Lou’s Lips Sink Ships

“BRI!” Eddie shouted as he raced forward, his muscles flooding with adrenaline that made him feel clumsy. He tripped over his own feet, costing him precious seconds before Brian came into view.

Pale. Too pale. His face and lips nearly the same ghostly color. He lay curled on his side, his shirt so saturated with the fresh blood that kept pouring out of him that it nearly looked black. His limp hands cradled the wound, too useless to apply pressure, but with an instinct to protect himself as much as he could. 

“Eddie…” Brian rasped weakly, his eyes barely open. Somehow, a smile spread over his dry lips. “I knew you’d come.”

“I’m here. I’m here,” Eddie said, his hands shaking as his mind spun out of control. 

He didn’t know what to do. Years of tending wounds that had been baked into his muscle memory just…gone.

He couldn’t breathe. He sucked in fast, shallow breaths while he reached for his phone and dialed 9-1-1 and put it on speaker before his shaking hands lost their grip and it clattered to the floor.

“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”

“I’m…I’m at Sweet Blue Cafe downtown and…and it’s my…he’s…..he’s bleeding…please send help.” Eddie said between gasps.

“I’m sending someone to your location now. My name is Linda, can you tell me your name?”

Linda. The familiarity offered the smallest comfort. “It’s…Eddie..Eddie D-Diaz, 118.”

“Eddie,” Linda said, then the line went a little quiet, like she’d put him on mute. “Alright, what can you tell me?”

Eddie stared down at Brian who was looking up at him through hazy eyes.

“I’m here with Brian, my…my…”

“I remember. I met him at Maddie’s,” Linda said warmly. “Is he injured?”

“Yeah and I…I don’t know…he’s bleeding a lot. I think from his stomach?”

“Stabbed,” Brian rasped.

“Oh…oh god he was stabbed,” Eddie said, his voice rising in panic.

“Okay, Eddie, do you see any towels around or anything you can use to press against the wound and help slow the bleeding?”

Eddie blinked away the spots floating through his vision. Fuck. He knew that. There was a stack of towels right there and he grabbed a few, then he eased Brian onto his back and pressed against the wound hard enough that Brian cried out.

“I know…I’m sorry baby.”

“S’ok,” Brian said. He reached out with his hand and Eddie risked taking one hand off the towels to hold Brian’s. It was sticky with blood and colder than it should be. 

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as his chest tightened uncomfortably, the room tilting to the side. “Linda, I…I think I’m…I’m not okay.”

“Panic attack,” Brian said, trying to give Eddie’s hand a squeeze.

“Eddie, have you had a panic attack before?”

Eddie took a harsh, tight breath. “Yeah.”

“Okay I want you to breathe with me, okay? Can you do that and keep pressure on Brian’s wound?”

Patiently, Linda counted him through a box breathing exercise, Brian murmuring along, encouraging.

Eddie caught his breath, hot tears streaming down his face as he looked at Brian.

“I’m supposed to be helping you,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, Bri. This is all my fault. I should have been here on time. I…”

Brian’s eyes drifted closed for a second and Eddie squeezed his hand insistently. “Stay awake, baby, stay awake.”

“Don't beat yourself up over this,” Brian whispered hoarsely. “Be kind to yourself, it's not your fault.”

Eddie shook his head, leaving his disagreement unvoiced, but sitting heavy in his chest. 

“RA unit is about 3 minutes out, Eddie, help is almost there. You’re doing great,” Linda said.

“I love you so much,” Brian said weakly, his eyes dull as he stared up at Eddie. “You’re the best thing that’s ever…” 

“I love you too,” Eddie said quickly, tears pouring down his cheeks, soaking his neck and the collar of his shirt. “I love you too and you have to stay with me, okay? We have so many things left to do.”

“Tell Chris I…love him too okay?” Brian said, a tear escaping the outer corner of his eye.

“Bri…no…”

“Not your fault,” Brian said as his eyes fell closed, head falling limply to the side.

“BRIAN!” Eddie screamed.

Suddenly he was surrounded by people in uniform, quick exchanges of words between each other as they assessed Brian. Someone pulled Eddie away with firm arms.

“Give them room to work,” Captain Mehta said.

Everything blurred as Eddie struggled to breathe again, watching in horror as they loaded Brian onto the gurney, visions of Shannon flashing through his mind. 

“Come on, son, you can ride with him,” Mehta said. He put Eddie’s phone into his hand, then guided him out to the ambulance where they were loading Brian in. 

Eddie flashed again to another ambulance on another day. “Is he…?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood, they’re waiting for him over at First Pres. He’ll be in good hands.”

Then they arrived, Brian was rushed into surgery quickly and Eddie stood, unsure of what to do. Captain Mehta led him to a chair and sat him down, gave him something to drink.

“I called your captain. He’s on the way,” Mehta said gently, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder.

Sometime later the weight of Mehta’s hand on his shoulder was replaced by Buck’s, Hen on the other side, Chim kneeling in front of him. Eddie put his face in his hands and broke down now that he was safe to do so, and several pairs of arms wrapped around him. 

It was hours of waiting before Eddie could see Brian. 

Buck went to Eddie’s house. He woke up Chris and took him to Pepa’s, then came back with clothes for both him and Brian, phone chargers, everything he needed. Hen pushed a sandwich into Eddie’s hands. Chim tried to keep the mood as light as it could be until Eddie was allowed to go back.

The surgery had been successful, internal bleeding stopped, injuries cleaned and stitched. Eddie couldn’t find it in him to offer thanks to a God that would let any of this happen in the first place, but he was relieved to say the least.

Eddie planted himself in the chair by Brian’s bedside, memorizing the now-healthy color of his cheeks and the pink of his lips, watching the rise and fall of every breath. 

After some time, Brian stirred and Eddie gripped his hand. 

“Hey,” Eddie said gently. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Brian’s brow furrowed as he came out of his sleep, eyes heavy, sluggish from the drugs. 

“Eddie…” he whispered. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Eddie brought his hand up mouth and kissed his knuckles. “Are you in any pain?”

“No,” Brian said, then finally opened his eyes. He looked at Eddie and gave him a tired smile. “Hi handsome.”

“Hi,” Eddie said, brushing his fingertips over Brian’s cheek. 

It was a while before Brian was fully awake and upright. A nurse came and checked on him, gave him some juice to drink if he was feeling up for it. She also let him know a detective had come by and left his card.

He thanked her, polite and sweet as always. 

When she was gone, Brian took a tentative sip of cranberry juice while Eddie watched. 

“What happened, Bri?” Eddie asked, holding Brian’s free hand. He’d been dying to know, agonizing over what happened, needing to know if getting there on time would have made the difference.

Brian paused, giving himself the time to take another drink of cranberry juice before he set aside and spoke. “A man came up to the door right after I’d locked it. He looked really desperate and said his pregnant wife was craving the mango pineapple smoothie. So I unlocked the door and let him in. Next thing I know he’s holding up a knife and telling me to empty the register.”

“Jesus,” Eddie muttered under his breath. 

“I told him I could but I…I don’t know I felt like giving him a chance, you know? So I told him he could have all the money in my wallet instead. It wasn’t nearly as much but I told him he could just have it, a gift, instead of committing a crime.”

Eddie sighed, because of course Brian tried to do the kindest thing he could think of. 

