On Writing

Buck can't deny, though, that Tommy has become part of his routine. Stubbornly, he keeps telling himself it's not about Tommy, he just enjoys the café.

It becomes a lot harder to convince himself of that the first time he goes to the café and Tommy's not there.

He tries to shrug it off; after all, of course Tommy has days off. It's not like he lives there. Instead of sulking about it, Buck asks Gina for his usual coffee and a piece of chocolate cake, which is, of course, delicious — he's yet to try one of Gina's recipes and not like it. Spending time at the café kind of making him interested in baking, and he has half a mind to ask Gina for some tips.

It happens again the next day, and the wave of disappointment on his chest feels even louder. To distract himself from it, Buck does ask Gina about baking.

Once he does, they spend a long time talking recipes and some basic baking starters, which is fun — Gina knows her craft, and Buck thinks he could spend hours listening to her talk about flavor combinations and batter consistency. But the whole time, Buck is pretty sure Gina is waiting for him to ask about Tommy.

He doesn't. He really wants to, though, and that shouldn't be confusing. But it is.

He blames Maddie for that.

It gets even more confusing the next time he goes to Gina’s Roast about three days later.

Now that he's basically a regular at the café, Buck usually arrives and goes straight to his favorite table, letting Gina or Tommy just greet him there; it's easier on his leg not to stand for so long. Gina spots him right away and points to the coffee machine, mouthing 'usual?'. Buck gives her a thumbs up and then sits down, putting his crutches aside and giving Sunny a pet so she'll settle under his chair.

As he sits down and looks around, Buck tries to tell himself that he doesn't really care if Tommy is there or not.

He's not convinced.

Especially because Tommy is there, and he's holding Gina's one-year-old, Antonella. She's the cutest thing, with ginger hair just like Bianca, and a constellation of freckles on her rosy cheeks that make her look like a TV ad baby.

Seeing Tommy with her in his arms is… a vision. He's laughing openly, bouncing her around as if he's done it a thousand times before.

And Buck's stupid heart honest-to-God skips a beat.

He could be wrong, but… he doesn't think that happens to straight guys when they see their male friends, adorable babies on their hips or not.

…Huh.

Before Buck has time to dwell on it, though, Tommy spots him, and a bright smile shows on his face. He gives Antonella back to Gina and makes his way towards Buck's table. Sunny’s tail wags once, which is about the biggest display of enthusiasm she ever allows herself while on duty, but it's a clear enough sign that she likes Tommy. Like service dog, like handler, Buck thinks, and promptly tells his brain to shut it.

He hopes he's managed to school his expression by the time Tommy reaches him.

"Evan, hey!", Tommy greets enthusiastically, sitting across from Buck without even asking anymore.

"Hey yourself", Buck says, smiling brightly. "Is Gina adding babysitting to your duties? Cause I think you could charge extra for that"

"Nah, with Nelly? I should be paying Gina for the pleasure, she's such an angel", he says, smiling at the little girl who's now perfectly content in her playpen behind the counter. "Bia was way more of a handful as a baby. If I had babysat a little more often, I'm pretty sure she would've given me gray hairs"

Buck really starts questioning his straightness when the image of a gray-haired Tommy does… something. To him. Before the heat climbing up his chest can show on his face, he wisely decides to change the subject. "Wow, you've been working here a long time, huh? You knew Bia when she was a baby?"

Tommy frowns a little, clearly confused, and Buck wonders what the hell he said wrong. Or, even worse, if his very lewd thoughts about gray-haired Tommy are somehow obvious to the other man.

"I did know Bia when she was a baby, and Gio too, but I don't work here", he says, and Buck blinks.

"You don't?"

"No," Tommy chuckles, and Buck’s relieved to realize Tommy doesn’t seem offended by the assumption. "Although sometimes Gina seems to think I do. But no, I only help out when I'm off-duty. Flying is definitely enough of a job."

If Buck thought his brain was short-circuiting before, it's nothing compared to what it does now, with this new piece of (unfortunately, very hot) information.

"Wow! Y-you're a pilot?" Buck blurts out, and Tommy nods completely casual, as if he hasn't just revealed he's the coolest person alive. "That is so cool! It's like you have a superpower or something!"

Tommy shrugs, a small blush coloring his cheeks. He looks shy all of a sudden, and Buck wishes that would make his traitorous heart less interested, but it doesn't work.

If anything, it seems to cause the opposite effect.

"Ah, I don't know if I'd call it that, but yeah, um, it's nice", he says, smiling bashfully. "I mean, I'm definitely a bit of a geek about it. Sometimes I fly for fun on my days off. When I'm not hanging around here, at least"

"That's awesome", Buck says, and he's sure he looks like a starstruck idiot right now, but he can't help it. "So what kind of stuff do you fly? I knew a guy in Peru who flew jets for rich people and said it paid really well"

"That does pay pretty well", Tommy agrees, but then smiles cheekily. "But it's not what I do. I fly choppers, actually"

"Really?"

“Yeah. For LAFD.” Tommy smiles easily. “I’m a firefighter pilot.”

Buck blinks.

It's not like he hasn't heard the word 'firefighter' ever since his accident. Hell, most people in his life are firefighters.

Then why does hearing it said so casually from Tommy's lips feel like being punched to the chest?

For a second, Buck can barely hear the usual café noises over the faint ringing in his ears. He feels like he's underwater; breathing suddenly feels much harder than it did just minutes ago.

"…Evan?", Tommy's voice sounds like it's coming from miles away, and it takes all of Buck's willpower to look him in the eye. "Are you okay? You look pale"

Before Buck gets the chance to answer with more than a nod, Gina gets to their table, putting down two cups of coffee. She and Tommy exchange their usual kind of banter, and if Buck answers any of it, he doesn't remember. The only thing he remembers is the way the coffee burns his tongue once he takes too big a sip, desperately trying to ground himself. It makes him sputter a bit, and Tommy frowns, his expression turning to concern.

