okaay so i saw this post by @kinaaaard and i guess my brain went “prompt!! write NOW” because i came home from work, churned this out and now im dead so enjoy my take on tommy #GoingThroughIt and buck being a good boyf :’) (i did make some changes though so keep that in mind pls)
He had turned off the flashing lights of the helicopter on the way back to Harbor. Most often he left them on to signal what kind of flying vehicle he was operating but this time he didn't have it in him. Christ alive, he might be getting too old for this shit. They didn't have cases like this often, but when they did it took everything he had and sheer force of will to not maneuver the bird straight into the ground. He didn't think it would be appreciated by Brown sitting next to him, but his eyes weren't dry either so maybe he would have understood. Neither of them said a word after take-off, working together often enough they could do this in their sleep. They didn't crash the helicopter, even though a small part of Tommy certainly wanted to.
When they got back to the station and into the bay, Captain Melton gathered everyone and told them he'd taken the 217 out of rotation until the next shift started in five hours. Tommy felt reluctant for a second, it was never a good thing to push the workload onto the nearest stations and was very much frowned upon, but he genuinely didn't think he had more in him to give if he was honest with himself. He wanted to go home to Evan, bury his face against his belly and just. Breathe. Be. The longing ached in him, grabbed at his core and pulled toward the exit. But he was still wearing his flight suit and inside it still damp all over from the exertion of holding one of their patients down, the strength of him born out of adrenaline and refusal. To cooperate, to accept, to go the other direction towards the gurney.
Upon Melton's dismissal, everyone dried their eyes and turned in different directions. Some to make a call, some to go straight home to deal with the grime in safer quarters. Others, Tommy included, went through the motions of putting their turnouts away and hitting the showers first. Maybe if he stayed under the spray long enough it would wash away what he'd seen today. Of course, he wasn't that lucky, despite scrubbing himself down more times than he could count. Scrub it off, the grime and the pain and the ache of the job. Of witnessing a trauma impossible to understand. Of having to carry it without ever knowing what happened once you've done your part of unloading the patient to the waiting ER staff. Scratch it out of your skin and weep it away if you must, but get it off of you in any way possible unless you wish to follow it all down the drain where nobody safe can pull you out.
He toweled off. Put on the same clothes he came in this morning. Sent a quick text to Evan to let him know to expect him earlier. Evan's response of ”Yay, see you soon <3” flashed on the screen as he attached his phone to the holder. He didn't bother opening it, having said enough for now. Faster to peel out the truck from its parking spot and ease it onto the road.
An outdrawn car horn sounded from somewhere – he wasn't sure if it was aimed at him – but it did little to overpower the voice of the old man echoing in his ears, pierced by the realization and subsequent grief, distorting his wife's name into little more than a guttural garble. Tommy didn't register much, or maybe any at all, of the journey home, but soon he was standing inside the door of Evan's house, warmly lit and homey after months of living there.
”Hey babe! What's got you home so early?” came Evan's voice from the couch, raised to be heard over something dramatic happening on the TV. God, he sounded so chipper. Tommy swallowed the bile that was gathering at the back of his throat down and tried to breathe evenly through his nose. Every exhale felt like it was too big and blocking his voice off from fitting in his mouth. He closed his eyes again, tried not to sway forward as the next breath lurched on its way in.
Bracing himself with a hand on the wall, he carefully toed his shoes off and left his duffel on the floor. His mind and his heart were locked on a single line of thought and that was getting to Evan as fast as possible.
Rounding the corner, he spotted his boyfriend craning his neck toward him. He looked soft and warm and like home, and Tommy might hate himself for the frown drawing Evan's eyebrows together if he had any room left in him to feel anything other than exhausted and so world-endingly sad.
”Tommy?”
He stumbled forward, biting his cheek to hold it together for just a second longer. When he reached the couch he stretched his arms out, knees buckling, reaching for the safest place he knew, the cradle of Evan's arms that were immediately reaching back toward him. Evan shuffled so Tommy had full access to his sternum, where he pressed his face in hard enough it hurt his nose and blocked his breath, but what did it matter when Evan's hand danced over his shoulder blades, the other finding the back of his head. Gently holding him in place and pressing a kiss to his hair.
”You're okay, baby.” Evan whispered, and that was the thing that made the dam break.
Silent sobs turned into hacking weeps, hiccups and coughing and snot and drool blending into one disgusting thing within the fibers of Evan's hoodie. Tommy's voice finally pushed through to the outside of him, if only to put sound to the pain he'd witnessed earlier today. He wished he would never experience such grief, but with Evan back in his life that risk was greater than it had ever been. He couldn't bear it, the thought of losing him the way the old man had lost his wife. How would he ever move on after something like that? How could anyone? He knew the risks of the job, and Evan was worth it. But this man in his 80's, had screamed and screamed and screamed that he had nobody else, to please let him follow her to the end, he didn't want to exist in the world if she wasn't in it. Tommy felt the same way, and maybe that was the reason why this hit him the way it did. Because he finally, finally found a person worth fighting for. And even more so, someone worth living for.
