the runaway fic (aka the layla and bailey verse). it'll be clear that this started out as a road trip fic and then grew a "reconcile with the past and move on" story around it. the fic is three chapters with two additional scenes (the one where buck and tommy meet their kids, and buck and tommy's wedding).
thank you so much to everyone who's been engaging with this since it started torturing me like 5 minutes after s8 ended. thank you to my friends who put up with even more whining for just as long.
Summary:
After Bobby's death, Buck and Tommy leave Los Angeles to start a new life together.
Five years later, they have to go back.
Excerpt:
"It felt too impersonal to do it over a text or email," Athena finally says. "Soon it'll be five years since Bobby died."
"Yeah, it will be," Buck says quietly, nodding along.
"May, Harry, and I are hosting a celebration of life for the anniversary," Athena says. "I wanted to invite you, the four of you, to come. I want to have a real celebration of who he was, with all of us who loved him. It wouldn't be complete without you, Buck."
I cannot stop thinking about your New Jersey fic—the sum of it is just immense, in the best possible way. But one question I had that got left unanswered (maybe intentionally) was what, if anything, happens with Buck's relationship to Chris? I *completely* got his shutting it down at the outset of that journey because of Eddie's choices, but...five years on, Chris is potentially in college or at least nominally an adult. Does he want to reach out? Has he moved on from their relationship when he was a kid? Does Buck want him back in his life in his own right? Or is Eddie still too much of a factor?
i'm glad people are enjoying the new story 🥲 honestly until like a week ago i was about to trash it because i was smothering it with "this has to be everything to everyone and address everything since the s8 finale and the breakup and the entire show" shhh. no. no fic is ever going to do all that so if you're like me and terrified, just shhhhh and press post. it's fine. tell the One Story, share it if you want to, and move on.
and that's related because one of the things i didn't delve into was chris, and chris and buck, and chris and eddie five years on. in this verse, it's my hc that it was a real struggle to get chris to move back to LA after s8.
(huge surprise, this reply got really long because god forbid i answer an ask in less than 1k. this is mostly chris meta, and chris and eddie meta, with buck at the end. sorry if it's a little all over the place- i started writing this after midnight and now it's 2am lol.)
chris was never going to appear in this fic. it was my thinking that, after s8, chris moved back with eddie very, very begrudgingly, because chris is conscientious enough at 14 to realize that his dad is going through some shit, and needs him more than chris needs el paso. i think teenage chris wouldn't be able to enjoy his life in el paso knowing his dad was so miserable and missing him, begging him to move to LA with him, so. okay. he loves his dad. he'll move back. he'll stick with him through high school (provided eddie doesn't majorly fuck up again) but when he's 18, he's moving back to el paso.
because man, i get eddie's family baggage and i wish the show would, too. i get why he'd feel suffocated by his Very Nice Very Proper Do What's Right Be the Man family, where any doubt or crack on the surface has a half dozen people who love you so much swooping in to save you from yourself when all you need is the space to make your own choices and choose your own fuck ups, rather than living the life others have chosen for you. i wish the show would explore that as the reason why eddie blows up his life the minute things feel too good and too stable - because in his family, stability comes at the cost of his autonomy. the family comes first. eddie comes last. who even is eddie? eddie has no clue. he's been stuffed into other people's molds his whole life and the most eddie-defining thing about him is what he made that he can call his own: his kid.
but chris isn't a thing. these are just my thoughts, but i think eddie's short stint in el paso and the chess club thing would teach chris: 1) his dad is a fucking mess who needs him to feel stable and 2) life moves too quickly to let people talk him into dumb shit like chess tournaments just to make them happy. thanks dad! lesson learned! chris will move to LA because he doesn't want to cause his dad pain, and his dad is miserable in el paso. it looked for about five minutes that maybe his dad could learn to be okay living in the same town as his parents, but then the five minutes were up and actually eddie couldn't. so for his dad's sake, okay. he'll go back. eddie learned his lesson, right? and he'll never do something that fucked up again, right? chris sure hopes so.
and i think he's right! i think eddie never fucks up that bad again. i think chris watches his dad grow up and embrace stability because he knows now that chris can leave him of his own volition. eddie experienced one (1) consequence and learned from it. good. they have four okay years of chris in high school together. chris settles in, finds his old friends, makes new friends, dates people, has a life, and his dad does, too. eddie gives chris room to breathe, the room his parents never gave him. i think it genuinely haunts eddie to think that chris could one day feel about him the way eddie feels about his parents, so he does better. a lot better. and things are okay.
chris still leaves, though. he just doesn't like LA and its vibe. he doesn't like how his dad treats his coworkers like they're family when they both have an actual family a plane ride away. maybe he would like the 118 more if eddie hadn't chosen them over their blood relations who supported chris when he was out there, and have cared about him deeply his whole life. eddie's family issues aren't chris's; chris's family issues are eddie. so when he finishes high school, he leaves LA and heads back to el paso to live with his grandparents and figure out where to go from there and how to start his own life. his dad will be fine. (he has to be fine.)
and the buck of it all! i think the picture eddie paints for chris is this: that after bobby died, buck was still having a really bad time, so he got back together with tommy (bad idea, eddie tells him) and the two of them moved away without telling anyone (worse idea), and eddie doesn't know if they're ever coming back. chris is sad, but... he gets it. he gets being so wrecked by something that all you can do is pick up and leave. he thought tommy was cool and made buck so much happier than any of his girlfriends, so i really think chris in this verse would be like: yeah. i get it. i miss him. good for him. they text very rarely because chris hears the distance eddie has built into the story, and the way eddie probably never talks about buck if he can help it, so. chris lets it lie. buck moved on from the 118. good. chris probably wishes eddie could, too.
on bad days, i think chris resents how much eddie let buck parent him, and resents buck for playing at being his dad. like buck would babysit him, take him on outings, help him with homework, play video games with him, talk to him about serious shit, save him from a tsunami - i think when chris meets new people as an adult and exchanges stories about growing up, he realizes how many of those small domestic moments were shared with buck, not his dad. and it wasn't like his dad and buck were dating, and buck was a step-parent; buck was his dad's friend from work who stepped up, a lot, because his dad was... doing other shit. going through stuff. losing it over shannon. chris is so lucky he had buck, but why did he have to have buck? why couldn't he have his dad? or his mom? no offense to buck, who he cares about a lot, but why did it have to be buck?
and then, finally, from buck's pov: he lets chris reach out to him with those rare texts or emails. he always answers and he's always super friendly when he writes back. but neither of them reach for more because they don't want to disturb this peace with eddie: buck doesn't want a connection to chris to land eddie at his front door, and chris doesn't want a connection to buck to upset his dad, so they just leave it at that. 🤷♂️ i think they meet up one day in the far future, and they're very fond of each other like old friends.
