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Buck has seen a lot of death in his life.
He has watched people take their last breath. He has listened to stories of mourning people, and he has seen relatives break down crying in hospital hallways.
Buck has mourned the brother he never got to meet. He has mourned the fractured relationship with his parents, has mourned friendships and relationships with people who are not a part of his life anymore, for various reasons.
He is no stranger to grief.
But Buck never experienced it up close and personally like this. He has never had to mourn a person whom he thought - hoped - would be in his life forever because he was so important, losing him seemed like an impossible thing. He has never experienced his world splintering apart around him like this, leaving him with pieces of a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve. He feels like he should be able to hold it all together.
Because Bobby said they are going to need him.
Bobby. Bobby, who was infected but didn’t say anything until it was too late. Bobby, who sent him away. Who died behind a wall of glass. Bobby.
Buck remembers staggering past Athena, remembers sliding down a wall, and breaking down alone, not able to hold his tears and screams back. He remembers that eventually, when the storm ended, people came for him. Told him they had to put him into quarantine. He didn’t even care.
He was empty.
Now, Buck is just numb. He walks around with unbearable pressure behind his eyes. But he can’t cry. Not anymore.
His eyes remain dry while he’s watching his world react to Bobby’s death.
It’s difficult to sit and read for him right now, so while working out, Buck listens to a podcast. He learns that grief has different stages. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They don’t have to occur in a fixed order. Don’t have to last the same amount of time. But they’re regular reactions to loss.
Buck thinks he’s probably somewhere between denial and bargaining right now. Because there’s no anger inside of him. Only stunned disbelief.
It feels wrong to think about a world without Bobby. Feels wrong to think about returning to work without Bobby.
The worst is thinking about food, though.
Every time Buck feels the nag of hunger, he sees Bobby in his apron, hears Bobby’s praise of Buck’s attempt at lasagna, sees Bobby’s smile when he looks at everyone enjoying dinner at the table. And he loses his appetite.
Everything feels, sounds, tastes grey these days.
Sometimes, it seems like a good idea to just lie down in bed, close his eyes, and think of nothing.
But then, Buck thinks, someone would worry. He doesn’t want anyone to worry about him. Especially not right now. They all have to deal with grief.
So he keeps his eyes dry, keeps his head up, and tries to figure out how to help the others. Bobby said they are going to need Buck. So he tries to be what they need.
He hugs Hen, and Hen, who seems a little stuck at denial too, asks Buck, “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Buck says.
The words come over his lips so easily, they don’t even feel like a lie.
The days float past like clouds. Suddenly, it’s time to put on the dress uniform, to pick up Eddie from the airport, and to get to the funeral.
Buck walks around and looks at the forming crowd of first responders with a tight feeling in his chest. All these people came for Bobby. To honor him. To give him a hero’s farewell.
This is really happening, Buck thinks, still feeling numb.
The pressure behind his eyes is a headache now. He ignores it.
Freezes, when he looks around and discovers Tommy, quietly talking to someone Buck doesn’t recognize.
Tommy, in his dress uniform, fidgeting with his cap just like he did at the medal ceremony, which seems to have been ages ago.
They saved Bobby and Athena back then. Only to lose Bobby now. It still feels surreal. They came together to celebrate; now they come together to mourn. No one is going to dance today.
Buck can’t help but stare. Tommy is so handsome. Just like back then, when Buck watched him receiving his medal and felt lightheaded with admiration and pride and … everything.
He swallows, still not able to look away when Tommy turns his head slightly, catching Buck’s gaze.
It’s the first time they've seen each other after the helicopter chase. Buck hasn’t had the energy to think about it, not after losing Bobby, but now he realizes, once again, how fast Tommy had been there. How he hadn't even asked. How he hadn't said “Well, that’s inconvenient”. All he had said was: “What do you need?” and “Of course”.
And now Buck feels like an asshole again. Like an asshole who used Tommy for his goals. An asshole who took and took and took.
Tommy shouldn’t have to talk to him.
And yet, he says something to the other guy, then walks over slowly, giving Buck a very small smile. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Buck says hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy says softly, squishing the cap between his fingers, his eyes never leaving Buck’s. “I know what he meant to you.”
Buck just nods.
“I’m going to be one of the pallbearers,” Tommy says.
Of course. It makes sense. Tommy was there when Bobby started at the 118. And he was there when Bobby died.
Tommy is good people, he’s good for you. That’s what Bobby said. With a smile. Buck’s chest clenches.
“I’m sure Bobby would have liked that,” Buck says. He grimaces when a sharp pain explodes in his forehead.
Tommy frowns. “Evan?”
“I’m …” He can’t get the lie over his lips. Not this time. Not while looking at Tommy. The words die on his lips. And he can’t find new ones.
Tommy’s lips part. But before Buck can panic or Tommy can ask, they’re being called to sit down for the ceremony.
And Buck feels dizzy, but he knows he didn’t imagine the brief, gentle brush of familiar fingers against his back when he sits and straightens up, doing his best to blink away the headache and look at Bobby’s picture framed by flowers while the headache pulses through his skull like a second heartbeat.
Tommy finds him again when Buck goes outside to catch some fresh air, not interested in any of the buffet food.
“None of this feels real,” Buck mutters, looking at his fingers that have carried the casket holding Bobby’s body. He shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be real.”
Oh. Is this anger?
Tommy hums. “I know. It’s not fair. It never is.”