”Just let it out, I've got you.”
Evan's voice sounded strained, and he was sniffling a bit too if Tommy wasn't mistaken. It wouldn't be that surprising, Evan wore his heart on his sleeve and had more empathy than most, but Tommy didn't want to do this to him. They had cried and broken down in front of each other this second or third or whatever time around it was. But he wasn't sure Evan had ever seen him like this. He wasn't embarrassed, just bone-achingly tired. He didn't want to feel any of this and he certainly didn't want to rehash it later. He needed it out, out of him and gone. But Evan was here and holding him up and by proxy maybe holding his grief too. Maybe Evan could carry it away from him and bury it somewhere, that way Tommy didn't have to feel it anymore after today. If only it could work like that.
Tommy shifted to rest his cheek on Evan's lap instead, his hand coming down to hold onto his calf. The jagged and pale scar on Evan's leg was calling for him to place his thumb there, so he did, closing his eyes and willing all the love he felt for the man above him to be channeled through the movement of his caress. Grateful. So grateful he was allowed to hide right in front of him like this. Lucky to have someone who understood that he needed to, who waited him out until he was ready to be seen.
”Sorry.” he couldn't help but say, his voice gravelly enough it was a poor excuse for a murmur.
”What are you sorry for?” Evan asked gently through another scratch at his scalp. It was nice, soothing. Easy to match his breathing to. He kept holding onto Evan's calf.
”For- for being-” His mouth was suddenly so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of it.
”If you say 'like this' I'm divorcing you.”
Tommy wasn't prepared for him to say something like that, and Evan's tone was so dead-pan it was as if he plucked it right out of Tommy's own handbook of snark. He snorted involuntarily, wet and gross and it immediately got stuck in his throat and made him cough again. Evan patted his back apologetically.
”Can't divorce someone you're not married to.” He settled on once his voice stopped fighting him on the way out.
”Good thing I'm planning to, then.” Evan answered, smile evident despite Tommy not currently looking at him.
”Oh... Good. I'd like that.”
”I should hope so, but we can talk about it later. Hey, do you want to come up here? Your back must be killing you, come on.”
Honestly, it was mostly Tommy's hips killing him combined with his back, but he wasn't very eager to admit it just yet. Instead, he did his best to balance on his haunches so he could heave himself up onto the couch, avoiding eye-contact as he did. Evan didn't comment on it, or the big wet patch over his stomach, just moved back against the cushions and opened his legs so Tommy could lie down on top of him, heartbeat loud in his ear.
”I want to tell you.” Tommy mumbled after a few quiet minutes, the only sounds the occasional sniffle, their breathing and Evan's fingers moving up and down his back.
”You know you don't have to.” Evan said, punctuating his response with another kiss, this time to Tommy's forehead.
”I know, but I want- need to tell you. Need you to... know too.”
”Okay. I'll try.”
”I know.”
”I love you, alright? We'll get you through this.” Evan promised quietly, pressing the words into Tommy's skin as if willing them both to believe it.
”I know, I love you.” Tommy whispered back.
He believed him. That was the easy part.
shane and ilya being millennials yet canonically completely forgoing the millennial experience is so fucking funny to me. their first interactions took place when meme culture was yet to be anything but lolcats and trollface. they were hooking up every chance they got while doing flashmobs at the mall was all the rage. when they were flirting over text over the summer their team mates were busy doing the cinnamon challenge or the ice bucket challenge and the slavic squat. people were out in the streets doing the harlem shake and parkour while they were inventing a whole new gay kama sutra. they each won the cup while people were shuffling to party rock anthem and posting poetic cinema on vine. the in-universe rpf girlies were here on tumblr making flower crown and punk edits of them and posting indescribably bad y/n fanfiction directly onto the dash.
shane may have been too hockey pilled to end up in the line of fire for any of it because he was too busy watching tape and reading his hockey books but at some point i know in my heart of hearts ilya was slutting it up at a club while someone was working up the nerve to ask him that all of the boston raiders do a video flossing with them so they could end up on ellen
thinking of post-retirement!ilya several years down the line and feeling soooo soft for him. while he still works out a lot (mostly to beat/keep up with shane #jock4jock #myjocks) he now has a lot more to grab onto and crows feet and silver in his curls and at his temples. he’s worked his ass off to do better and while he still has bad days and even weeks sometimes, they’re fewer and farther between than they used to be and he can even say most days that he’s truly happy. he wishes he could talk to his younger self at 17 before the draft and tell him they made it. despite it all he made it out of russia and the shackles of his family’s expectations and he ended up finding his people but most importantly his person. he found his person and with him he found home. and together they make a life more beautiful than anything he ever could have imagined :’)