“He um, he came closer and said I was moving too slow and that if I was working at a place like that I wouldn’t have the money he needed anyway,” Brian said, then swallowed hard, clearly affected by the memory. “I moved out of the way but he just…he was angry or something and then he…”

“Okay,” Eddie said gently, stopping him from having to tell the rest. “That’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“I knew you’d be coming, though,” Brian said with tears in his eyes, looking down at where Eddie held his hand. “And I knew you’d save me but…I was so afraid that maybe you couldn’t and it was too late and I just…” Brian brushed a few tears off his own cheeks. “I didn’t want you to have to go through it all again.”

Eddie shushed him gently, brushing Brian’s tears away while his own filled his eyes. “You’re okay and so am I.”

“Are you?” Brian asked candidly.

Eddie shook his head. “Bri, I don’t know. I…I choked. I panicked. I never do that.”

“I imagine it’s hard when it’s someone you care about.”

Eddie nodded with a heavy sigh. “And if I had just picked you up on time-”

“What?” Brian challenged. “You could have been hurt too. You would have tried to fight him and it could have been so much worse. I thank God that you weren’t there when it happened. You came at the right time.”

Eddie shook his head, wiping a few of his own tears away. He didn’t see it that way, but he still admired Brian’s faith, even when he disagreed with it. “I’m sorry, Brian. I’m sorry I wasn’t there and I’m sorry I panicked.”

Brian shook his head. “I won’t accept your apology, Eddie. It’s not needed.”

Eddie dropped his head, pressed his forehead against Brian’s hand, and started to cry. 

“Come here,” Brian said gently. “Let me hold you.”

“Y-your stomach-”

“But my chest is fine,” Brian said, holding his arms out to Eddie. 

Eddie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, then folded forward into Brian’s arms. Brian held him against his chest, as much of his weight as Eddie was willing to give, and Brian rubbed his back and stroked his hair, then kissed his forehead. 

“I love you, Eddie Diaz. I thank God for you every day.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath, then sat up enough to look into Brian’s eyes. “I love you too,” Eddie said, then gave him one kiss and then another.

Eddie lay his head on Brian’s chest again and listened to his heartbeat while Brian gently stroked Eddie’s hair. Eventually his hand stilled and Brian’s breaths evened out with sleep. 

The guilt wasn’t gone. It never would be. Eddie didn’t know if he’d ever learn to let go of any of the guilt he carried. But Brian made everything feel lighter and bearable. He made Eddie’s life feel like it was worth living. He couldn’t bring himself to thank God for it, but he was endlessly grateful to still have Brian in his life.

Truth be told, wanted to spend a little more time with Sal if he had the chance to. He liked Sal. Yeah, he had a big mouth and could be pretty crass, but he was fun and funny. He liked Sal too. He was charming and unexpectedly sweet sometimes. 

And hot. Really hot. 

And strong. 

And he smelled good. 

And Eddie had no idea what to do about all of that because it made him feel awkward and flustered a lot of the time. He’d never been the smoothest guy when it came to people he was attracted to. Put him in front of a compound fracture and he knew exactly what to do. Put him in front of a pair of sharp blue eyes and a crooked smile? He’d forget how to talk and trip over his own ballroom-dance-award-winning feet.

“I’m in,” Eddie said, going back over to the couch.

Buck and Tommy looked at each other, some kind of silent communication between them.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” Tommy said.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. He wasn’t ready for the night to be over. 

“Y-you guys enjoy the movie though, alright?” Buck said as he got up and followed Tommy to the door. 

Oh. It hadn’t really occurred to Eddie that he had the option to stay. With Sal. Alone.

“Hey, you want another beer or anything?” Sal asked, walking into his kitchen once Buck and Tommy had left.

Eddie had only had one beer and it was before the movie, but he was still feeling a little fuzzy, so he didn’t think another was a good idea. “No, I’m good, thanks,” Eddie replied as he sank back down onto the couch.

Sal came back with a beer for himself and a glass of water that he set on the coffee table in front of Eddie. Then Sal sat back down on the couch right next to Eddie, even though the rest of the couch was wide open. He was even closer than he’d been before, the outside of his thigh up against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s entire body felt hot, especially his face. He liked being this close to Sal. He liked it a lot. He was so solid beside him and smelled like beer and garlic and rosemary and whatever cool, ocean-y scented cologne he wore. 

Moving away would send the wrong message and probably make things more awkward than staying where he was. 

“Alright, Mummy Returns?” Sal asked, picking up the remote, his arm brushing Eddie’s as he did, making his skin tingle.

“Let’s do it,” Eddie said, offering Sal a smile that was hopefully more confident than he was feeling. 

As the movie got going, the ache in Eddie’s neck and shoulders spread up to his head. He tried stretching out his neck a few times to see if that would help.

“You good?” Sal asked, slinging his arm casually along the back of the couch behind Eddie.

“Yeah, neck’s just a little sore.”

Eddie felt Sal’s hand move to the back of his neck and flinched at the suddenness of it. Sal cupped his warm hand around the back of Eddie’s neck for a moment, then pressed with his finger and thumb at the base of Eddie’s skull, massaging firmly in small circles. 

“This okay?” Sal asked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, closing his eyes for a moment. His face burned hot and a shiver ran down his spine as Sal’s strong hand eased some of the tension, the warmth pushing away the ache.

Eddie wanted to lean into the touch like a cat, begging for more, begging to be touched everywhere. He felt hot and cold all over, exhausted and restless. His scalp prickled with awareness, almost painfully.

Eddie kept his eyes closed while Sal touched him, until his eyelids became so heavy he couldn’t open them anymore and he started to drift.

*****

Sal watched as Eddie’s head tipped forward in sleep, then he’d catch himself awake, again and again. He’d seemed exhausted and Sal had been pretty surprised the guy had stayed. Or maybe not so surprised because he knew Eddie had a thing for him.

Which was really fucking convenient because Sal had a thing for him too. But it was like dealing with a scared animal - you had to move slowly. You move too fast and they’d get spooked and run away. And if Eddie ran, Sal wasn’t so sure he’d come back. 

Sal had wondered for a while now if Tommy and his guy had been trying to set them up and that’s why they’d been wanting to get together - all under the guise of wanting to spend more time with their best friends and hey, why not do that together. Those two idiots weren’t as smooth as they thought they were. 

There was a 50/50 chance they’d either bailed early tonight to let Eddie and Sal be alone together or to get home and fuck. Probably both. Everyone wins. 

Sal was happy for them. Buck brought out Tommy’s goofy (but still dry as hell) side that other guys he’d dated really hadn’t. The kid wasn’t too annoying to be around and he came with a sidekick whose ass Sal hadn’t stopped thinking about since the day he met him. And, bonus, that ass came with a pretty great personality and a really nice smile. 

As Eddie’s head started to tip forward again, Sal gently guided Eddie’s head toward the front of his shoulder. Eddie didn’t fight it, he just tucked himself against Sal’s side like he was meant to be there.

His cheek felt warm through Sal’s tee shirt. Too warm. His breathing was a little congested. Sal frowned to himself and brushed his fingers through Eddie’s hair gently. He must be coming down with something, had probably already been feeling like crap. Sal felt just a small pang of guilt that Eddie had stayed. More so, he was relieved that Eddie had stayed so he could take care of him a while. 

Eddie shivered and snuggled in closer to Sal. Without jostling him too much, he grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over Eddie the best he could. Then, because he just couldn’t fucking help himself, he turned and pressed his nose into Eddie’s hair, breathing in the scent of whatever stuff he washed and styled it with and his natural warm scent underneath.