Buck wonders how many of these funerals Tommy attended. Once again, he realises there’s a lot he doesn’t know about Tommy. He wants to. Wants to learn about all of the small things that form the pieces Tommy is made of. He doesn’t know if he’s still allowed to ask, though.
Tommy studies him for a long, silent moment. Then, he asks, "What do you need, Evan?"
Buck’s breath hitches. It's the first time someone has asked. It’s the first time he thinks about the answer.
He looks up, looks up at the clouds which are barely hiding the sun. Thinks about how small everything is from up there. Small and far away and ... Out of reach. He would be out of reach.
"Can you take me up there?" He asks, swallowing. "Just ... For a while?"
Tommy doesn't ask why. He doesn't ask if Buck can choose something different. Something that doesn't involve them going to another place, putting on gear, and getting a chopper ready.
He just says, "Of course."
Buck leans back, swallowing and taking a deep breath as he feels that strange sensation of being pulled upward in his stomach.
He might never get used to the sudden vertical rise of a helicopter. While the loud whirring noises of the rotors take some getting used to as well, the helmet on his head somehow feels soothing. Buck’s headache started to slip into the background, changing into an ache behind his eyes.
Tommy doesn’t say much. He talks to air traffic control and handles the helicopter with his usual calm ease.
Buck watches as houses and trees get smaller underneath, as he can look farther and farther into the distance around them. He watches, and something inside him … relaxes. He exhales shakily, feeling like he can breathe better up here.
Tommy glances at him somewhat knowingly.
“It’s so peaceful,” Buck says. “And beautiful.”
“For once you have tasted flight, you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return,” Tommy says, and adds, when Buck looks at him questioningly, “Leonardo da Vinci.”
“Oh.” Buck smiles. “You have that one memorised?”
Tommy chuckles. “A teacher gifted me a bookmark with that quote. I carried it around with me everywhere.”
Another small thing he learns about Tommy. “Do you still have it?” Buck asks curiously.
Tommy shakes his head. “I lost it. I’m not sure how or where.”
Buck makes a mental note. For future gift reasons.
He focuses on the sky. Focuses on the endless blue in front of them that is tinged with cotton clouds.
Up here, he feels far away from everything that happened on the ground.
Up here, with Tommy beside him as a quiet and calming presence, he can feel himself letting go of pretences.
Up here, Buck somehow finds the tears that he’s been damming up behind a wall of “I have to be fine, I have to be strong”. He realises they are a flood, trying to spill over.
Buck lets them. He cries. He cries like he never cried before in his life.
Painful sobs shake him. He bends over with the force of them, bringing his hands up in front of his face. He cries, and cries, and cries.
Rivers of tears.
Tommy lets him. He stays silent, flies a curve over the ocean, a line along the coast, until the sun sets, and then, when the tears are drying on Buck’s face and he stares at the canvas of blue-violet-orange stretching out in front of them in exhausted awe, Tommy flies them back home.
“Thank you,” Buck says quietly when the truck stops in front of Eddie’s house. There’s still light in the windows. Buck wonders if Eddie has trouble sleeping.
“Sure,” Tommy says, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and his face turned towards the road.
Buck hesitates. “Do you know about the stages of grief?” He asks.
Tommy nods. “Yeah.”
“I think I’m in depression now,” Buck states, swallowing.
“I’m well familiar with that one,” Tommy says, tapping a finger against the steering wheel in a rhythm only known to him. “It might last a while.”
Yeah. Buck can’t see himself getting to acceptance anytime soon.
He clears his throat. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Tommy doesn’t point out that he wouldn’t be alone because Eddie is at home. Instead, to Buck’s surprise, he says, “Me neither.”
They look at each other. Buck allows himself to look. Really look. He sees the tense lines around Tommy’s eyes and the way he presses his lips together. Sees a combination of exhaustion, pain, and longing that echoes his own feelings.
“Your house?” He asks.
“My house,” Tommy agrees and starts the truck.
Buck doesn’t know who reached for whom first.
But they end up in bed, holding on to each other the whole night. Breathing in sync. Whispering words into the darkness.
“I don’t just want to take things from you,” Buck says.
Tommy shakes his head. “You didn’t. I gave them to you because I wanted to.”
“When was the last time you took something for yourself?” Buck asks.
“Probably when we stumbled over each other in the bar,” Tommy says. “I took what you offered because I wanted it. I wanted it so much. Wanted you so much.”
Buck swallows. “I wanted you too. Always want you. But … I want all of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy asks, raising a brow.
“I want all the small things that make you you. I want your dreams. I want your fears. I want your memories. I want your hopes. I want your smile. I want your tears. I want your worst mistakes. I want your idea of the best day ever. Everything. I want everything.”
Buck feels Tommy’s breath hitch. “Evan Buckley, who would have known you’re so greedy?” He asks. It's his first attempt at a joke today. And he’s smiling, Buck can see it, even in the darkness. “This might actually be the most romantic thing a guy ever said to me,” Tommy adds, more seriously.
Romantic. Oh.
Buck’s chest feels lighter, his heart flutters, and warmth spreads through him.
“Are you free tomorrow?” He asks hopefully. “Tell me you’re free. Because I need you to tell me about the Bobby you knew. I need you to tell me about the Bobby you’re mourning. Please.”
Tommy nods, shuffling closer to lean their foreheads together. “I’m free,” he breathes. “For you, I can be.”