"Evan? Are you really okay? Was it something I said?", Tommy asks delicately, which makes Buck feel awful for the half-lie he's about to tell.

"N-no, I was just surprised, is all", he says, and is surprised by how normal his voice sounds. "Um, m-my sister is dating a firefighter"

"Oh, really? What's his name?", he asks curiously, reminding Buck that LAFD are a bunch of gossips. The reminder is, somehow, funny and painful at the same time.

"I-it's, um, Howard Han? D-do you know him?" Buck asks, desperately hoping for a negative answer so the conversation can end there.

The way Tommy's face lights up immediately crushes that hope.

"Howie? No way! Of course I know him, we used to be at the same station!"

"W-what?", Buck asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice this time.

The loud ringing is back in his ears, his heart beating wildly against his chest.

Tommy used to be 118. Tommy used to be 118.

He used to walk the same halls, slide down the same pole, rush into the same firetrucks as Buck. Eat Bobby's family dinners. Play at the pool table. Lose to Hen at Mario Kart.

All the things he desperately misses now, Tommy knows them too.

That's…. more than Buck can deal with. Much more.

Sunny gives his good leg a nudge, resting her head on his knee and letting out a small whimper. Buck mindlessly scratches behind her ears, grateful for the comfort she's providing.

"Evan", Tommy's voice cuts through his spiral, and Buck realizes it's not the first time the other man called his name. He's looking at Buck with deep concern. "You're not alright. What's going on?"

"I, um… I don't know", Buck lies through his teeth, feeling awful about it, but the truth feels too painful right now. "I think… Maybe I overdid it at PT today. I'm a bit light-headed"

"Okay", Tommy says, and his voice takes that 'first responder' tone that Buck knows all too well and can't stand right now. "Let's put some calories in you, then. What do you want? I'll go get it"

"Um, a-anything's fine", Buck says. Anything to make Tommy go and give him a few minutes to compose himself. "Thanks", he adds.

Tommy leaves the table in a rush, and Buck hides his face in his hands, trying to take deep breaths and mostly failing. He hates this. Hates the memories rushing to him, the devastated feeling settling on his chest, hates that the café suddenly doesn't feel like a safe space anymore.

Buck faintly knows the girls will be back from school at any time, and that they'll want to play with Sunny while he and Tommy continue catching up. And just this morning, he'd been excited about all of that.

But now… He can't look at Tommy and not remember everything he's lost. It's not fair to Tommy, he's painfully aware. But Buck can't help it. Can’t help but wonder how Tommy will react once he realizes who Buck used to be before his accident. Whether his expression will soften into that same pity Buck’s gotten so used to seeing these past few months.

He doesn't want to find out.

And if they keep hanging out, it's bound to happen. Tommy, Gina, the café… They're not the fresh start Buck was in desperate need of.

They're a mirror to his past. And Buck hasn't been doing well with mirrors lately.

He has to leave.

Bobby is used to feeling guilt. It's something that follows him since Minnesota, and ever since Buck's accident, it's gotten about a thousand times worse.

Seeing how well Buck had been doing had helped. He was adapting, going to his physical therapy, adjusting to life with Sunny (wonderful, darling Sunny, Bobby's always going to thank God for the day they found her), and Bobby had allowed himself to think things would get better.

Now, though…

It starts on a day where Bobby's supposed to take Buck to PT and, half an hour before he leaves, Buck texts him "hey, Bobby, won't make it to PT today. Kinda sore.".

Bobby doesn't think too much of it. Tries not to, anyway.

But then, it doesn't stop there.

Buck hasn't been to the station ever since the accident, and Bobby wouldn't dream of asking that from him until he's well and ready. But he's been keeping in touch with everyone by texts, and inviting them over, and hanging out in the house of whoever happens to take him to PT that day.

He'll also have meals with them when invited, so they all make sure to have occasions for inviting him very often. Bobby has very pointedly made more barbecues in the last months than ever before, and it's only partially because he has a backyard now.

It's not perfect, and Bobby misses the kid at the station every single day. He knows he's not the only one, either — he lost count of how many times Eddie's turned around to tell a joke to his best friend, only to grow silent, face fallen. How many times Chim and Hen have teased Bobby and looked around to see if Buck would join them or jump in defense of his captain (a fifty-fifty equation, usually), only to realize Buck wasn't there.

But he's still in their lives. In Bobby's life. And that's why it hurts so bad when Buck withdraws almost completely, in ways he'd never done before, not even on those first dark days after the accident, where the grief in his eyes gave Bobby chills, because it reminded him so much of himself.

Even in those days, Buck hadn't pulled away from them like he's doing now. He's finding any excuse not to have people over, skipping PT and, when he does bother to go, he doesn't invite anyone to go up anymore.

Bobby, of all people, knows grief isn't linear, so he's trying to give Buck some space and keep his worry to himself. For almost two weeks, he keeps telling himself that's what Buck needs; not someone hovering.

But then, he texts Buck with a "still want me to be your ride for PT today?" and gets nothing in return. Not even an excuse, not even a thumbs down.

Nothing.

"I mean, maybe he went with Maddie or Eddie and just forgot to check his phone. It's no big deal", he's saying to Athena with a calmness he doesn't really feel.

Athena hums thoughtfully, but her sharp gaze is focused on the Tupperware container Bobby is filling with carbonara pasta.

"It's not", she agrees. "But you're still worried."

"I just… it feels very sudden. I don't know what could have happened to get him to act like this"

"Is this for him?", she asks shrewdly.

"I'm just gonna drop it at his place", Bobby shrugs, faux-casually. "If he went to physical therapy with someone else, well, I think it'll be good for him to have a good meal afterwards."

Bobby sighs then, gripping the counter with both hands, and looks directly at Athena.

"Do you think I'm overreacting?"

"Baby, I think that if this was May or Harry I'd have invaded the apartment a week ago", she says, and Bobby's surprised by how validated that makes him feel.

