fresh hell
part 6 below
p1/p2/p3/p4/p5
[wc: 1284; total wc(all parts): 7423; cw in tags]
When Evan answers, his voice is tight, barely held emotion packed down behind something brittle masquerading as brave. Tommy’s seen it before. Hell, he’s worn that mask himself.
Compartmentalized.
“Tommy? Are you–”
“I heard about Bobby,” Tommy says, his hand shaking under the weight of the phone. “I’m so sorry, Evan.”
There’d been a rumor – one he isn’t sure is true – that Evan tried to call him when the lab was locked down. That in the frantic, horrifying scramble to save Howie, Evan had reached for every form of rescue he could recall.
In the end, they’d gotten the vaccine to Howie in time. Tommy saw his picture on the news, the anchor describing his condition as severe but stable, prognosis good.
Bobby wasn’t so lucky.
A cut line, an airborne virus, and a ticking clock striking far too late to save him.
The grief hits sharper than Tommy expects. He thinks of Bobby in his kitchen, sleeves rolled, washing dishes like he belonged there. The Tupperware still sits on the counter, waiting for hands that will never come back for it.
Evan inhales sharply, then lets out a hollow laugh that sounds nothing like the warmth Tommy knows so well. The one he came to call home, once.
It makes his chest ache more.
“Yeah,” Evan says. “Thanks.”
“I wish there was something I could’ve–”
“Why aren’t you working?” Evan cuts him off. Anger rolls through the words, tight and coiled. Accusatory.
Tommy could tell him. Could confess everything after all this time, admit he’s been nothing but a coward. Tell him about the radiation, the chemo, the way his body feels like it’s rusting, ragged from the inside out.
But this isn’t about him.
“I just…I needed some time,” he says instead, knowing Evan won’t take that for what it is – a request to let it go. Move on.
“I wanted to call you,” Evan says, voice climbing, frustration boiling over in a flash. “We had to get the vaccine to Chim fast an-and the military – the Army, Tommy – wouldn’t let anyone leave that lab. I wanted to call you. T-to ask you for – God, what if it had helped? What if we could’ve gotten to them both in time?”
Tommy’s breath hitches. Tears burn wild paths down his cheeks, ruddy and raw from weeks of his weakened state. Cries wear trails on his face that are as familiar as the ones he used to hike with Evan.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to…you know I would’ve come if you called.”
“No, I don’t,” Evan laughs bitterly. “Because you haven’t been working. And you and I – we don’t talk anymore. Why would we? You broke up with me, Tommy.”
“I know, I just–”
“You just what? Called to give condolences?”
There’s movement on the other end. A door. Footsteps. Evan mutters something muffled before the phone comes back close. “Thanks. You can find the memorial information on LAFD’s website.”
The line goes dead, Evan’s voice cuts out, and Tommy feels like he somehow got off easy.
He reads the memorial details later. Wonders if he’d be able to stand long enough to make it through the service. Wonders if he’d even make it from the parking lot to a seat before dismissing it outright.
If he shows up now, claiming compassion and swapping stories of the good old days and Bobby’s care in recent weeks, it’ll feel hollow. Like he’s trying to claim something he forfeited.
Instead, he sees pictures online after the service – Athena holding a folded flag, dress blues lined in rows. He sees Evan in one picture, staring blankly ahead, jaw tight, chest high like he’s holding himself upright by sheer force of will. Just trying to survive.
Tommy cries more than usual that night.
The next morning he’s half-watching a documentary about whales, the narrator’s calm voice washing over him.
His phone rings.
Once, that sound meant Evan. His heartbeat would kick up, a smile would climb his face before he even saw the name. He’d answer with a joke, a teasing flirt, Evan’s name leaving his lips like it belonged there.
Now it only brings dread.
It means test results. Appointment reminders. Pharmacy notifications. Check-ins from Melton, the union asking about leave paperwork, an occasional wish to let me know if you need anything, Tom from Sal or Teddy or his cousin. People who don’t know what that would actually entail.
He lifts the phone and holds his breath. The name on the screen makes his stomach drop.
Eddie Diaz.
He answers immediately, chest tight. “Eddie? Is Evan okay?”
Eddie laughs on the other end and Tommy’s chest loosens just slightly. He wouldn’t be laughing if something horrible happened.
“He lives,” Eddie says, doing a bad Frankenstein impression before sobering. “And so do you, apparently.”
Tommy coughs hard, tries to stifle more but fails. He turns away from the receiver until his shoulders shudder on a final exhale as the fit passes. “So they tell me.”
He hears keys jingling in the background before an engine rumbles to life and waits, too exhausted to guess what this is about.
“Are you okay, man?” Eddie asks.
Tommy sighs. “I will be.”
“Hm,” Eddie hums, disbelieving. “Surprised we didn’t see you at the memorial service.”
Tommy’s turned that decision over a hundred times, rotating it in his mind like a Rubik’s cube too stubborn to solve. The colors haven’t quite lined up, and he’s only gotten more frustrated the longer he lingers on the wrong combination.
“I couldn’t make it,” he says. “And I didn’t think Evan would want me there.”
That brings another soft laugh from Eddie. “You’re an idiot.”
“Can’t say I disagree,” Tommy mutters before another cough steals his breath and he swallows it back as well as he can. It doesn’t help much.
Eddie doesn’t miss it, wheezing breath hanging between them before he speaks. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on,” he says finally. “But I do know that Buck needs you, man.”
Tommy rubs a hand down his face, pushing back the urge to argue. To remind Eddie exactly why he’s not the right person for the job, why Buck needs someone whole. Someone strong.
“I appreciate what you’re saying, but you don’t know how–”
“I know Buck,” Eddie cuts in. “And if you’re going through something and, God forbid, something happens? Tommy, he won’t survive it.”
“It’s better if he doesn’t know,” Tommy says.
A beat.
“Like I said,” Eddie sighs. “Idiot.”
The call ends, but the words stay.
Tommy sits in silence after the call longer than he means, body dragging with the weight of radiation, limbs leaded, breath tight. Time slips. Stretches. The brain fog wraps around him until he realizes hours have passed and he hasn’t moved.
The sun started setting and hangs on the horizon, blazing and burning day to dusk, darkness a familiar friend – or foe – Tommy isn’t quite sure anymore. He moves through the stale air in his house like a shadow, two-dimensional darkness that disappears in the light.
Fists slam against the door and crack through the silence. Tommy startles, heart hammering. For a second he feels like a ghost in his own home, surprised that the living can still find him.
He makes it to the door slowly. When he opens it, his breath leaves him.
Evan’s there, chest heaving, truck parked crooked in the driveway with the door still wide open. The insistent ding echoes from the cab in warning that it’s not shut.
Evan’s eyes are red. Furious and terrified in equal measure. Before Tommy can say a word, Evan demands, voice breaking, “You have cancer?”
🏷️ (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @aotearoagal, @stars-inthe-sky, @jyt8183, @rcmclachlan, @xtarmanderx
@joyousmistake, @audrey2419, @capitalnineteen, @iamfaithmanages, @queerasbuck
@thunderstormsandhotcocoa, @verschlimmbesserung, @vesna-ua, @calinaannehart, @corporatebanana
@beanarie, @station18908
