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Tommy was frozen in place. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and onto the floor. He needed to move.
One of the army doctors patted his shoulder and offered their condolences, but he was too numb to thank them. Watching Evan break down hurt more than he could ever put into words. Bobby was dead. It didn't make sense. Didn't feel real, no matter how much he heard it being discussed in hushed tones or repeated the words to himself. They weren’t that close, yet Tommy admired the captain of the 118; he was a good man who didn’t deserve to die. Not like this, not so soon.
He glanced up at the screen one last time, saw the man he loved collapsing on the floor under the weight of his grief, and knew he ought to be there.
They weren't dating, were barely friends as of late, but he never stopped loving Evan. Their last hookup ended in an argument he may never win, yet he couldn't imagine walking away. He cared too much, and his soul ached to protect Evan from the world, to cherish him.
Evan needed someone to keep him tethered, and Tommy was willing to comfort him until Eddie returned, no strings attached. He knew better than to make assumptions; the likelihood of Evan wanting to get back together with him was low. And while there was a non-zero chance of things working out, hope was a dangerous thing.
For now, his focus was on taking care of Evan.
Tommy all but ran to him, yet seeing him curled up and sobbing made him hesitate. What right did I have to be here?
None. He walked over anyway and sat by Evan's side. Iron doors slammed down the hall, army soldiers were securing the building and preparing to leave. They didn't have long.
"Evan.” Tear-filled blue eyes looked up at him; their usual spark was dimmed.
"Tommy?" He asked - there was a trace of disbelief in his voice.
Evan was pulling him into a crushing hug before he could respond. His breathing was uneven when he pressed his open mouth to Tommy’s pulse; he was hyperventilating. That wasn't good. Tommy rubbed circles into Evan’s back as his strained breaths settled between them. He rocked them in place while murmuring a timed breathing exercise.
"I've got you, sweetheart. Breathe with me." Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
The overhead lights were casting sharp shadows over them, and for a moment, Tommy saw a hand ruffling through Evan’s curls. What the fuck is that? He blinked, the hand vanished, and a chill ran down his spine. His hold on Evan faltered for a second.
Tommy looked around, but nothing was hanging from the ceiling, and they were alone in the hall. Bobby? Is that you?
I promise you. I'll look after him, for as long as he’ll let me.
Evan’s breathing hitched, and he tucked his head into the crook of Tommy’s neck before breaking into a sob. He held on tight, with no intention of letting go. The lights flickered. Then, the overhead alarm went off, flashing red.
"Bobby's gone," Evan cried. He leaned back to wipe his face on his stained sleeve. "Why did he have to leave us... Why did he leave me?"
“I’m sorry.” There was nothing he could say that would make things better.
Thud, thud. Footsteps were approaching them from both sides, and an army medic yelled for decontamination. Their time was up.
"We need to go,” Tommy said.
Evan nodded and allowed himself to be gathered up. As they walked out, hand in hand, Tommy saw personnel rushing in with a body bag. Bobby.
The hand in his began to tremble.
"Take me home," Evan said. “I can't stay here.
Tommy wrapped an arm around his waist. "Okay. I'll text your sister."
****
His head was spinning. Everything hurt, yet he felt nothing. The drive back to Tommy's apartment passed in a grey haze. The part of him that wasn't drowning in despair was grateful. Tommy didn't owe him anything, especially after their last fight.
He wanted to thank him, but couldn't find his voice. The image of Bobby smiling at him with a bloody nose was engraved into his mind. They’re gonna need you. Buck doubted that. The 118 was capable of looking after themselves; he was the one who always relied on them.
Without Bobby, would things ever be the same? Unlikely. He dreaded the upcoming change, inevitable as it was. Buck was yet to wrap his head around the fact that Bobby was gone, dead, the thought alone was choking him from the inside out - how am I ever going to move on?
I love you, kid. I love you, kid. I love you, kid.
Those words haunted him. Buck shut his eyes. He didn't deserve Bobby’s love, didn’t deserve to be there after he failed to keep his captain safe. It should've been someone else.
Tommy's hand settled on his knee, cutting his thoughts short.
"We're here," he said.
The walk up those stairs had never felt this long. His feet were sore.
He didn't know what he expected, but Tommy's apartment was the same. Unfolded clothes were piled onto the couch, meal prep kits sat on the counter, and three pots of dying tulips lined the narrow windowsill. The throw blanket was new - it was covered in cartoon firetrucks. Cute.
"Can I take a shower?" Buck asked. He needed to scrub himself down and get out of his workwear.
Tommy smiled softly. "Sure, go ahead, I'll find you something to wear."
Buck nodded. He turned the water on as hot as he could bear and waited for the steam to gather. Tommy’s strawberry and cream bodywash smelled like home.
Yet no matter how much he rubbed, his skin wasn't getting clean. The chemical scent of that room was clinging to him. It won't wash off. Buck sunk his fingers into his skin and began scratching away at the reminder of Bobby’s death.
I couldn’t save him. I failed. Failed.
I’m a failure.
Failure.
Why do I always fail?
Blinking away the hot tears pooling in his eyes, Buck slammed his head against the tiled wall. The pain didn’t register, so he did it again, then again. When he fell backwards, everything was spinning.
His arms were blooming scarlet as he continued to rub and scratch them; he wanted to scream, wanted to continue bashing in his head, wanted to find Tommy’s razors and cut the last traces of the chemicals out from under his skin, wanted to continue carving away until he found the parts of him that were broken, but what difference would it make? He was beyond repair.
