fresh hell
part 6 below
p1/p2/p3/p4/p5
[wc: 1284; total wc(all parts): 7423; cw in tags]
When Evan answers, his voice is tight, barely held emotion packed down behind something brittle masquerading as brave. Tommyās seen it before. Hell, heās worn that mask himself.
Compartmentalized.
āTommy? Are youāā
āI heard about Bobby,ā Tommy says, his hand shaking under the weight of the phone. āIām so sorry, Evan.ā
Thereād been a rumor ā one he isnāt sure is true ā that Evan tried to call him when the lab was locked down. That in the frantic, horrifying scramble to save Howie, Evan had reached for every form of rescue he could recall.
In the end, theyād gotten the vaccine to Howie in time. Tommy saw his picture on the news, the anchor describing his condition as severe but stable, prognosis good.
Bobby wasnāt so lucky.
A cut line, an airborne virus, and a ticking clock striking far too late to save him.
The grief hits sharper than Tommy expects. He thinks of Bobby in his kitchen, sleeves rolled, washing dishes like he belonged there. The Tupperware still sits on the counter, waiting for hands that will never come back for it.
Evan inhales sharply, then lets out a hollow laugh that sounds nothing like the warmth Tommy knows so well. The one he came to call home, once.
It makes his chest ache more.
āYeah,ā Evan says. āThanks.ā
āI wish there was something I couldāveāā
āWhy arenāt you working?ā Evan cuts him off. Anger rolls through the words, tight and coiled. Accusatory.
Tommy could tell him. Could confess everything after all this time, admit heās been nothing but a coward. Tell him about the radiation, the chemo, the way his body feels like itās rusting, ragged from the inside out.
But this isnāt about him.
āI justā¦I needed some time,ā he says instead, knowing Evan wonāt take that for what it is ā a request to let it go. Move on.
āI wanted to call you,ā Evan says, voice climbing, frustration boiling over in a flash. āWe had to get the vaccine to Chim fast an-and the military ā the Army, Tommy ā wouldnāt let anyone leave that lab. I wanted to call you. T-to ask you for ā God, what if it had helped? What if we couldāve gotten to them both in time?ā
Tommyās breath hitches. Tears burn wild paths down his cheeks, ruddy and raw from weeks of his weakened state. Cries wear trails on his face that are as familiar as the ones he used to hike with Evan.
āIām sorry,ā he whispers. āI didnāt mean toā¦you know I wouldāve come if you called.ā
āNo, I donāt,ā Evan laughs bitterly. āBecause you havenāt been working. And you and I ā we donāt talk anymore. Why would we? You broke up with me, Tommy.ā
āI know, I justāā
āYou just what? Called to give condolences?ā
Thereās movement on the other end. A door. Footsteps. Evan mutters something muffled before the phone comes back close. āThanks. You can find the memorial information on LAFDās website.ā
The line goes dead, Evanās voice cuts out, and Tommy feels like he somehow got off easy.
He reads the memorial details later. Wonders if heād be able to stand long enough to make it through the service. Wonders if heād even make it from the parking lot to a seat before dismissing it outright.
If he shows up now, claiming compassion and swapping stories of the good old days and Bobbyās care in recent weeks, itāll feel hollow. Like heās trying to claim something he forfeited.
Instead, he sees pictures online after the service ā Athena holding a folded flag, dress blues lined in rows. He sees Evan in one picture, staring blankly ahead, jaw tight, chest high like heās holding himself upright by sheer force of will. Just trying to survive.
Tommy cries more than usual that night.
The next morning heās half-watching a documentary about whales, the narratorās calm voice washing over him.
His phone rings.
Once, that sound meant Evan. His heartbeat would kick up, a smile would climb his face before he even saw the name. Heād answer with a joke, a teasing flirt, Evanās name leaving his lips like it belonged there.
Now it only brings dread.
It means test results. Appointment reminders. Pharmacy notifications. Check-ins from Melton, the union asking about leave paperwork, an occasional wish to let me know if you need anything, Tom from Sal or Teddy or his cousin. People who donāt know what that would actually entail.
He lifts the phone and holds his breath. The name on the screen makes his stomach drop.
Eddie Diaz.
He answers immediately, chest tight. āEddie? Is Evan okay?ā
Eddie laughs on the other end and Tommyās chest loosens just slightly. He wouldnāt be laughing if something horrible happened.
āHe lives,ā Eddie says, doing a bad Frankenstein impression before sobering. āAnd so do you, apparently.ā
Tommy coughs hard, tries to stifle more but fails. He turns away from the receiver until his shoulders shudder on a final exhale as the fit passes. āSo they tell me.ā
He hears keys jingling in the background before an engine rumbles to life and waits, too exhausted to guess what this is about.
āAre you okay, man?ā Eddie asks.
Tommy sighs. āI will be.ā
āHm,ā Eddie hums, disbelieving. āSurprised we didnāt see you at the memorial service.ā
Tommyās turned that decision over a hundred times, rotating it in his mind like a Rubikās cube too stubborn to solve. The colors havenāt quite lined up, and heās only gotten more frustrated the longer he lingers on the wrong combination. Ā
āI couldnāt make it,ā he says. āAnd I didnāt think Evan would want me there.ā
That brings another soft laugh from Eddie. āYouāre an idiot.ā
āCanāt say I disagree,ā Tommy mutters before another cough steals his breath and he swallows it back as well as he can. It doesnāt help much.
Eddie doesnāt miss it, wheezing breath hanging between them before he speaks. āLook. I donāt know whatās going on,ā he says finally. āBut I do know that Buck needs you, man.ā
Tommy rubs a hand down his face, pushing back the urge to argue. To remind Eddie exactly why heās not the right person for the job, why Buck needs someone whole. Someone strong.
āI appreciate what youāre saying, but you donāt know howāā
āI know Buck,ā Eddie cuts in. āAnd if youāre going through something and, God forbid, something happens? Tommy, he wonāt survive it.ā
āItās better if he doesnāt know,ā Tommy says.
A beat.
āLike I said,ā Eddie sighs. āIdiot.ā
The call ends, but the words stay.
Tommy sits in silence after the call longer than he means, body dragging with the weight of radiation, limbs leaded, breath tight. Time slips. Stretches. The brain fog wraps around him until he realizes hours have passed and he hasnāt moved.
The sun started setting and hangs on the horizon, blazing and burning day to dusk, darkness a familiar friend ā or foe ā Tommy isnāt quite sure anymore. He moves through the stale air in his house like a shadow, two-dimensional darkness that disappears in the light.
Fists slam against the door and crack through the silence. Tommy startles, heart hammering. For a second he feels like a ghost in his own home, surprised that the living can still find him.
He makes it to the door slowly. When he opens it, his breath leaves him.
Evanās there, chest heaving, truck parked crooked in the driveway with the door still wide open. The insistent ding echoes from the cab in warning that itās not shut.
Evanās eyes are red. Furious and terrified in equal measure. Before Tommy can say a word, Evan demands, voice breaking, āYou have cancer?ā
š·ļø (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @aotearoagal, @stars-inthe-sky, @jyt8183, @rcmclachlan, @xtarmanderx
@joyousmistake, @audrey2419, @capitalnineteen, @iamfaithmanages, @queerasbuck
@thunderstormsandhotcocoa, @verschlimmbesserung, @vesna-ua, @calinaannehart, @corporatebanana
@beanarie, @station18908
