Chapter Text
It’s 8:38 pm in California and Bobby Nash is dead. Bobby Nash, the man who was Evan’s surrogate father. Tommy’s realized since the break up that he didn’t fully understand Evan, but he did know some of him, at least. He’s always known this. He’s always know the way Evan looked up to Bobby, admired him, and went to him for advice. He knows the specific way that Evan doesn’t talk to his biological father, at least not more than a few passing words under the guise of niceties.
Tommy watches Evan break down on the security camera and knows what he has to do next. He’ll give himself two more minutes and then he’ll do it. Two minutes to pretend that he’s the one Evan needs, that he can be the one who gets him through this. But he’s not, and he can’t.
At 9:40 pm in El Paso, Eddie’s phone rings.
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It’s 8:15 am and fucking Tommy of all people is picking him up at LAX. It was bizarre, the way Tommy called him last night and told him to get on a plane. The way he told him Buck needed him. The way he hadn’t heard from Buck. The way he hadn’t heard from anyone else since. It was terrifying honestly. Despite being in El Paso, he had rarely felt out of the loop with what was going on with team. He felt out of the loop now. And he was scared. Tommy had assured him that Buck was physically fine, and then clammed up and refused to tell him anything else, other than he needed to get on a plane. Which was fine, obviously. It’s not like he was freaking the fuck out or anything.
So he had done it. He had booked a last minute flight he definitely couldn’t afford and snagged the crazy early morning flight to LAX. He’d then sent Tommy his itinerary, who said he pick him up and bring him to Buck. Which definitely wasn’t weird at all, especially since he didn’t even know they were back in contact. Were they back together? That’s a thought he could have when he figured out what the fuck was going on. Eddie didn’t usually swear this much, even in his own head, but the events of the last 12 hours were swear worthy.
And there he was, Tommy fucking Kinard, waiting him for him in the arrivals area. He hadn’t changed much in the months Eddie hadn’t seen him, which was even before he left. More like before he dumped Buck (fucking bastard), so there he was, fit and strong and holding two coffees. Thank god, he certainly hadn’t slept and Tommy did always somehow know a nearby incredible coffee shop, restaurant, or bar. He walked up to him and nodded and Tommy handed over the coffee wordlessly. And yep, he’d remembered exactly what Eddie liked and it was perfect. Tommy Kinard did not fuck around with peoples orders.
“Any chance you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is happening now?” Eddie interrogates.
“No. Did you check any bags?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
Eddie follows him back to his car, wordlessly. Tommy unlocks a Prius—really, how did not know Tommy, Mr. Macho Helicopter Rescue Man, drove a Prius— and it hits Eddie how ridiculous it was for Tommy to park and wait for him rather than pick him up at the curb. This is LAX after all, parking for even a short term probably costs about as much as his mortgage in El Paso. It was weirdly thoughtful, and he doesn’t like it, so he opts not to think about it.
Tommy interrupts Eddies weird chain of thoughts by plugging his phone into the dash and handing it to Eddie with a “feel free to put on whatever.”
In the last 30 seconds, Eddie has decided that he’s pissed at Tommy, for calling, for not telling him anything, for picking him up, for bringing him coffee, for being thoughtful and nice, and Eddie decides to make him pay for this gesture. He takes Tommy’s phone, pulls up Spotify, and puts on the Wicked soundtrack. Frankly, he’s tired of listening to Chris blast it, but nothing will stop him from being petty in this moment.
Tommy doesn’t comment on his music choice, just starts pulling out of the garage and following the directions he’d preloaded into the GPS. With a start, he has a realization. He still has Tommy’s phone unlocked in his hand, so he taps over to the maps app, and checks the address. Tommy had preloaded his old address, not the loft. Which means Tommy knows where Bucks been living. Maybe they are back together. But then why has Buck said nothing to Eddie about it? They talk constantly, and he hasn’t mentioned Tommy once. Then again, Buck also hadn’t told him about whatever is going down right now. Maybe Buck just hasn’t been telling him things. Maybe they’ve grown apart. Eddie tries not spiral about it while Dancing Through Life plays quietly in the background, but he fails miserably. Eddie somehow has enough self restraint to not read Tommy’s texts.
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It’s 11:00 am and someone is knocking rather loudly on his door. It’s like it’s gradually grown louder, like waking him from a deep sleep, but he’s been awake for hours, so maybe it hasn’t been long at all. He’s having a hard time processing what’s happening, so he’s really not sure how long that’s been going on. He’s been sitting here staring at Eddie’s contact, trying to figure out to call him and tell him that Bobby’s dead. Booby never taught him how to make these calls, he was always the one down. And frankly, that was the way it should be. He knows he’d be missed, but not the way Bobby will. After all, he has a wife and kids who treat him as their own. What does Buck have in light of all that?
Buck hesitantly gets up up off the couch and opens the door a crack. It’s pushed open violently, and he’s sent stumbling into his kitchen island. Eddie? No, that’s not possible. Eddie? Can’t be. Eddie? His arms wrap around Buck and he is homehomehome for the first time in months before the horribleness of the situation sets in.
“I was just going to call you. Who told you?”