HCRM Fan Nonsense

Not because of the stories themselves, although they always manage to destroy me in the best possible ways, but because I was struck all over again by the sheer love and care that this community has poured into bucktommy. Every fic feels like a gift. Every author saw something special in these characters and decided they were worth exploring, worth understanding, worth fighting for. The talent in this fandom genuinely amazes me. The way writers captured their chemistry, their potential, all the little moments and possibilities left between the lines leaves me in awe every time.

But then there's this sadness that creeps in alongside it. Because no matter how many incredible stories I read, there's always the knowledge that the actual show writers are never going to give Buck and Tommy the story they deserved. They'll never get the care, development, and payoff that so many fic writers have given them for free. They'll never get the chance to become what they could have been on our TV screens.

That's why this fandom means so much to me, because while the show has moved on, this community hasn't. People keep writing. Keep creating. Keep imagining a future where Buck and Tommy are allowed to matter. A future where their relationship is treated with the depth and respect it deserves. And honestly, most of those fan fics feel more real and more emotionally satisfying than anything the show could have given us.

I still love BuckTommy. I probably always will. I still believe they deserved better, but today, more than anything, I'm grateful. Grateful for every writer, grateful for every fic that gave them another chance. Grateful for a community that refused to let a story end just because the show decided it was over.

Thank you for keeping them alive. ❤️

Tommy owns a game/hobby store and Buck wanders in one day while his jeep is getting an oil change next door.

Tommy's at the checkout counter and says hello, introduces himself as Tommy, and says for Buck to let him know if he needs help finding anything.

Buck wanders the aisles of model kits and board games, but he can't stop looking Tommy's way.

The store is moderately busy, most customers lingering at the counter and making conversation with Tommy, making him laugh and Buck feels an irrational stab of jealousy that he doesn't know enough about anything in this store to make a good impression on Tommy.

Buck gets a notification that his car is ready and he leaves the store feeling dejected even though he doesn't know why.

A 5+1, with 5 times Tommy left (after the first kiss, after the first failed date, after the breakup, after the hookup, and after bringing Buck home from the lab and making sure he was ok) and the one time he stayed (immediately after crashing his helicopter into a cliff).

Opening with Buck doing CPR and begging Tommy not to leave him again, because he's always leaving him. Then cut to all the times he did, because we never got to see those immediate moments after and that would be a fic goldmine...

“You're always leaving!” Buck gasped. Tommy's face was ashen. Empty. “Why won't you stay with me, Tommy? Why won't you ever stay? Please!” His words were rasping, exhausted things. Somewhere dimly, in the back of his head behind the desperate panic and the habit-trained professionalism that were working in tandem to give Tommy CPR, some part of him wondered if his angry, broken begging could ever tempt Tommy back from wherever he was going this time. He brought his mouth to Tommy's and pushed air into his lungs. Please, Tommy. Please.

The first time. It will come to him later that Tommy probably didn't have a shift to get to at that time of night. None of the houses did split shifts like that. But Buck was too dazed to think of it in the moment, his brain (and body) too warm and syrupy to consider much of anything. For a long time he just stood in his kitchen, his fingertips brushing over his half-smiling lips. He felt like he was thirteen all over again, getting a kiss from Deborah Rollins who was fifteen and much too cool for him. Only this was better because instead of asking him for change for the snack machine and going off with giggling friends and a handful of Buck's quarters, Tommy had asked him on a date. In the space of one kiss, his bewildered obsession with the cool pilot had clarified. A crush. Buck had a crush. Not just a ‘you're hot, want to come home with me?’ sort of thing. A can't-stop-thinking-about-him-crush. A holy-shit-there-better-be-more-kissing crush. A why-isn't-it-Saturday-yet crush. It was probably a good thing he left, probably a kind thing that he left, because it must have been obvious that Buck's brain had been taken entirely offline by that kiss. Buck couldn't wait for more.

The second time. Except it didn't seem there would be any more because he'd been an idiot. Why had he gotten so flustered about Eddie? Okay he knew why. Buck wasn't used to having people close, having people who cared. Was it so wrong to worry about what they thought? Only he hadn't thought about what Tommy would think, had he? What Tommy would feel. Tommy was kind of right, Buck wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to watch Tommy's Uber drive away. He wasn't ready for all the hope and possibility and excitement and longing he'd felt since Tommy kissed him to just be over.