"Yeah, well, that's different. Buck's an adult"

"Hence why you waited this long. But enough is enough"

"And Buck's not my kid!", Bobby realizes suddenly he should have led with that, and doesn't let himself wonder why he didn't.

"Uhum, keep telling yourself that, Bobby", she says, giving him an affectionate pat on the cheek, and Bobby doesn't dignify her with an answer. Not that he'd have one, anyway.

Bobby uses his key to let himself into Buck's building, but decides to ring the doorbell before entering the apartment. If Buck's not home (or, a paranoid voice whispers in Bobby's ear, pretending not to be home), he'll just let himself in, put the food in the fridge and wait a bit to check on the kid when he's back.

He's not expecting Chimney to open the door. But he is relieved to realize he's not the only one who worried enough to come over.

"Hey, Cap", Chim greets, and the tone of his voice is enough to deepen Bobby's worry even more.

"Hey, Chim", Bobby answers warily, already scanning the apartment to check if everything's okay.

It's messier than Bobby has seen it ever since the first days Buck was home and still figuring out this new place, which wasn't even the original loft he had chosen — that one, with the bed upstairs, had quickly stopped being an option. On those days it had been an array of boxes and Sunny stuff. Now it's a different kind of mess, of takeout leftovers and clothes out of place.

Buck is in the middle of it, sitting on the couch and folded in on himself like he wants to disappear. Maddie is by his side, a pinch between her eyebrows that Bobby understands all too well.

Sunny is by his other side, her head resting on Buck's lap; she's not wearing her vest, but she doesn't get up to greet Bobby. She, like them, seems to sense that her human is not doing so well.

"Here, let me take that to the kitchen", Chim offers, already taking the food container from Bobby's hands.

Bobby barely registers it, his gaze laser-focused on the siblings in the living room. He comes closer, nodding briefly at Maddie and then looking at Buck.

"I brought carbonara", he says, because it feels easier than saying 'I was worried about you'. "Enough to last you three meals. Or two big ones, I don't judge"

Buck's mouth twitches a bit, and Bobby considers it a small victory.

"Yes, you do", he quips back, but it lacks the usual enthusiasm. "Sorry I didn't text you back, Cap, I was…"

He trails off, looking down again, and Bobby swears he feels a physical ache in his chest at Buck's sad expression.

"You don't have to apologize, Buck", Bobby reassures him. "But is everything okay? This isn't like you"

For a second, the silence hangs heavy in the apartment, only broken by a tiny whimper from Sunny. Buck looks at her, his hand buried in her fur, and lets out a shaky breath.

"Not really, no"

Bobby is surprised by the admission; Buck is usually the kind to grin and say he's fine no matter what. He and Maddie exchange a helpless look, and Bobby decides to come closer, sitting on the armchair so he can look Buck in the eye.

"Did something happen, kid?"

Buck opens his mouth, but closes it again, sighing heavily. He shakes his head.

"I… I don't think I can tell it again", he says.

"Buck… Can I?", Maddie asks delicately.

Buck presses his lips together, his hand still buried in Sunny’s fur. For a second, Bobby thinks he might say no.

Then he exhales, squeezing his eyes shut.

“…fine,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Bobby looks at Maddie then, a question clear in his eyes. She bites her lip, looking worriedly at Buck before looking back at him; it seems to Bobby she's searching for the right words.

"You… You know how Buck had been hanging out with this guy a few days ago? From the café?"

Bobby nods, a frown between his eyebrows. Buck had been very excited about going to this new café after physical therapy, and Bobby had smiled to himself seeing the way the kid absolutely glowed when answering the texts from this new friend.

Privately, Bobby had started to suspect Buck might be on the verge of figuring out something new about himself. He wasn't sure, and it wasn't any of his business unless Buck wanted it to be, but he'd already found himself mentally rehearsing an I'm proud of you, Buck speech just in case.

But he didn't think this was about Buck figuring out he had a crush on his café friend. He couldn't see Buck being this devastated about it, not even if it turned out to be unrequited.

"Yeah. Did something happen to him?"

"Not exactly, it's just… Well. Turns out he didn't work at the café as Buck originally thought", Maddie continues, and Bobby still has no idea what the problem actually is. "He… He is actually a firefighter"

Oh.

That's what the problem is.

Bobby looks back at Buck, but he is very deliberately not looking at him, unnecessarily focusing on Sunny's fur instead.

Bobby doesn't push it.

Buck's withdrawal is making a hell lot of sense to him now.

"Not just a firefighter, either", Chim says, coming to stand at Maddie's side. He casts a worried glance at Buck, but then looks at Bobby as if he's about to share something only the two of them will understand. "You're not gonna believe it, cap. It's Tommy."

It takes Bobby a second longer than usual for the name to click, preoccupied with Buck as he is.

"Tommy? Tommy who?", he asks, but then widens his eyes once it dawns on him. "Wait, Kinard?! Tommy Kinard?!"

"Yeah. Tommy Kinard", it's Buck who answers, his voice miserable.

Bobby looks between the three of them, waiting for someone to say this is a joke. He can't believe this; he sort of wants to scream at the universe on the kid's behalf. Eddie and Chim are always joking about Buckley luck (well, they used to; the jokes stopped being funny once Buck stopped escaping unscathed from his unlucky endeavors), but Bobby is starting to wonder if that's a real thing.

What are the odds that, once Buck finally starts building a new life for himself, the first friend he makes turns out to be a former member of the 118?

It's borderline ridiculous.

Bobby doesn't say any of that, though. He can deal with his own feelings about all of this later.

For now, he looks at Buck. And he sighs heavily.

"Oh, Buck."

Buck doesn't answer. His hand tightens in Sunny's fur, and Bobby doesn't know what else to say, how to fix this. Maddie and Chimney also seem at a loss for words.

"Was he… Did he say something? When you told him?"