Sal let the movie play, not wanting to disturb whatever combination of factors was helping Eddie sleep. 

It felt good to have Eddie close like this, his face relaxed with sleep. He always seemed on guard around Sal. Not in a way like he didn’t trust Sal, more like he didn’t trust himself not to make a mistake of some kind. 

He wished Eddie would let go of all that and just…live.

Sal brushed the backs of his fingers against Eddie’s cheek. His skin was hot, feverish. Eddie stirred in his sleep. His next breath cut short and his body curled in on itself as he coughed himself awake. Sal frowned, but pushed himself into a smile as Eddie’s eyelids fluttered open. 

Eddie groaned and turned his face to press it against Sal’s chest. When he finally woke all the way and realized what he was doing, he weakly pushed himself upright. 

“Well, hello sleeping beauty,” Sal said gently. 

Eddie blinked at him, confused. “Wha-”

“You fell asleep on me,” Sal explained. He couldn’t help himself, he reached out and touched Eddie’s bright red cheek. “I think you’ve got a fever.”

“Yeah I don’t feel great,” Eddie said hoarsely, then turned away from Sal and coughed. 

Sal grabbed the glass of water off the table and handed it to Eddie. Eddie took a few sips then sighed. 

“I should get going,” Eddie said. He pushed up from the couch then wobbled. Sal got up quickly to steady him. 

“You should just stay here tonight,” Sal insisted, though he could see the stubborn set of Eddie’s brow.

Eddie leaned his weight onto Sal. “I need to get home. Chris will be back tomorrow.”

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow,” Sal said, guiding an uncharacteristically pliant Eddie back toward his bedroom. “Right now, I want to get your fever down.”

Sal deposited Eddie at the foot of his bed, then grabbed a glass of water and a couple acetaminophen tablets. Eddie took them without fuss and Sal watched him swallow them down, then urged him to drink the entire glass of water before he took it back. 

“Alright let’s get these pants off,” Sal said once he’d set the empty glass on top of his dresser.

Eddie looked at him with hazy eyes and a pink cheeked smile. “Buy a guy a drink first.”

Sal couldn’t help his laugh at that. The reason was shitty, but having Eddie tired and unguarded was nice. He turned away and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and held them up as Eddie unbuttoned his own jeans.

“Maybe I could owe you one when you’re feeling better,” Sal said, helping Eddie stand and tug the jeans down over his ass. Eddie sat back down on the bed and let Sal take his pants off the rest of the way without argument. 

Eddie cleared his throat roughly. “Like a…”

“A date, yeah,” Sal said, working the waistband of the sweatpants up Eddie’s thighs. He knew now wasn’t the appropriate time and was trying to keep things kind of clinical, but Eddie had really nice thighs.  

He helped Eddie up to get the sweatpants on all the way, then maneuvered him into bed.

“You’d wanna do that?” Eddie asked, sounding more congested by the second.

Sal pulled the blankets up to Eddie’s chest while he settled against the pillows, then sat on the edge of the bed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll let it slide because you’re sick, but you’re not that stupid, Eddie.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitched into a smile that had Sal smiling back.

“Whatever,” Sal muttered. He pressed the back of his hand to Eddie’s cheek then his forehead. He already felt a little cooler than before, but still plenty warm. “I’ll be in the living room, but I’ll come check on you okay?”

“Why? Stay here.”

Sal’s brows rose in surprise. “Really?”

Eddie swallowed hard, wincing like it was painful before he smiled again. “You’re not that stupid, Sal.”

It might not be the smartest idea. Eddie could wake up clear-headed and freak out and that would be the end of it. But then Eddie shivered and, well, Sal never claimed to be a smart man.

“Alright,” Sal agreed.

Sal slipped out of his clothes, fully aware of Eddie’s tired eyes on him, then pulled on a pair of shorts to sleep in. By the time he came out of the bathroom, teeth thoroughly brushed and contacts out, Eddie was curled on his side with the blankets tucked up under his chin.

Sal got into bed carefully, listening to Eddie’s congested breathing in the dark. He could feel Eddie’s body heat like an oven and was going to give him some space, but he shivered again. Sal moved in close behind him and curled his body around Eddie’s, then put an arm around him and pulled him close to his chest. Eddie tensed for just a moment before his body relaxed.

“This okay?” Sal whispered in the dark. 

Eddie just let out a soft hum that set off a coughing fit. Sal rubbed his arm until it was done and Eddie settled back down.

“S’nice,” Eddie said, hoarse and exhausted.

“Just don’t freak out when you wake up in the morning with my boner stabbing you in the ass.”

Eddie scooted his ass back like a challenge.

“Knock it off,” Sal grumbled fondly.

After a few moments of settled silence, Sal leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of Eddie’s head. “Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” Eddie said, then sniffed. It was disgusting and congested sounding and yet all Sal wanted to do was pull him closer. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Sal echoed. 

He stayed awake until Eddie was soundly asleep and snoring. He wondered if Eddie always snored like this.

Well, if everything went how he hoped it would, he’d find out sooner than later.

When Eddie lost Shannon, Buck felt it deep in his bones – like the loss was his own, like the memories shared were something branded into his own skin. Eddie’s pain became his, his loss something Buck tried like hell to help him through.

A reliable, steady presence, at his side through the worst of it.

But a ladder truck and months of recovery brought suffering Buck hadn’t ever experienced before, the physical pain nothing compared to the ache of being apart from his team.

When he nearly lost Chris in the tsunami, fought like hell to make it home to people who proved they mattered time and time again, something shifted.

Eddie showed up one night, tears burning in his eyes, brow furrowed in pain or agony, Buck wasn’t quite sure which. He didn’t question it, didn’t want to be a barrier to anything that could help Eddie be happy – somehow – again. Instead, he opened his arms and Eddie fell right in.

After that, something beyond friendship grew so rapidly, it felt inevitable. So powerful, loving, captivating in every way, Buck didn’t question it – couldn’t for fear of losing something he’d been searching his whole life to find.

They got married soon after, celebrating five years of wedded bliss just barely a month before everything changed.

Chris still calls him Buck, despite him earning the title of stepdad, and Eddie calls him baby. The quiet, candlelit dinner on the anniversary of their wedding day softened into a shared night together, so intense and loving Buck could only thank his lucky stars he’d fallen into something so perfect.

The 118 got a call, a few weeks back, of a wildfire they finally leveled after endless days of battling against the smoke and ash. They’d partnered with the 122 and the 217 to battle to the bitter end.

Tommy Kinard, a pilot with the 217 and veteran of the old 118 under Gerrard’s heyday and Bobby’s beginning, shot the shit with them during breaks, making a quick connection with Eddie and falling into a fast friendship.

He’d spent a couple nights at the Buckley and Diaz home, Christopher hounding him with questions about flight and Eddie ragging on his latest car project, calling him a quitter for giving up when the transmission cut out too soon.

Buck liked the camaraderie, liked finding someone that sparked so much joy in Eddie over hobbies he had little interest in pursuing. He’d clicked with Tommy too, found it easy to talk to the guy about his Nonna’s recipes and favorite contestants on The Bachelor before he’d call it a night.

It feels like everything is falling into place, bricks stacking and building a house Buck plans to call his forever, one of love and protection and care, built from friendship and family and something that stretches beyond both.

The morning it happens, they’re up at the same time, Buck cooking breakfast and Eddie pestering Chris to get dressed.