The third time. How was Tommy walking away again? How was Buck once again standing in his kitchen wondering what the hell had just happened? Only this time instead of feeling like he might float away from the lingering tingle of Tommy's lips, Buck felt like he might crumble, like the world he thought he knew and all the facts of it had just vanished and the gravity holding him together had become too powerful and would crush him. God. Crush. He'd had a crush and now he was crushed.

The fourth time. There was a small, distant part of Buck hidden somewhere deep inside that registered that he'd fucked up, that had clocked the emotions on Tommy's face before the wall came down behind Tommy's eyes and he walked away again. But right at the moment it was drowned out by anger. No, something worse than anger. Something ugly and vicious that had wanted to score a hit and was delighted to see he'd drawn blood. He'd been confused for a moment, confused by Tommy and confused by himself, both. But then Tommy was gone again and the anger took over. The fury. How dare he? How dare he?

The fifth time. There were words echoing in Buck's ears, words he hasn't stopped hearing for hours. Bobby’s voice, over and over and over. Buck was sleep walking through a nightmare, barely aware of the things and people around him. Bobby was gone. Bobby was gone. Bobby would never call him kid again, never… never do anything again. “Where are your keys, Evan?” Buck looked up, blinked at Tommy. He looked down at himself. He wasn't in his gear anymore. When had he taken his helmet off? The thought dissolved into Bobby taking off his helmet, blood running from Bobby's nose, Bobby saying… “I'm going to check your pockets, sweetheart. I'm sorry. We need to get you inside.” Tommy started patting him down but the sensation was coming from a million miles away. Buck couldn't feel it, not really. He was too far away. He was drowning. He was underwater and no one could even see him, he was so far down. He was walking. Sort of. When had they gotten inside? Keys. Tommy had wanted his keys. “Keys,” Buck murmured. “I've got ‘em,” Tommy promised softly, still escorting him down the hall. “Let's get you comfortable and I'll go back and lock up.” Buck nodded but he'd already forgotten what Tommy had said, had already forgotten Tommy was there. All he could think of was Bobby. Bobby turning away from him. Bobby ignoring him as Buck screamed. Bobby's resigned acceptance. Buck was in bed. There was light coming from the window and he didn't know if it was morning or afternoon. He turned on his side and pulled the blanket over his head. “I've got it,” a familiar voice said. He heard the scrape of the curtains and then the glow beyond the blanket went away. “Better?” Tommy asked. Buck didn't know if he answered. He meant to but then it was Bobby's voice in his ears and he hadn't answered Bobby. Not like he should have. Not like he meant to. “Bobby…” “I know, baby. I know.” Then there was warmth. Then there was darkness. Buck slept. He woke up again, the room blessedly dark and cool and for a moment he didn't know. He didn't remember. He just blinked into the inky blue of the room, catching the shapes around him. “Evan? Can you drink some water for me?” The voice was so soft and patient and gentle but Buck startled. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But you need to replace some fluids, sweetheart. Please?” A big thermal spill-proof cup was pressed into Buck's hand. He drank. “Thank you. That's good. That's so good. Do you think you could eat?” Buck shook his head and burrowed back under the blankets. He slipped back into sleep with a warm hand rubbing his back. The next time he woke there was light again. “Evan? I'm sorry to wake you but I need you to drink something, please.” Buck shook his head. He didn't want anything, not food or drink or to even be a person. “I know, baby. I know. I'm sorry. But just drink a little please? I have to go but I need to see you get something in you first. Just a little. Half, okay? Half a protein shake?” “You're leaving?” “I'm sorry, I swear I wouldn't but if I don't, they'll probably come arr-” “Go,” Buck croaked. “Just go.” “Evan…” “Go! Leave! Everyone leaves! Especially you!” Buck threw himself out of the bed and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. Tommy was saying something at the door but Buck couldn't hear it over Bobby's voice in his head and the sound of his own dry heaving. Eventually he heard a car engine turn over in the driveway. He fell back into a fitful, nightmare sleep, curled on the tile by the toilet, tears leaking endlessly down his cheeks. “Everybody leaves,” he whispered. “Everybody fucking leaves.”