I'll never be loved.
Tinted water pooled at his feet. Oh, when did that happen?
Buck pulled himself up and stood under the scalding water. The bathroom clock taunted him, tick-tock, tick-tock.
The door clicked open. "I'm leaving the clothes here,” Tommy said. “Take your time."
Buck’s vision blurred; he knew he needed to stop, but couldn’t find the strength. Deep, slow breaths. I’ve recovered from far worse.
Tommy was lingering by the door.
"Can you help me wash my back?" He asked.
It was a pathetic excuse, but he needed Tommy's help. Would he be disgusted? Would he throw me out of his apartment and leave me alone? Like everyone else.
The shower curtain parted. Tommy gave him a one over, gaze lingering on the red lines running down his arms and his no doubt swollen forehead, but he didn't say anything. His eyes were full of kindness, not hatred or pity. He stepped into the shower fully dressed, reached for the bottle of bodywash, and worked up a lather between his palms.
"Turn around," he said.
There was a familiar weight to his voice, and Buck obeyed without a second thought. Tommy drew patterns into his skin, running his hands from the curve of his neck down to the dip of his spine. It was hypnotic. His thoughts came to a standstill, and his mind filled with a fluffy fog to replace the haze clouding his judgment.
"Time for shampoo. Close your eyes." Buck complied. He was spiralling, but the anxiety and grief were no longer consuming him. With every action and touch, Tommy was guiding him through the endless darkness and to a place of security.
"Let's get you rinsed off." Tommy kept his touch feather-light.
Buck's heart ached; he missed this. Fresh tears streamed down his face, it was too much to process. His emotions were bouncing off each other and crashing into a void. Tommy wiped his tears away without judgment and wrapped a towel around him gently to avoid irritating his skin. The press of cotton against the raised lines of red made him dizzy.
"Put your pants on,” Tommy said. “I'll be right back."
His hands shook at first, but he was able to slip on the boxers and pyjama pants without falling over. Buck leaned against the sink and counted his breaths; there were twinkling stars behind his eyes, and the walls were bending. He ignored it.
Tommy returned wearing dry clothes, he was holding bandages and a tube of antiseptic ointment.
"I'm fine." Buck insisted. The lie was his last line of denial. He needed to be okay. Bobby said I’d be okay.
"Then humour me." Tommy's voice left no room was disagreement.
It stung - he wanted more.
"Relax. It's almost over."
Buck focused on the tingling that shot through his body every time the antiseptic made contact.
"All done." The bandages covered both of his arms from wrist to elbow, there was no exposed skin for him to scratch at. He should stop, should put an end to the thoughts creeping up from the abyss within his heart. Letting go was nearly impossible, but Bobby won’t want this; Buck was willing to try for his sake.
Bobby, I'm sorry.
Tommy picked up the sweater he'd left on the counter. "Raise your arms for me."
Being helped into clothes was a rarity between them; it was usually the opposite. The hands around his waist were grounding. "You did good," he said. Tommy leaned closer to brush his lips against the bruise on his forehead.
Buck wanted to scream. "How can you say that?” He snapped, “I hurt myself."
"And we’ll talk about why when you’re ready, but sweetheart, you asked for help. That takes strength." Tommy cradled his face between his palms, and Buck moved closer till they were a breath apart.
"Thank you, and I'm sorry." Buck didn’t know what he was apologising for. Everything?
They stood in silence, staring into each other's eyes, and every moment felt like a lifetime. Time ticked on. Tommy bridged the distance; his lips were warm, and the brief touch set his soul aflame.
Tommy nipped at his bottom lip. "Apology accepted. You should rest."
Buck hummed and followed him into the bedroom. He pulled the blankets over his head before nuzzling into Tommy’s chest. "I don't know if I'll be able to stay asleep," he admitted.
"I'll keep you company." Tommy placed his phone on the bedside table and sighed. His fatigue was evident from the bags under his eyes. They both needed sleep.
"Did you talk to Maddie? How's...?" His voice trailed off.
"They're all safe and back home with their families."
Buck nodded. He was clinging to his ex-boyfriend while processing the loss of his captain and father figure. Unlike the others, he didn't have a home or family of his own to return to. Maddie loved him unconditionally, but his sister had her hands full. His mind drifted to what Tommy said about him being in love with Eddie - Buck thought about it more than he'd admit, but no, Eddie was his best friend. He loved him, yes, would die for him without hesitation, but he wasn't in love with him. For as much as he wished Eddie was by his side right now, to give him the strength to deal with Bobby being gone, he knew that he'd never want this intimacy with him.
Tommy was wrong in that assumption. Buck knew that he was taking care of him with the belief that he wouldn't be needed the moment Eddie landed and looked forward to showing him otherwise. They may not get back together. Buck didn't know what his future held, but he knew that a piece of his heart would always belong to Tommy. If they were going to be friends or whatever this was, Buck needed to make it clear that he cared.
"Evan? Where did you drift off to?" Tommy asked.
"It's nothing. Thanks for talking to them for me. I'll call Maddie first thing tomorrow," he said.
Tommy saw through his deflection, but didn’t call him out. He didn’t deserve this man.
"It's the least I can do," Tommy said. "Let me know if you need anything."
Buck tilted his head upwards to kiss him. It was soft and full of everything left unsaid between them.
"I will," he said, stifling a yawn. The day's exhaustion took over, and Buck fell asleep within minutes, protected by Tommy’s embrace.