“School drop-off in fifteen minutes, Christopher. If I don’t see you out here in five, I’ll make you walk,” Buck hears him say. He smiles, shaking his head knowing the threat is empty, hearing it every other day all the same.

Arms wrap around his waist, warm and strong, the familiar press of palms against his ribs exhaling a sigh as he leans back against his husband.

“Any luck?” Buck murmurs as he plates eggs and flips off the burner.

“He was still in bed when I went in there,” Eddie grumbles, no real heat behind the words.

Buck hands him a plate and presses a kiss to his temple as he turns, nodding toward the table. “You, eat. I’ll pack his for the car.”

Eddie salutes playfully and sinks into a chair, shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth and chasing with coffee. Buck stacks Christopher’s egg into toast, wraps it up in parchment paper and tosses a few grapes in a Tupperware with it. He brings it to the front door, tucks it into the side of Chris’ backpack and stacks it with his and Eddie’s work duffels.

When he winds back to the kitchen, his boys are ready and waiting, Chris rubbing at his eyes grumpily and scanning the kitchen counter.

“Breakfast in your bag, kid,” Buck says, tugging Eddie in for another kiss. “You guys ready?”

They leave the house and make it to school with a few minutes to spare, Chris slamming the door shut with a murmured “Later.”

Eddie shakes his head and pulls out of the lot, smile still tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe he’s already a teenager.”

“I can’t believe you still believe he’ll be ready on time,” Buck laughs, turning up the radio.

The rest of the drive is filled with chit-chat, a reminder to pick up brown sugar on the next shopping trip for a cookie recipe Buck wants to try, and a save-the-date for a pick-up basketball buddy’s wedding sometime in the fall.

It’s the same as it always is, just as mundane as before, just as casual, no professions of love or intimacy that isn’t shared every day on the same drive.

The call comes through dispatch like always – house fire in Glendale, wife and husband likely trapped inside, and the 118 climbs into the engine. It’s muscle memory, slotting himself next to Eddie in the cab, Bobby’s voice carrying through the headset laying out details and directives.

The fire’s climbing, started on the first floor near the kitchen and took off like a rocket, slamming through the dining room, living room, and spreading across the first-floor bedroom.

The goal is to go in, get the victims out, put the fire down.

It’s the same as always.

It’s the fucking same. As. Always.

Buck’s replayed every second of the call in his mind since it happened, considers every alternative to every decision he made, every chance he could’ve changed something, somehow – desperately – make a different outcome.

But that’s not what happened.

Buck and Eddie went in, found the wife right away pinned behind a chair in the dining room, skin blistering from the heat, ash and smoke curled around her mouth where she lays in a helpless heap.

Eddie tells him to take her out and climbs up to the second floor where the husband must be.

Buck carries her out, transfers her quickly to Chim and Hen, placing an oxygen mask over her face as they get to work and assess her vitals.

Time stops, right then.

The moment clicks in Buck’s mind over and over and over.

An explosion, debris flying through the air and scattering across the road.

The house, nearly gone, splintered into dust and battered concrete, steel and molten metal. Furniture flung into the road burns bright, scarves and shirts fly in the wind like driftless birds.

And Buck is frozen.

The team runs around him, holds him in place when he tries to sprint into the molten memory of a home that was. Bobby’s shouting in his ear, telling him to stop, Chim’s screaming to back down, Ravi’s rushing over with his arms full, begging the team to help in some way.

But it’s gone.

Eddie, too.

Somewhere between the explosion and the station, Bobby found what was left, tells Buck he doesn’t want to see, wants to protect him from the pain.

But he can’t. Couldn’t possibly. Because the pain is all-encompassing, full-throated. Life-changing.

Buck’s heart feels like it’s pulled straight from his ribs, chewed apart and hastily sewn back together so it barely beats enough to survive. When he thought he was helping Eddie live without Shannon, he had no idea it felt like this.

Like he’s lost a limb, like he’s been left in the middle of the desert without water, like he’s stuck on Mars without air.

Telling Christopher is nothing short of torture, his heartbreak amplified, shattered again in the cries that come from his chest. Raw and ragged and torn from something so deep, Buck can’t begin to know how to mend any of it.

Lost a mother and soon after, a father. And Buck, nowhere close to being enough to fill the hole where his heart is lost.

Buck gets by doing something like living, breathes through the pain and drinks enough water to replenish tears he feels like won’t ever end. They aren’t alone, someone from the 118 stopping by to check on them, to bring food, to let Buck drift into the bedroom and close the door where he can shatter quietly.

Without Christopher’s determined eyes.

It’s Buck’s fault, really, and Chris deserves better.

So, two days go by and Buck still hasn’t changed the outcome, still hasn’t traded his life for Eddie’s, still wakes up in a world where he isn’t.

It hurts.

It’s horrible.

But somehow, he survives.

He makes it through another, and another, and five and ten and thirty more. The ache is the same, hasn’t changed shape or softened, hasn’t grown weaker as the sun shimmers into dusk each evening.

He keeps going, for Chris. It’s always for Chris.

He needs a family, needs a parent, and Buck’s the only one close to something like that left. Even if Chris deserves more, deserves better than what Buck thinks he’s worth, Chris has told him it’s him he wants to stay with.

Eddie’s family fought to take him back. Fought to take Eddie back, too.

Buck refused, thanks God he and Eddie had been in the field long enough to know better, shows the paperwork that proves he wants to be buried in Los Angeles with a plot beside him waiting for Buck. And another where long down the road Chris will meet them at the river, waiting to walk into peace together.

It’s not far, and Buck makes a point to go at least once a week, he and Chris stopping by Shannon’s grave while they’re there, sharing new recipes, flowers, school grades and picnics. Chris talks about the girls he wants to impress, teases Buck and asks Eddie to back him up.

Buck can’t be sure, but he swears he feels the breeze shift when Chris laughs, hopes like hell it’s Eddie laughing with them again.

At the six-month mark, Buck decides he wants to start going through some of Eddie’s things.

His side of the closet hasn’t been touched, closed off and sequestered to a world stuck when he was still alive. Buck hopes somehow the air feels different, that it’s laced with something bigger than the smell of Eddie’s sea-salt cologne, the distant smoke that’s tucked into so many of their clothes.

Chris is at a friend’s, likely three slices of pizza and two Mountain Dews deep, complaining about the next level of whatever video game they’re stuck on. Buck’s sitting on the bed, facing the closet, fists clenched tight, heart racing rapidly in his chest.

He’s seen inside the closet a million times before, knows exactly what’s sitting behind the doors.

Still, when he finally gets the courage to open it, he staggers back and loses feeling in his legs, collapsing heavily back on the bed where he started.

It smells like him.

When Buck closes his eyes, he can feel Eddie’s touch lingering on his cheek. Can feel the soft press of his lips at his temple, at his neck. Feels those warm arms wrap around his hips once again.

He chokes on a sob and feels his hands reach for his chest, like he can somehow pull the man back from the dead through a string tied right around his heart.

He can’t. He’s tried more than once.

Knows this song and dance like he knows the way Eddie’s lip tilted into a frown every time he read the instruction manual. Like the way he put his milk in before his cereal, so it didn’t get soggy too fast. Like the way he carried mints in his pocket since Buck would complain about his breath in the car, or tilt his head away from a kiss after they ate dinner.

“Now you never have an excuse,” he’d said with a smirk, cheeks rosy with delight smile soft with teasing fondness as he handed Buck a life saver. Shifted to spearmint when Buck complained about peppermint.