Buck's shoulders tense, and he gives Bobby a fleeting look that he knows all too well. It's Buck's usual expression when he's done something he's not particularly proud of.

"Buck?", Bobby presses gently.

"I… I didn't tell him", Buck mumbles. "In fact, I… I haven't talked to him since I found out"

The expression in Chimney and Maddie's faces show Bobby that this is news to them as well. Bobby wonders if part of Buck's misery isn't related to the fact that he simply misses Tommy already.

(And oh, Bobby realizes in the back of his mind, this might mean he’s learning something new about Tommy too, but he files that away immediately. Buck is the priority right now.)

"Okay", he says carefully. "Why not?"

"Because!", Buck finally snaps, and part of Bobby is relieved to see him reacting. "I don't want it to become a thing! I liked that it wasn't a thing with him!"

His outburst is followed by silence, and Maddie, Chim and Bobby exchange another helpless look. Sunny moves slightly, nudging Buck's leg with her nose, and that seems to deflate him again.

"I just…", he sighs. "It felt new there, you know? With Tommy, and Gina, and the girls and… It was a place where the accident didn't matter. They never asked. And… And now it feels like…"

Buck trails off, but Bobby understands anyway. He knows very well what it feels like to be looked at by the people who knew what the worst moment of your life felt like; knows it so well that he crossed the country to flee from that feeling.

"Like your fresh start wasn't fresh at all?", he offers.

Buck looks up. For the first time since Bobby walked into the apartment, he actually looks at him.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Something like that. It feels like if I tell him, then… Then that's another place where I'm the guy who lost his leg under a firetruck. Will I ever be able to stop being that guy?"

Bobby doesn't have an answer to that, even though he desperately wishes he did. Maddie is gently rubbing circles on Buck's back, looking at him as if she wishes she could take the pain away. Chimney, however, has a frown between his eyebrows and looks like he's waging an internal battle.

Eventually, the side that wants to speak wins.

"Buck, I get it. I promise I see where you're coming from", he says, his arms crossed over his chest. "But… Does Tommy?"

Buck looks up at him in surprise, and so does Maddie. Chimney, however, stands firm, and Bobby appreciates him for that.

"I'm just saying, man, from where he's standing, you guys were really hitting it off, and you just disappeared on him, and he has no idea why", he says, not unkindly.

Buck shifts on the couch, looking uncomfortable. Eventually, he nods.

"I know. You're right. Tommy… He's a great guy, and he's done nothing wrong. I just… I don't know how to talk to him now"

"He's still the guy you met, Buck", Maddie says gently. "Things don't have to change"

"You know that's not true", Buck says, and Bobby privately thinks he's right.

"Okay, maybe it's not", Bobby concedes. "And you don't have to keep hanging out with him if you're not ready for that. Just… Don't keep him wondering if he did something wrong."

Buck sighs, nodding minutely.

"Yeah. You're right, Cap."

"I usually am", Bobby jokes, and is beyond relieved when that gets a small smile and an eyeroll out of Buck.

That reaction seems to clear the air a bit, and some of the tension leaves all of their shoulders. Bobby decides to keep the momentum going.

"Now, wanna check out this carbonara I made?", he nudges Buck's shoulder. "I'll even give you the recipe"

"You better", Buck says, reaching for his crutches. "And I've baked brownies, so we can have that for dessert"

As they head to the kitchen, Sunny quickly leaps to the floor, standing perfectly still so she can help Buck with his balance if necessary. However, he gets himself up from the couch without assistance; the kid's getting better at it every day. Once he gets his prosthetic, he'll probably be unstoppable.

This continues on, recipe after recipe, story after story. Buck starts finding the ingredients he needs already stocked in the pantry.

They leave notes for each other.

Tommy leaves Buck breakfast sandwiches and cut-up fruit and pitchers of iced coffee.

Buck buys a polaroid camera. He takes photos of their exchanged foods and scribbles a caption on the photo, leaves it for Tommy to find.

They're always gone the next shift, so maybe Tommy has started his own collection (Tommy's recipe cards are stored in a small cedar box with blueberries painted on the side that Buck found at an antique store).

Buck's feeling...bold, maybe. He takes a selfie. Captions it, simply: Evan

That, too, is gone next shift.

One of the firefighters on Buck's shift transfers houses to be closer to home and there's a new transfer in and some shuffling between shifts.

There was no new recipe card in the drawer, so Buck's making blueberry turnovers.

Everybody knows to stay out of Buck's way when he's baking (they also know if they linger too long, he'll try to convince them to wash the dishes he's dirtied with his baking experiments), but the footsteps crossing the loft are unfamiliar.

He turns around, sees a man around his age with blue eyes and brown hair, a strong jawline and a cleft in his chin. When their eyes meet, when the man smiles and his eyes crinkle, even though Buck has never seen him before, he is familiar.

"So this is where the magic happens."

Buck ducks his head as his face flushes and he laughs quietly when Tommy stands next to him and gently bumps their shoulders.

”It's one of those?” Tommy teased. Occasionally, it took a lot of brain power for Evan to get off.

Evan planted his hands on Tommy's chest and pushed his hips back, making them groan in unison. He didn't need the help, might not even want it, but Tommy couldn't sit back and do nothing. He grabbed two handfuls of Evan's ass and helped him move.

He felt it on his chest. They dripped sweat onto each other all the time, but this felt different. Heavier or bigger. He wouldn't have known, if Evan hadn't turned his head at the right time. His wet skin caught the light, making the line of moisture shine.

It was a tear, not sweat that hit his chest. Evan was crying.

His face looked like it always did, when he was feeling good. Relaxed and open.

Tommy watched closely, as a second tear made its way down his face. It was the other eye this time. It tumbled down the center of his cheek, down over his jaw and down his neck.

They'd had sex that morning, maybe he was still sensitive. Or maybe however many orgasms he'd had today – Tommy didn't keep count – was too many.