The last time. “Tommy, please,” Buck gasped. “Please don't leave me again. Please. I'm sorry. I did it all wrong. But please don't leave me again.”

He already had though. Because you don't do CPR on a living person. You do it when they've stopped breathing. When their heart isn't beating. You do it when their body has quit. You do it to try and convince that body to go a little more. You do it to show the body how to keep going. You do it to circulate the air and blood and give them a chance to come back.

“Come back,” Buck begged instead. “You always come back. You've got to do it again. Please. Please, baby, please come back.”

Time was meaningless. Buck kept going. His arms were burning but he didn't care. He'd do this forever. He'd do this as long as it took. Help was coming. Help was coming and they'd shock him and make Tommy come back. But only if Buck kept going. Only if Buck kept him close enough to return.

Chest compressions. Breaths. The cycle continued and Buck kept begging when he could spare the words. Then he was being pulled away. He flailed, fighting.

“We've got him, Buckley!”

Lucy. It was Lucy. She pulled Buck back as someone - Donahue? - called “Clear!”

Buck's voice failed. All he could do was watch, whispering again and again, “Come back. Come back. Please come back.”

“We got a pulse!”

Buck scrabbled forward, tearing loose of Lucy's grip. “Stay with me,” Buck demanded, grabbing Tommy's hand. “Don't you dare leave me.”

“Not…” Tommy answered, his face scrunched tight with pain. “Not if I’cn help it.”

Sobbing, Buck squeezed Tommy's hand. “That's right. Be the stubborn jackass I know you can be. You fight like hell, you hear me? You fight like hell or I'll never forgive you.”

“Yeah…” Tommy breathed.

Lucy pushed in close and worked a collar around him to stabilize his neck, murmuring instructions neither of them paid attention to.

“Hate when you're mad at me…”

“Then don't you dare leave me again.”

“Never…”

It was all he got out before they were getting him ready to load on the helicopter. The uncrashed one Lucy and maybe-Donahue arrived in.

“Come on, Buckley. We gotta get you looked at, too. I'd check you here but I know how you and your husband are.”

“Yeah,” Buck agreed. He scrambled up into the helicopter as soon as they had Tommy secured. “I'm right here, babe. I'm right here.”



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and then one day when he’s 11, he comes home from a day of sixth grade, whips his backpack on the couch and refuses to talk to his dads. for days.

they try everything. Evan offers his favorite snacks. Tommy offers to take him up in the helicopter. they cancel prior engagements and spend the weekend in, try to pull Theo into game night with them. he barely engages.

it’s a Tuesday when Tommy sees the note on the calendar. send flowers. his stomach sinks.

He takes Theo out to the hangar with him and they go up in the chopper. Tommy flies them up into the mountains, close enough that they can get home quickly, but far enough out that they can really talk without any pressure. Theo kicks rocks while Tommy stares at the sunset.

“I never knew them. Your parents.”

Theo doesn’t talk, but the anger about him ebbs off like steam. He stares at the dirt beneath their shoes as though its personally affronted him. Tommy stares at the horizon, adjusting his sunglasses on his forehead.

“I wish I would have. Evan makes them sound like great people.”

Theo throws a rock over the side of the cliff they’re near. The chasm is wide and deep below, and the small rock barely makes any noise as it drifts hundreds of feet below them.

He wants to find the right way to connect—to fill whatever hole his son clearly feels inside—but nothing that comes to mind feels right. He didn’t know Connor or Kameron. Talking about his own dead mom doesn’t feel right, either.

“There’s this story I heard once. This guy, driving all over civilization, taking on odd job after odd job, trying to find the answers to his own life without actually facing that life. It’s like…trying to remember a place you’ve never been.”

Theo doesn’t talk. Eventually, he goes back to the helicopter, puts his helmet on and buckles in.

Tommy stares at the sunset a few minutes longer before standing. He holds a pebble in his hand for a moment. Bounces it.

Throws it out into the chasm.

“I can’t remember them.”

He finally speaks as Tommy’s pulling on his seatbelt. Tommy glances over at Theo slowly, terrified his going to spook the child. Those teenage hormones have been coming on more and more in recent months, and it’s nothing to spook the kid back into silence.