When the fog clears and his tears dry, Buck closes the closet doors, heads out the front door, and drives right to his favorite coffee shop.

He’s proud he opened the door, made it through the hardest part, dignity not intact but at least contained to his own bedroom. He’ll try again another day, ask for forgiveness when it turns into months, beg Chris to clean up his homework so they have more room in the dining room even when he could make more space in the bedroom.

But today, he orders some kind of chocolatey mocha – one he knows Eddie would give him shit for – and settles into a seat on the patio, keeps his red-rimmed eyes behind sunglasses, and takes a deep breath.

“Evan?” He hears his name from across the lot, sees a slew of cars tucked into spots and kids running with their parents close behind through a small park at the edge of the complex.

The voice sounded familiar, but he can’t quite place it, scans again for someone he knows.

“Evan, hey,” the voice grows louder and the bulky man behind it comes along for the ride, broad shoulders stretched against the sunlight. He’s standing in front of Buck now, stuck in a shadow when Buck squints up at his frame.

“Sorry,” he laughs, shifting to the chair across from Buck, settling into it and leaning on the table.

“Tommy Kinard,” Buck says, finally seeing his face, knowing it from their brief time together before…last year.

Tommy smiles and nods, gesturing toward the coffee shop at their backs. “I was just gonna grab a coffee, mind some company?”

Buck shakes his head and smiles – it feels like he hasn’t talked to many people outside of the 118 and his sister in the last six months.

The funeral, school, work – it’s all kept him busy enough that he’s lost touch with a few other friends in the fallout, doesn’t quite know how to pick back up again without sounding like a bummer.

“Not at all,” Buck adds. “P-Please.”

Tommy smiles and asks, “Need anything while I’m in there?”

Buck shakes his head and his drink, “I’ve got my coffee dessert, I-I’m good.”

He’s in and out in no time, and when he relaxes again across from Buck, something feels like it settles. A connection to Eddie he didn’t have before now, one he feels like he wants desperately to keep.

“So what concoction did you go for?” Tommy asks, and Buck exhales. Waiting for the question, the pity, the sad, dark look that comes with the loss – it hasn’t gotten easier over time. In fact, it gets harder with every encounter, the urge to scream and cry wrapped in the frustration of feeling like he can’t do more than say he’s getting by.

Tommy doesn’t look pitying, though, he looks light and genuine, tuned into Buck without being wrapped in sorrow.

“Some mocha special they have,” Buck shrugs. “I just wanted something that tasted more like a milkshake today.”

“Didn’t want to spring for an actual milkshake?”

Buck chuckles, something so foreign these days it feels like an act, like the edge of a performance despite it’s authenticity. “Don’t have Chris with me, so it felt like coffee was the more, uh, mature option.”

Tommy laughs and sips his own iced brew – dark and bitter – a far cry from Buck’s milky white blend. Eddie’s was somewhere in between, a cream and two sugars, one if he was eating it paired with a scone or muffin Buck baked.

He claimed it balanced out the flavor somehow, kissed Buck to shut him up when he argued the logic. Buck licks his lips and imagines he can taste Eddie’s favorite flavors when his tongue traces over them.

“Up to anything fun today?” Tommy asks, leaning back in his chair. He looks so at ease, so casual with his kindness, something about it reminds him of Eddie’s sincerity. The way his eyes latch onto Buck’s like he’s paying attention, like he’s listening. Eddie used to do the same.

Buck laughs, something hollower this time, and sips his drink for comfort.

“Well,” he sighs. “I opened Eddie’s closet today, so I thought I deserved something sweet. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able t-to cook dinner tonight without crying.”

The words spill out before he can stop them – he’s sick of pretending he’s not still fighting a barely-winning battle, each day somehow both better and worse than the previous one.

He huffs, scrubs his hand over his eyes and keeps them closed to avoid having to see that pitying stare on Tommy’s face.

“So-sorry,” Buck murmurs. “I didn’t mean to…no. No plans today.”

“Hey, I think that warrants something sweet,” Tommy says, and it sounds like he’s smiling.

When Buck opens his eyes, sure enough, Tommy’s still slouched in his chair, eyes still warm, cheeks tipped into a smile.

“M-Me too,” Buck says on an exhale, taking another sip of his mocha.

“If you want help with dinner, I can swing by with something – drop it off for you and Chris,” Tommy offers casually. “I’m grabbing groceries for some minestrone soup, I was gonna make extra to freeze anyway.”

Buck starts to decline, doesn’t want to be a burden, but the sudden thought of Eddie whispering in his ear, telling him to let someone else in, take help where he can – pushes him in the other direction.

“If you don’t mind…”

“I don’t mind,” Tommy says easily. “What time do you want me to drop it off?”

“You can eat with us, i-if you want,” Buck offers, knowing Chris is a fan of Tommy’s too, wanting to bring a piece of Eddie with him as an offering, even if it’s only in the form of Tommy Kinard.

Tommy squints at him and Buck worries he crossed some kind of line; doesn’t want to burn a bridge he just built so quickly. He rushes to apologize, to say he doesn’t need to worry about it after all, knows if he calls Bobby, he’ll drop off dinner instead.

“I didn’t–”

“On one condition,” Tommy says as he leans in closer. “You let me leave another meal. And do the dishes.”

“That sounds like two conditions,” Buck says, just to be defiant. Can see Eddie rolls his eyes in the way Tommy’s grin grows.

“Then on two conditions,” Tommy retorts.

Buck sticks out his hand and Tommy shakes it. “Deal.”

Tommy makes minestrone and brings it by at six, sits down at the dining room table with him and Chris, and Buck can’t help but smile at the questions Chris asks over spilled soup and homemade bread.

He begs to know more about rotor speed, elevation, ejection procedures – the whole gamut – and Tommy, happily, obliges every question. Chris mentions something they did together with Eddie and Buck swallows back the sudden jolt in his chest at the story. He laughs, smile tight, then offers to take dishes into the kitchen.

Tommy glances at him and watches him go but doesn’t stop Chris’ story, instead leans in with inside jokes and pulls up a picture of Chris from the day, strapped into a helicopter seat, smile wide and bright.

Buck can hear Chris ask for him to text the picture and Tommy tells him it’s already done, and their laughter fades as Buck battles to get back to solid ground. He takes a heaving breath, shudders as it shakes on the exhale, blinks back tears that threaten to fall with every blink.

He turns on the faucet and runs a bowl beneath the water, doesn’t add soap, just lets it collect and spills it out over and over again.

He thought somehow this would make things easier, would help to have someone around that wasn’t a co-worker, wasn’t so closely tied to who Eddie was, what he did every day.

But somehow, he’s still fighting through the grief, stuck in the pain, trapped in the turmoil.

He gets it together enough to go back to the dining room with coffee – decaf this time – and scones he baked the other day. Chris wanders off to his room at some point to call a friend and supposedly work on a school project. Buck somehow doubts it when he hears the telltale sound of his Xbox start up through the closed door.

It’s a battle he has no interest in fighting today.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up anything that would–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Buck rushes to say. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I-I just…you never know what’s gonna…you know?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says softly. “Anything I can do while I’m here?”

“No,” Buck says, “No, I, uh, you’ve done more than enough. I really appreciate dinner. A-And Chris…I’m glad he got to remember a fun day with his dad.”

Tommy nods and starts to head to the kitchen, “I hope you didn’t do the dishes.”