The bedside lamp, on the far side of the bed, created more shadows than highlights. Tommy reached up to turn Evan's face into the light, but Evan didn't understand what he was doing. He turned his face into Tommy's palm, kissing the skin. If he couldn't see it, he needed to touch it. Tommy ran his thumb across Evan's cheek, dragging the moisture up over his cheekbone.

Evan picked up the pace, making it harder for Tommy to keep his hand steady. He let his fingers slip down, grabbing the side of Evan's neck. It was easier to hold on to, and earned him a breathy, little grunt. Evan's pulse was pounding under the skin.

Tommy didn't need to ask, he could feel Evan's muscles ripple and clench around him. He was going to come the second Evan did.

As his thumb moved to the front of Evan's throat, Evan's whole body went tight.

”Oh, fuck,” Evan breathed. As he hunched forward, another tear joined the first on Tommy's chest. It landed, fat and warm, and trickled under its own weight, toward Tommy's clavicle.

Tommy grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down. He was breathing too hard to kiss. Evan sometimes got a little panicked, when he couldn't catch his breath, so he turned his mouth away, out of Tommy's reach, but Tommy wasn't aiming for his mouth.

Tommy licked his face, from his jaw, up over his cheek, chasing the taste of salt.

Evan giggled and squirmed, trying to get away, but Tommy held on tightly.

”Tommy. What're you doing?”

”Sensitive?”

”Always.” Evan got a hand around his throat and managed to dislodge Tommy. He wiped at his cheek, then eyes. ”Why?” When his fingers came away wet, not just damp, he looked between his hands and Tommy's face. ”Did you lick tears off my face?”

Tommy's eyebrow quirked involuntarily.

”Why do I bother being surprised. You're into dacryphilia?”

This time, Tommy popped his eyebrows on purpose. ”You know the name off the top of your head?”

”Why wouldn't I?” He moved carefully, hissing softly, as Tommy slipped out of him. He dismounted with a grunt, bed shaking as he tumbled into the sheets. ”You should've said, I would've cried harder.”

”I'd rather earn it.”

Evan's eyes went sharp. ”Oh, yeah? You think you can make me cry, old man?” Before his smile could get too cocky, Tommy moved.

He pushed through the momentary panic in Evan's eyes, pinning him to the bed. Tommy wasn't that much stronger, but he had experience that Evan lacked. The hold on Evan's hands was relentless. He could squirm and fight as much as he wanted to, his hands weren't going anywhere.

”I love you.”

Evan's eyes went wide in alarm. ”Tommy, no.”

”I've never loved anyone the way that I love you.”

”Tommy.”

Tommy released one of his hands – Evan wouldn't be able to throw him off with one arm – and grabbed Evan by the face. He made sure Evan couldn't look away. ”You've changed me in ways I didn't think I could. You've given me a life I was sure I was never going to have.”

”Please.” He had to try, of course. Evan always had to try. He tried to get a grip on Tommy, but couldn't. No matter where he put his hand, Tommy wasn't moving.

”You don't even do it on purpose, do you?” Tommy went on, unrelenting. ”Love just pours out of you.”

Evan made a small, bitten off sound, eyebrows drawing in. Tommy pushed his head harder into the pillow, careful not to put the brunt of it onto Evan's jaw.

”You couldn't stop, even if you wanted to. Not being you is not an option, is it, sweetheart?”

”Fuck,” Evan muttered, as a tear slid from the corner of his eye, down his temple and into his hair. The hand gripping Tommy's hair went slack. He couldn't push Tommy off with it, but he could wipe his eyes. ”You're so mean.”

Tommy smiled and curled around him, kissing his cheek. Evan sniffled, and Tommy moaned softly, mostly for show.

With his arms free, Evan went full octopus. ”You didn't even ask for my safeword.”

”You can't safeword out of this,” Tommy said. Finally in good proximity to the lamp, he took in the sight of Evan's face. It wasn't wet as much as it was tacky. Delicately, Tommy touched the skin around his eyes. It made Evan blink, as he dragged his thumb through his eyelashes, where they stuck to each other with tears.

The look on Evan's face was impossibly soft. ”You really like it.”

”You look so beautiful.”

Evan squirmed. ”Stop it.”

”No,” Tommy said and kissed him. The squirming pulled uncomfortably where they were stuck together like velcro. Reluctantly, Tommy pulled away, to grab the shirt.

The soft look didn't go anywhere, as he wiped Evan down. He should get up and get a wet washcloth, but Evan took the shirt from his hand and tossed it to the floor. In the same motion, he turned off the light, and pulled Tommy close.

”You're gonna tell me about it tomorrow.”

Tommy sits next to him on the bed. "Hey, I'm sure that's not true. Talk to me."

Evan sighs. "I've just been feeling emotional this past month. I mean, I just sent out invites to our daughter's first birthday party. And then weaning her off breastfeeding, it's been…frustrating."

"I thought it was going well?"

Evan pulls at his shirt—the soaked material clinging stubbornly to his chest—and blows out a breath. "It was, or is—I mean, she's fine. I had a little more trouble in the beginning, learning to respond to her needs in a different way. My body, on the other hand, has not gotten the memo."

Tommy swallows. Is he supposed to lie and say he hadn't noticed? "Oh."

"Every time I think I'm done—that I've finally dried up—I have a day like today. Just leaking everywhere."

Christ. What an image—that Tommy both wants and doesn't need.

"I usually pump when it gets to be too much. You're not supposed to, but—just to take the pressure off."

Evan's going to walk out of Tommy's bedroom having awakened at least two new kinks in him and Tommy's going to be the one who needs to take some pressure off. "Is there anything I can do?" When Evan raises his eyebrows, he's quick to add, "I just hate seeing you in pain."

Evan turns and faces him. "You want to help me?" He cups his tits, full and steadily leaking.

Tommy nods. "Yeah," he says, and he almost doesn't recognize his own voice. "Let me help you."