Theo sniffs, kicks his bag on the floor.

“Declan was talking about this foster sibling he had when he was a little kid during soccer warmups. It made me think about life with Bu-…with dad. Before the adoption. A-and I realized, I can’t remember them.”

When Theo looks up at Tommy, it’s like having his heart pulled from his chest and shredded in a blender right before his own eyes. Because it’s Evan, but it’s a child, and it’s his son, all at once. The tears shining in those eyes staring up at him feel like individual slices into his sternum.

“I-I know we have videos, and pictures, and all that. But I don’t have memories of them. I can’t remember a-a daycare drop off, or, or being tucked in at night, or what- what my mom smelled like. What my dad liked to listen to….” Theo trails off, and Tommy nods. He gets it. He wasn’t much older when his mom died, and he’s struggled with those same feelings. It’s one of those things that never really stops hurting. You just learn to live around the hurt and try and fill possibilities into those unknowns.

“I know that you know my mom died when I was a little older than you when your mom and dad did. And…it’s hard. There are no perfect answers,” Tommy tells him. “In a perfect world, you never would have lost them.”

He pauses for a moment as he hands Theo a tissue and watches him wipe his face. Theo passes it back to him, crumpled and used, like he didn’t just absolutely blow his nose into it. Tommy stuffs it into his pocket.

“Sometimes you have to decide on those things yourself. Other times you recover a memory. I don’t remember what my mom’s hair smelled like, but I know she was always baking pies, and at some point I decided that meant she always smelled like apples and cinnamon. And there,” he laughs, shaking his head at himself. “There was this song I heard when I was fifteen. It was from deep in the hippie movement, very much what I think an acid trip probably sounds like. And… I can’t prove it. But I decided that my mom would’ve loved that time in her life, in the sixties. But she would’ve agreed that that song was horrendous.”

Theo isn’t exactly smiling, but something that doesn’t look like complete misery has replaced his expression. He sniffs again, leaning into his seat and crossing his arms like he’s trying to disappear into it.

“I don’t want dad to think I don’t love him,” he murmurs.

Tommy sighs.

“Oh man, Theo. Your dad would never think that you wanting to have pieces of your parents means you don’t love him. Life is complicated, and it’s hard. It’s even harder when death and grief get involved.”

Theo curves his mouth at an angle, like he’s not entirely sure.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Theo glances back up at Tommy.

“Sometimes I feel selfish,” he admits. “Because the world where your parents get to live isn’t the one where I get to-…” He pauses, huffs a breath out of his nose, struggling against the obvious gravel in his tone. “To be your dad.”

Theo scowls, if only to hide the teenage angst under the surface.

“C’mon Pops,” he grumbles. Tommy can’t help the chuckle that slips out. Rarely does Theo say Papa lately, shortening it to Pops as though Papa is too childlike and sentimental to let on in front of his peers. Tommy didn’t love it at first, but then Evan had reminded him that he used to call Bobby that. And damn, if Bobby could see them all now…

He starts the wings up on top of the chopper, checking over his dash as he mentally goes through the preflight checklist. Beside him, Theo is on his phone. The storm troopers theme plays from it—a notification sound set for him and Evan only.

like... who's the family member that will dispute the little kid's custody with Buck? it's Kameron's cousin who's married to Tommy's cousin. what a coincidence!

or Tommy gets a dog, starts going to a nearby park for walks and one day he runs into Buck... and a little kid.

or the little kid is already out of the picture but Buck keeps in contact and he goes into a shop to buy a toy for the kid's birthday and he bumps into Tommy also buying a toy (for his cousins' baby).

or the kid is gone and forgotten (Tim will Tim), and there's a major fire, a helicopter is helping and then crashes. guess who is the pilot in need of saving.

there's an infinite amount of possibilities, the potential is still there, the door is still open. (even buddies know this, or they wouldn't be still in our inboxes trying to silence us.)

You might be asking, "What does one do with that?" the answer is obvious. You make edits. (also on tiktok)

Song is e se for para ser sincera: by Ananda, Clarissa

Translation of the lyrics under the cut for those of you curious enough