Buck salutes teasingly, “No sir.”

It’s stupid, something he would’ve done to Eddie, but Tommy laughs the same as Eddie would’ve and the warmth feels right somehow. It’s not quite like it – far from it – but it’s not out of place there, in their home.

That feeling, even the fleeting tenderness behind it, makes the night worth it, and Buck makes sure to thank Tommy when he bids him goodnight after dishes are washed and tucked away. Leftovers sit stacked in the fridge as promised, and a tiramisu somehow snuck in alongside it. There’s a note pinned on top in messy chicken-scratch.

‘I didn’t make it but thought it could be your next reward for being courageous. When you’re ready. – Tommy.’

Tommy comes over a few more times, offers to fix the back patio where a railing has been hanging on by a thread – says he wants to do it for Chris’ sake and Buck thanks him for the trouble.

He changes the oil in Buck’s truck – and Eddie’s while he’s at it even though Buck hasn’t done anything but let it sit in the garage. It’s sat, tucked beside a punching bag that swings, lightly caked with dust and traces of Eddie’s fists in the leather.

It’s the fifth time he makes his way over, hands covered in dirt with the grime he’s picked up fixing the hostas in the front yard – that Buck tries again.

He sits on the bed like he did the first time, faces the open closet and inhales the scent of Eddie’s cologne, traces of his sweat still somehow baked in the fabric.

This time Buck pulls out a few things, decides his socks are a good place to start, knows he’d yelled at Eddie for keeping a few long past their deterioration. He tosses out the first few pairs, doesn’t recognize them for more than a pair of white crew ones, a couple in faded black, a couple more of blue and red.

When he gets to the pair he’d gifted Eddie their second Christmas together – ones with cowboy hats and the Texas flag embroidered along the edge, he feels tears press against his eyes.

Tucking them to the side, he reaches for another – a pair of wool ones Eddie always begged Buck for before he’d given up and just handed them over, said he didn’t want them back. Eddie always wore them when he was sick, said they had some kind of healing property sewn into the thread.  

There’s a few more he recognizes, ones littered with holes, ones he’d claimed Chris gave him for Father’s Day in some distant memory.

When he gets to the bottom of the drawer, where he thought his chest would feel just as empty, it’s not as all-consuming as he’d feared. Tears still trace trails down his cheeks, his ribs still shudder against his shaky breaths, but he feels like he made it through something profound.

Like he’d crossed the first hurdle of the race, one he’d been running for months – so much so he’s exhausted, ragged, body torn up with his mind, the slow crawl of movement hardly noticeable in the ever-stretching road ahead.

Buck steps out of the bedroom to take a break, drink some water and stand out in the sun for a minute, look up at the sky and hope Eddie’s proud of him for making it through his stupid sock drawer eight months after he died.

It’s then that he collides with Tommy, chests pressing together in an unceremonious tangle of limbs.

“Oof,” he grunts, stumbling back against the door.

“Shit, sorry,” Tommy says, reaching out for Buck and catching him before his head hits the frame.

Buck shakes himself out of his shock, brushes his shirt and stands upright again, only to see he’s covered in dirt.

“Oh, shit!” Tommy says, eyes wide, mouth agape. “I’m – ah, I was coming in to wash my…one second.”

He rushes into the bathroom and Buck hears the faucet, tries to brush away the grime without much success. Tommy comes back quickly, damp washcloth in hand, already reaching for Buck’s forearms, wiping away the mud.

“Don’t, uh, it’s fine,” Buck stutters, laughs to settle the air that felt too hot, too tight in the bedroom at his back. They’re close together, still stuck in the narrow hallway, and Buck feels his chest flutter at the proximity.

“I’ll just…” Tommy side steps, heads back into the bathroom to toss the rag in the hamper, and comes out clean.

Tommy offers to take the bag of tossed socks out with him and Buck accepts, grateful he can let them go without having to second-guess himself.

“Was there anything else you wanted help with?” Tommy asks as he steps out the front door, no annoyance in his tone. “Anything Eddie wanted you both to have he didn’t get to?”

It’s the first time Tommy’s said his name without Buck bringing him up first, and the feeling Buck thinks he should have – one of shock or anger or full-blown hopelessness – doesn’t come. The offer feels like a warm hug, like an offering laced with care and respect, one that recognizes the man that came before him and everything he hoped and wanted for his family.

Buck swallows and shakes his head, suddenly regretful he doesn’t have a reason for Tommy to return, can’t think of something else to keep him around.

“Well, you can always call,” Tommy offers with a smile. “Tell Chris to text me about the dance, I can’t wait to hear how Amber feels about the big promposal.”

Buck chuckles and nods, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’m sure she’ll love it,” he says with a smile, still connected to the piece of Tommy that Eddie knew too. The piece nobody but him and Chris got to see.

“See you around,” Tommy says as he heads for his truck.

Buck walks toward him without thought, mouth working before his mind, “U-Unless you want to help me with some more…um…helping get rid of some of Eddie’s stuff? It, uh, it helped having someone else around.”

Tommy softens at the words, barely noticeable, but his eyes shimmer with understanding, “I’d be honored.”

Buck feels like he means it.

The next time Tommy comes, they sort through Eddie’s jeans. Buck talks about the pair he’d turned into cut-offs for a Halloween costume a few years back, and Tommy laughs until his cheeks burn rosy pink.

There’s mints in the pockets of them all, ones Buck gathers and collects, and Tommy offers to tuck them into a small glass bowl he’d found in the kitchen. Fitting, since it belonged to Eddie’s abuela.

Buck arranges the mints inside and sets them on the dresser, tucked in front of a framed photo from Chris’ school play, one where Eddie’s smiling so big his eyes disappeared. It’s a place to say good morning, to remember the taste of spearmint, inhale it through the packaging and close his eyes, tasting Eddie’s minty tongue on his lips.

They make it through the rest of the dresser with only one panic attack and Buck blames the notes tucked inside an envelope at the back of one of the drawers. Little reminders, love notes, business cards, receipts from dates long passed. It’s a diary of Buck, tethered to Eddie, and tracing each word feels like holding his hand again.

The next time Tommy comes, he brings a shadowbox and suggests folding the notes inside, hanging them somewhere he can see them each day, protect them from the grit of daily life.

It keeps happening that way, Tommy comes to help and Buck tells him everything he remembers, all the best parts of Eddie, all the annoying frustrations that come with loving someone so intensely.

Tommy listens, holds his things with reverence, adds insights from his own time in the military to stories that Buck’s known without context for years. He asks questions, laughs about goofy things they’d shared over pavement in a pick-up basketball game, drenched in motor oil after a mishap in the garage.

Being with Eddie was like a warm quilt, one stitched with softened memories and care, one built through years of hard-earned love. It wrapped Buck in the scent of memories, kept him warm on harrowing nights, kept him protected and safe in times of strife.

Sharing space with Tommy feels like a backyard bonfire. Warm in a different kind of way, unexpected and exciting in the most electrifying ways.

They’re not the same, but they’re not so distant, either.

Somewhere between the collision in the hall and the final corner of Eddie’s things, Buck realizes he started feeling something more than friendship with Tommy.

Overwhelming guilt consumed him when he’d first recognized it for what it was – feeling like he was cheating on Eddie or being unfaithful even in the confines of his mind. Maddie talked him off that ledge, reminded him it’s been almost a year, that Eddie would be glad for him feeling safe with someone new.