Evan straddles him and settles in his lap. Tommy almost forgot how good it feels to have the weight of a man—of Evan—on him, grounding him. He sighs.

And then he lets himself look. He takes in the changes in Evan's body—what he'd tried to ignore the whole time Evan was growing bigger with their child—how his waist and hips have filled out. He's lost most of the baby weight now, but Tommy aches to take hold of all that remains.

It's impossible to ignore, the only place Evan hasn't lost weight is his chest. Tommy's always loved Evan's tits—under his palms, in his mouth, painted with his cum.

Tommy's gaze sweeps over Evan's breasts, swollen with milk, and he wonders if they'll even fit in his hands without spilling out. The thought makes him dizzy.

"You can touch me. I want you to."

He rubs his thumbs over Evan's hardened nipples, his mouth watering at how quickly the wet patches grow and darken the front of his shirt.

Evan whines and shifts like he can't decide if he wants to move closer or further away. "Tommy, my shirt—"

"Is already ruined, sweetheart." He repeats his ministrations, a bit firmer this time, and can't tear his gaze away from the milk Evan's expressing. "Maybe I'll keep it as a souvenir, hmm?" Tommy's hands find purchase on Evan's lower back as closes his mouth around his nipple and sucks.

Evan cries out, burying his hand in Tommy's hair.

It's only then Tommy remembers there are people downstairs—Evan's people, his people. "You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Do you want everybody to know how desperate you are?"

Evan whines and bucks his hips, just like Tommy knew he would. He gives Tommy a dirty look when he chuckles in response.

"Tommy. Touch me. Please."

Tommy pinches Evan's nipples, making him hiss. "I am."

Evan huffs, batting Tommy's hands away. "I thought you were going to help me—take care of me." He takes Tommy's hands in his, slides them under his shirt and cups his tits. "Don't you want to take care of me, Daddy?"

Tommy swallows and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna take care of you." He helps Evan out of his shirt, gently moves his hands away when he tries to hide his stomach. "Hey, none of that, sweetheart."

Tommy takes hold of Evan's swollen, heavy breasts, and squeezes. Watches the creamy liquid pool on his pink, puffy nipples and drip onto his stretch marks and surgery scars.

Evan makes a frustrated noise. "If I wanted to be milked like a cow, I could have done it myself."

Tommy chuckles. He's missed this side of Evan, which is a dangerous admission even if he doesn't say it aloud. He pushes the thought away in favor of massaging and squeezing his tits, watching breast milk pool in Evan's belly button.

"You're wasting it."

As if Evan couldn't fill a bottle with how full he is. "I won't." He shifts Evan off of his lap, laying him gently on the bed. He holds Evan's hips as he dips his tongue in his belly button, lapping up the sweet liquid.

Evan lets out a soft, surprised "oh!" and tangles his hand in Tommy's curls.

He trails his mouth upwards, tongue catching on the thick hairs covering Evan's stomach as he licks him clean until Evan gets impatient and pulls Tommy up the bed and on top of him. If they had more time, he'd take his time, tease Evan with kisses and kitten licks, but they don't.

He closes his mouth around Evan's nipple, careful of his teeth, coaxing the warm liquid out. Even though he's expecting it, the first splash of milk on his tongue surprises him and he pulls off with a gasp. Before Evan can get the wrong idea, Tommy's back on him, sucking in earnest. He brings a hand up to massage Evan's breast, feeling it soften under his touch.

Evan sighs and goes pliant under him, a blissed out expression on his face.

Tommy switches sides, licking and sucking and swallowing.

Evan whines and tugs on Tommy's hair. "Gimme gimme gimme."

He blinks, swallows the milk in his mouth, wipes his chin. "You want—?"

"Uh huh."

Tommy swears under his breath and ducks his head, closing his lips around Evan's nipple and sucking until the sweet, warm liquid pools in his mouth. Evan shudders underneath him and his own body responds in kind.

Evan rises up to meet him, grabbing Tommy's face and pressing their lips together, opening up and drawing his milk into his own mouth. Evan's throat bobs as he swallows and Tommy's fingers itch with the desire to feel the movement against his palm.

"Good boy" rolls off his tongue without his permission, is swallowed up by Evan's mouth insistent on his, licking into Tommy's mouth like he's on a mission, sweeping across his tongue, his gums, his teeth.

"Greedy," Tommy mumbles against Evan's mouth. He's going to ask him what's so funny as soon as he can hear over the chant of more, more, more in head.

Evan thumbs at Tommy's bottom lip. "You're one to talk. God, look at you." He swipes the milk that had dribbled down Tommy's chin and brings his thumb to his mouth.

Tommy whines. In protest or pleasure, he isn't even sure—still drunk on the taste of Evan.

Evan rolls his hips up and it's only then Tommy realizes they're both hard. "I need." Evan rolls his hips again and gasps. "Fuck. Daddy, I need to come."

Tommy groans. "I've got you, sweetheart." They help each other out of the rest of their clothes, Tommy settling into the cradle of Evan's hips again.

Tommy watches, with half lidded eyes, Evan pinch his nipple, milk dribbling out and dripping down his fingers. Anticipates, but isn't ready for, the feeling of Evan reaching between them and wrapping his saturated hand around both of their cocks.

Tommy stifles his moan in the crook of Evan's neck. "Wait," he gasps. "Don't wanna come. Not yet." Evan releases him and Tommy takes a steadying breath. Evan's knuckles brush against Tommy as he strokes himself faster. Tommy swipes a thumb across Evan's nipple as he murmurs in his ear. "Wanna come on your perfect tits."

Evan spills between them with a choked off moan.

Tommy gets to his knees, wraps a hand around his cock, strokes himself. He groans when he comes on Evan's hairy chest, his round tits, his pink, puffy nipples. He wants so much to lick him clean. He flops on the bed besides Evan instead.