That helps, a little, but it’s not until he’s with Chris one night that things settle.

“Is Tommy coming over?” Chris asks over pizza, mouth full of marinara and pepperoni.

“Swallow your food,” Buck says with an eye roll. “Is Tommy coming over for what? Do you need help with something?”

“He told me if you were okay with it, we could get a car and rebuild it together,” Chris says between bites. “Like Dad wanted to.”

Buck startles, takes a bite of his own pizza to buy a few seconds.

“Y-You, uh, you want that?” Buck asks tentatively.

Chris nods thoughtfully.

“It makes me feel…like it still helps me remember Dad,” he explains.

Buck’s chest tightens and his eyes burn with tears, but he swallows the knot in his throat. It’s a little easier to do today than it was a year ago.

He agrees easily, promises to invite Tommy over soon to start looking. Sometimes Buck wonders how he got so lucky with that kid – resilient, kind-hearted, always eager in his optimism despite the hell he’s endured in his short life.

After they find a car, Buck asks Tommy to stay for a beer, and he smiles that easy smile, nods, adds “How can I resist an offer like that?”

Chris rushes off to tell his friends about the old Chevy they’d found for less than a couple grand, and Buck and Tommy settle into the couch.

“I really…thank you for doing that with Chris,” Buck says, picking at the label on his bottle, hands desperate for something to do.

“I love it too,” Tommy says easily. “And getting to teach him will make his Dads happy, so two-for-one deal sounds pretty good to me.”

“It’s more than that,” Buck says, eyes drifting up to find Tommy’s, heart heaving in his chest like a dangerous wildfire. “You’ve been…I really couldn’t have made it through this last year wi-without you.”

“I’m glad I could help even a little,” Tommy hedges, cheeks rosy, head tilting down like he’s embarrassed of the compliment.

Buck doesn’t fight the feeling anymore, can’t hang onto a love that won’t ever be the same. Instead, he gives in, tilting forward into Tommy’s space, and presses his lips to the pink, plush ones that face him.

Tommy freezes at first, then relaxes into the kiss, pushing back and wrapping a warm palm around Buck’s waist. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t force anything, instead just keeps himself steady.

Like he’s always been.

Just there.

When they part, Buck feels dizzy with a combination of relief and remorse, pushes back on the guilt and leans into the delight, and feels his cheeks heat.

“I-I hope that wasn’t–” Buck starts.

“It wasn’t,” Tommy cuts him off. His hand is still pressed to Buck’s side, his eyes are still tracking Buck’s, soft and open.

“I-I just wanted to see how it…what it….” He’s not quite sure what to say, feels stuck on the feeling of the kiss, on the way his mind swings rapidly between sorrow and giddiness, but he doesn’t feel like he made a mistake.

It felt right.

“And?” Tommy murmurs, so close Buck can smell his breath. The lingering scent of beer and…

“Do you chew bubblegum?” Buck asks suddenly, finally recognizing the flavor.

Tommy laughs and bows his head, raising his hand to hide his embarrassment. “It’s…I’ve always…” he heaves a sigh and squints through his fingers. “I don’t even have an excuse. Yeah. I do.”

“You’re so weird,” Buck says with a laugh, and the room feels like it exhales with them both.

But it’s nice. In a different kind of way.

They agree to a date after that. Then another, and another, until dinners become movies and they shift back to the house for time with Chris, falling into something more comfortable but still nothing like what they had before.

After three years without Eddie, Buck and Tommy sit in the living room, wrapped in one another as they watch Die Hard and Chris shouts incorrect trivia Eddie always spouted off claiming he’d read it on Pop-Up Video on VH1 some twenty-five years before.

Never mind that was for music videos and Buck doubted Eddie spent much time watching VH1 as a kid when he could barely name a band from the time.

Eddie’s notes still sit in a shadow box hanging in the dining room, his favorite pair of boots still sit in the front entryway next to a jacket Chris wears every day. Pictures of him and Shannon still sit on the mantle next to Abuela and Pepa, who visit often and share memories over warm tamales and Buck’s new cookie recipes.

But with the old memories are new ones, Tommy and Chris finally finished the body of the car and it sits shining in the garage with a fresh coat of cherry red paint, a brand new license plate with DIAZ inscribed courtesy of a friend of Tommy’s.

Pictures of Tommy, Buck, and Chris at the beach hang beside an engraved wood cutout of a helicopter Chris made in woodworking class, Harbor Station 217 etched into the rotor.

It’s not the same – it never will be – but this version of life, this peace he’s found to carry him through rising tides and careful currents, feels right. He knows Tommy will always love the piece of him that loves Eddie, will love the piece that lost him too.

But every morning when Buck smiles at Eddie, takes a spearmint, closes his eyes and inhales the scent of home, he exhales, opens them, and finds safe harbor in the lingering taste of bubblegum.

leave me kudos if you like 🧡

Tommy didn’t really have to ask how Sal found him. Sal knew the funeral was today. Tommy had been going back and forth on whether or not he was going to go. And this bar was close enough to Tommy’s place he could stumble home after. It was a good chance Tommy would have ended up here, drinking away the guilt if he hadn’t gone, drinking away the everything else if he had.

And people said Sal wasn’t a smart guy.

“So you went?” Sal asked after a moment.

Tommy let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I felt like I should.”

“That’s good. Open casket? Visual confirmation the fucker’s dead?”

Tommy huffed a laugh into his glass as he took a drink. He appreciated Sal’s bluntness and general lack of social propriety in moments like this. 

“Not quite but…he’s gone,” Tommy said, staring down at his beer, watching the tiny foamy bubbles that stuck to the glass. “My last living relative.”

“Well shit Tommy, that’s depressing.”

Tommy shrugged. “It’s true. I mean, I know it happens right? Generally speaking, if things go like nature intends, your parents die before you. And I’m 32, not like I’m a tragic orphan or something. And it just so happens they were only children so I don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins kicking around. It’s just me now. All alone.”

“Your father was a piece of shit, Tommy. That man’s never been your family.”

“Then by your logic, I’ve been alone since my mom died when I was 12. Talk about depressing.”

“You’re not alone,” Sal said, nudging Tommy’s shoulder with his own. “You’re stuck with me.  Forever.”

Tommy looked over at him and attempted a smile.

“Sorry,” Sal grinned unapologetically. 

Tommy hadn’t even set down his empty glass when another appeared in front of him. 

“Listen, I can’t imagine how complicated this feels for you,” Sal said earnestly. “But you know family’s more than DNA and last names, right?”

Tommy looked over at Sal - his best friend, more like his brother. Inseparable since they’d met playing high school football. Sal was a couple years older and took him under his wing. When Tommy’s father found out he was gay and kicked him out of the house, Sal’s parents hadn’t hesitated to take him in. Tommy felt guilty, they already had 5 kids of their own. Sal’s dad had just shrugged and said there were so many he’d hardly even notice an extra. He just replaced Sal’s bed with a bunk bed and Sal’s mom added Tommy to the family chore chart, and that was that.

When Tommy turned 18 and joined the army, needing to find a way to take care of himself and not be a burden, Sal’s parents made sure he knew he always had a home there. Sal’s mom sent care packages with letters from all the Deluca kids. When Tommy came back Sal was already working as a firefighter and talked Tommy into doing the same. They’d lucked out and ended up at the 118 together and had been ever since. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t grieve,” Sal added quickly. “You gotta do that. Process your shit.”

Tommy nodded, a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.

“But don’t say you’re alone, alright?” Sal continued. “There’s way too many Delucas out there. Jenna’s pregnant again, by the way. Ma spilled the beans. Act surprised when Jenna tells us at dinner on Sunday. This is what, our 7th nibling already? We reproduce like fucking rabbits. You could never be alone even if you wanted to.”

Tommy laughed and wiped tears off his cheeks. “Alright, I see your point.”

“And I haven’t even started poppin’ kids out yet. Just you wait.”

“God help us,” Tommy muttered. 

Sal just grinned and started off on a whole tangent about whether or not he’d name his kid Salvatore Deluca III or not. Tommy settled into the warmth and familiarity of Sal’s voice. It was the exact opposite of how he’d felt sitting at the funeral, staring at the face of a virtual stranger on the cover of the program, listening to people say good things about a man he’d only ever known as terrible. 

When he thought about family and where he belonged, he thought about the Deluca house. He thought about being crowded around the table, bumping elbows to try to make each other laugh and get in trouble while Sal’s dad said grace before they ate. He thought about the incredible patience of Sal’s mom teaching Sal and Tommy how to sew their own buttons when they came loose on their shirts and making sure they knew how to cook for themselves. He thought about Sal’s sisters and brother never hesitating to treat him like he was one of them - especially when it came to teasing and rough-housing. 

Sal was right, though Tommy didn’t like to let him know that too often or it went to his head. As long as there were Delucas, Tommy would never be alone.

“I’m definitely naming my second son Tommy. Or would he have to be Tommy Jr.? How’s that work?” Sal pondered, mostly to himself since Tommy had tuned out for a bit.

“I think he’d only be junior if I’m his dad,” Tommy said.

“Well, never say never,” Sal winked.

Evan’s new place was so different from the loft. Tommy had always loved Evan’s loft. The location had been great - right in the heart of everything. The view was gorgeous. It held the sentimental value of being the first place they’d kissed. It held a lot of firsts. 

Unfortunately, Tommy’s last memory of it would always be the night he walked away.

This house was different. It was warm, full of life and art, pictures and books in a way the loft just wasn’t set up to be. It felt settled and lived-in with the clutter and knick-knacks. There was a reassurance permanence to it that he didn’t feel at the loft.

He didn’t like to think much about where Evan had lived in between. That night they’d run into each other at the bar, sex on a mattress on the floor that Tommy wasn’t so sure his back ever recovered from, and a morning that had started so full of hope crumbling around them. It was something they’d since talked about  - picked apart, explained, apologized - but it wasn’t a memory Tommy would ever be fond of.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Evan offered as they went back to the kitchen, the meal Evan had been preparing still safely simmering on the stove. “I have water, soda….oh and I found a non-alcoholic beer that’s pretty decent if you wanna try it.”

“Water’s fine,” Tommy said, yawning once Evan’s back was turned. He leaned tiredly against the countertop. Maybe he should have opted for something with caffeine to wake him up. He’d probably be fine once he ate something. 

“Your neck okay?” Evan asked, holding the water glass out to Tommy. He hadn’t even realized he was rubbing it again. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, unconvincingly. 

Evan gave him a look, but didn’t push it, just handed over the water glass. 

*****

Buck was going to ask Tommy if he’d make the salad, but the guy seemed exhausted. He leaned heavily against the counter, yawning when he thought Buck wasn’t looking. He was clearly trying, for Buck’s sake. And while Buck appreciated it, he was ready to pack the food up to go and send Tommy home to sleep.

“How was your shift?” Buck asked while he chopped some lettuce and dropped it into a salad bowl.

“Hmm?” Tommy asked, looking over at him.

“Your shift,” Buck repeated gently. “Was it okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, putting the water glass down on the counter. He squinted a bit at the light and rubbed his eyes.

Buck put his knife down and frowned. Something was off. “Are you feeling okay? You…you don’t seem okay.”

“No,” Tommy said quietly, with sudden honesty. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”

Buck’s heart sank with sympathy. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. You should go home and rest. We can do this another time.”

Tommy paused, looking unsure, embarrassed. “I don’t…can I lie down here for a bit?” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t think I can make it home.”

God, he’d probably been feeling it since he arrived and Buck hadn’t noticed. “Of course. Yeah. Come on,” he said. 

Buck quickly turned off the stove, then turned off the kitchen lights. He’d never had a migraine himself but he knew light didn’t help. And with the way Tommy’s shoulders relaxed a small amount indicated he’d made the right call.

Tommy started toward the living room to lie down on the couch, but Buck gently put an arm around his back, which made Tommy wince. “You’ll be more comfortable in my room.”

Thankfully, Tommy didn’t protest as Buck led him back to the bedroom. It was already dark, so Buck carefully guided him onto the bed to lay down. Tommy sighed heavily, his body still tense.

“D-do you have any medication? Does this happen a-a lot?”

“No, and no,” Tommy said, his voice low and tight, like he was in pain. “Maybe some ibuprofen? Or whatever you have.”

Buck went into the bathroom and closed the door before he turned the lights on. He pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen and shook a couple out into his hand, filled the water glass he kept in the bathroom, then turned off the light before he came back out. 

Tommy sat up enough to take the pills, then lay back down. Buck sat on the edge of the bed, not sure what else to do. He reached out to touch Tommy’s hair, but Tommy pulled away.

“Hurts too much,” Tommy said, as if through clenched teeth. 

“Sorry,” Buck said helplessly. “Does….does ice help?”

“Yeah.”

“O-okay,” Buck said. “I’ll get you some.”

Buck looked through his supply of ice packs in the freezer until he found the one he wanted. It was gel, soft and pliable, not too heavy. He wrapped it in a clean towel and brought it back into the bedroom. With steady, gentle hands, he placed the ice pack over Tommy’s forehead. 

Tommy let out a soft noise, something like thanks. 

“I wish I knew what to do,” Buck said quietly, more to himself. 

Tommy shivered, so Buck picked up the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and lay it over Tommy. He could tell Tommy was in pain, that it was getting worse instead of better, and he felt utterly helpless. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight, because that’s what he would want. There was no better feeling than being in Tommy’s arms.

He’d missed him so damn much and he knew Tommy had missed him the same. They’d both tried dating other people but nothing had felt right, not the way they’d felt to each other. 

Buck wanted to do it right this time. They both did. Part of that was slowing down, talking, asking questions, and listening. Slowing down was hard. Buck had wanted to jump in again with both feet.

Tonight felt so important. Buck had agonized over what to cook and second guessed himself. He’d thrown that anxious energy into cleaning his house, top to bottom. He wanted to show Tommy who he’d become over the last year and share the life that he was so proud of. 

Of course, he’d had other hopes too. He’d missed the feeling of Tommy’s skin against his and the weight of Tommy’s body on top of him. 

None of that was on his mind now. He just wanted to take Tommy’s pain away.

“Do you want to be alone?” Buck asked.

“No.”

“What else can I do for you?”

“Hold my hand?” Tommy said, his voice quiet and strained. “Everything hurts but…I want to feel you here.”

Buck immediately reached for Tommy’s hand. He kept his touch soft, just a light press of his fingertips against the inside of Tommy’s wrist. Gently reassurance that he wasn’t alone. Something in Tommy uncoiled with relief and he sighed. 

Buck stayed, watching Tommy’s features relax in the dark, the gentle beat of his pulse slowing beneath Buck’s fingertips as he drifted off to sleep.