Evan's chest heaves. "We're a mess." Tommy grunts in acknowledgment.

After they're cleaned up, Tommy lays clean clothes on the bed for Evan, who still looks dazed. He blinks up at Tommy and murmurs, "thank you."

Between the pain, the fire, and Chimney riding his ass, Buck mostly forgot about him.

Until they sat in the engine, on the ride back to the station. Heartbreak came in waves. Periods of feeling OK, followed by periods where everything reminded him of Tommy.

He hoped this was just a momentary thing and not a backslide. Backslides were so much harder to come back from.

As they got out of the engine, Chimney said he was taking them offline. There were two hours and some change left of their shift.

Buck was the first to climb the stairs.

”What's got you in a mood?” Chimney asked, hot on his heels.

”Tommy was at the scene.”

”Oh. Huh.”

”You didn't see the engine with the big fuck off 217 on all the sides?”

Chimney rolled his eyes and popped his gum. ”I spoke to the captain, I didn't know Tommy was there. Figured he'd be in the air.”

”He's on the ground all the time. They only let them fly so much.”

Chimney grunted.

You're a bad friend, Chim, Buck didn't say. Instead, he went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed for the bunks. Some days he wondered why he'd ever bothered making friends with his colleagues.

*

The house was nice and quiet. Buck dropped his duffle in the entry and got undressed on the doormat. He hadn't showered yet and even his civvies smelled like smoke. He left his things to deal with later.

After a quick shower, he climbed into bed, naked, to sleep it off.

*

Buck woke up in the early afternoon. He had chores to take care of, but he stayed for a bit. Watched the curtain move infront of the open window, watched streaks of light move across the floor. His sheets no longer smelled of detergent, so he should probably change them.

He sighed and rolled onto his back. Tommy hadn't set foot in this house. Or this bed. When they were together, Buck would go longer between changing the sheets, to hold on to the smell of them longer. Their schedules never lined up the way they wanted them to. They both went out of their way to hold on to each other, in any way they could. Buck remembered using Tommy's charger, even though he'd brought his own. He'd seen Tommy leave his jacket behind in the loft, just to grab one of Buck's on the way out.

They never said I love you.

He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side. He sat on the side of the bed for a moment. The bedside table was empty. He must've left his phone in his pocket, still in the entry. With a grunt, he got to his feet, and dug out some clothes. It was a warm day, so he stuck to underpants and a t-shirt. An old LAFD one, with a semi detached collar.

Tommy had clocked it right away. When he didn't feel good, Buck stuck to LAFD branded clothes. He kept them separate from the rest of his clothes, so they were easy to find. Instead of prying, Tommy had offered his own. Tommy had over a decade's worth of LAFD items, with old logos and events Buck had never heard of. There was a softball league he was especially fond of. The league had disbanded over ten years ago and the shirt said Kinard across the back. Buck had excitedly taken all of it off his hands.

It had probably made things easier for Tommy, having a boyfriend who wore a neon sign when he was upset.

Buck sorted out the mess in the entry. He put his phone to the side to charge, and started a load of laundry. Tommy was still front and center in his mind, but it was less than twenty-four hours, so the jury was still out. Maybe he'd go to sleep tonight and wake up fine.

Or maybe Tommy would haunt his every waking moment, for the next four weeks.

He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted Tommy. It transcended gender. Buck had never wanted another human being as badly as he wanted Tommy.

The first time he had witnessed Tommy eat chocholate cake, Tommy had moaned a quiet little fuck me and Buck knew that sound was going to play in his head on his death bed.

He'd tried to remember how long it took him to get over Abby, but he didn't know. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd noted down anywhere. When he was in it, it had felt like a lifetime.

The last year had felt like several lifetimes, not even counting the Tommy of it all.

It was different, though. Buck was a different person this time around. Abby's absence had felt unbearable. Moving on had felt impossible.

With Tommy, it was less crushing and more reluctant acceptance. He knew he was going to keep on living, but he also knew being reminded of him was going to fucking suck. But he was resigned to it. The motto was ah, shit, here we go again. He knew the feelings would pass, no matter how much it hurt in the moment.

Speaking of hurt, the barometric pressure had fucked with his leg the other day. He needed to figure out where he'd stored his cane. He had a vague recollection of packing it, when he moved out of Eddie's place. Was probably smart knowing where it was, if the stormfront Ravi kept talking about ever made landfall.

For years he'd been hoping for some sort of sign that he'd reached adulthood. Grey hair and joint pain was not what he'd had in mind, but then again, the universe had never been kind to him.

He opened the sliding door to the backyard, to get some airflow. He found a post-it and wrote CANE, sticking it to the kitchen faucet, so he'd see it. There were other, more pressing things he needed to do.

Tommy had converted him to paper. He dug the designated shopping list notepad out of the junk drawer and took inventory of his kitchen. He'd been half assing groceries for a few weeks and was out of seemingly everything. Grocery shopping had to happen tomorrow. Or the day after. He needed a decent night's sleep first.

As he checked on his baking supplies, he wondered if he should stock up on that, too. He hadn't baked in a while, but if the Tommy feelings stuck around, he probably would.

Still in his underpants, he went to check the garage. He opened the chest freezer, but it really only held his baked goods.

Since he was out there anyway, he looked for the cane. He had an attic, but he hadn't been able to make himself go up there, since he cleaned up after the squatter.

As he dug through boxes, his t-shirt rode up. The first time he wore it, he'd marvelled at the size. There was a point in time where Tommy wasn't massive. The print was cracked and flaking, so it was a long time ago. Buck wasn't a crop top guy, but he enjoyed the feeling of the fabric sliding up and exposing his hips.

He found the collapsible cane in the bottom of a bed linnen box. The sheets fit his old bed, not his new one. Maybe he should note it down, so he would remember to look for a place to donate them to.

He pulled the post-it off the faucet and threw it away.

After transferring the laundry from the washer to the dryer, he contemplated a deeply depressing jerk off session, to photos of his ex-boyfriend.

He sighed. The jerking off could wait. He had a veritable mountain of cardboard boxes he needed to break down. Online shopping was becoming a bit of a problem, now that he was spending more time in the bunks and less time socialising at the firehouse.

Maybe he should revise his budget again. Surely he could think of something better to spend his money on, than another fucking jacket.

Tommy loved his jackets. Especially the pockets. If Buck wore a jacket, Tommy didn't have to, because all his extra shit could go in Buck's pockets. He sighed again. He'd loved being Tommy's walking totebag.

He checked the charge on his phone. Maybe he could squeeze in a quick session.

*

He picked up a new bag of flour.

*

Buck hated wildfire season and only partially because he now knew a not insignificant number of pilots. The door to Chimney's office was open, and Buck was paying more attention to the radio than his captain was.

He had an in at Dispatch. If he wanted to, he could call them. He'd gone on an ill advised date with a gossip hound named Layla. He thought he'd felt something over the radio, but halfway through dinner, it was more than obvious they were better off as friends.

Layla was always down for snooping, more committed to the bit than to the law. He respected her a hell of a lot. When he'd explained why he didn't have wine with dinner, she'd looked him in the eye and told him, ”Well that fucking sucks.”

She'd gone on to say that being sober was the smart choice anyway. She'd accidentally done meth once and Buck didn't have to worry about that. Clearly, he was the smarter of the two.

Buck didn't feel particularly smart, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Despite the wildfires, the shift had been calm. He'd already napped twice and was adamant about staying awake. He almost wished Harry would get up to some nonsense, so he could stop trying to pick out Tommy's name through all the noise. Tommy might not even be on shift.

He went to sit in the bay, so he could watch Ravi clean the engine.

”Are you gonna help?”

”No,” Buck smiled. He should get back into reading. Actual, real, paper books, so he couldn't jump to a different tab. Tommy was a big advocate for library cards and Buck did have one, but he was shit at time management. He'd end up spending all his jacket money on late fees, and he would've wasted all that time revising his budget.

Trusted was the part he got hung up on. What did it mean to trust someone. He trusted people in limited ways. His colleagues to keep him safe on the job. He trusted Maddie with practical stuff. Watering his plants and a spare key to his house.

Tommy was the only person who had shown up for him, no questions asked.

He opened his contacts and scrolled down to Tommy. The contact photo was unchanged. Tommy asleep, with a sunburn across his nose.

Buck looked out the window, at the rain coming down in sheets. Tommy got migraines sometimes, especially in low-pressure sytems.

He thumbed the button and held the phone to his ear. The line rang a handful of times.

”Kinard.”

”Hi, Tommy.”

”Evan?”

”Yeah, it's me. Migraine?” He probably hadn't looked at the screen.

Tommy sighed. ”Yeah, but it's not the storm. Was assaulted on scene last night.”

Buck winced. It happened all too often. ”Badly?”

”No, it was alright, but it triggered a migraine.”

”What happened?”

”Drunk driver. Guess he was unhappy with my services.”

”You home?”

”In bed, yeah. Doctor's orders. You?”

”Day off, but me, too.”

”Lucky break. How's your leg?”

”It's alright. Not too bad.”

Both of them were quiet for a bit.

”You OK?”

”Yeah, why?”

”Your voice sounds … off.”

Tears welled in his eyes. He muted the phone, rubbed his eyes roughly and sniffed hard to clear his nose. He tapped the mute button again. ”Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.”

”Insomnia?”

”I guess, yeah. Don't get a lot of deep sleep. I wake up a lot.” He turned it around before Tommy could pry, ”Am I aggravating your migraine?”

”No, you're fine. Had an aura last night, but it's gone now. I'm just being careful. Did you ever see a doctor about it? The sleep issues.”

Buck turned over, putting the window at his back. He'd never been great with doctors, which was only made worse by all the events Tommy didn't know about.

”Uh, no,” the words audibly stuck in his throat. ”Been busy. You know how it is.”

”Evan–”

”I'm OK, I'm just tired.” He took a shaky breath. ”I'm so fucking tired, Tommy.” Buck was pretty good at keeping things at arm's length, when he wanted to, but with Tommy's voice in his ear, his resolve began to crumble. He was tired down to his bones. His leg was alright for now, but if it really started hurting, there was nothing he could do. He'd burned through the pain meds left over from his surgeries. They'd been out of date and he didn't know he still had any, but he'd been desperate. If he was lucky, paracetamol and ibuprofen together might take the edge off. It was part of the reason why he was in bed. If he didn't put weight on it, he couldn't feel it.

The wind changed direction, making the rain pelt the windows. Tommy's silence was making him anxious.

”I saw you at the warehouse fire. The other week.”

”I saw you, too.”

”You did?”

”You're a big boy, you're hard to miss.”

The joke fell flat, but Buck laughed a little. It wasn't true. The LAFD was full of big guys. In full turnouts, they were near indistinguishable. There was a woman with the 122 that was bigger than the both of them.

”The, uhm, the wildfires,” Buck said. ”You've been on wildfire duty?”

Tommy sighed. ”We don't have to do this.”

”Do what?”

”Whatever it is you wanna talk about, you can just say it. We don't have to talk about work.”

He felt scolded. That wasn't what Tommy did, but that was what it felt like. ”I should let you go,” he swallowed. ”It's probably better for your head anyway.”

”Evan–”

Buck hung up the phone. It was hard to breathe. The rain against the window pane sounded deafening.

His phone rang in his hand.

”Yeah?”

”You OK?” Tommy voice was low and steady.

He let the question hang in the air for a moment.

”No.”

”You're at Eddie's place, right?”

”No.” He covered his eyes. ”I moved.”

”Where?”

”'Bout twenty minutes from your place.”

”Send me your address.”

Buck sighed. It was a nice thought. ”You're not supposed to operate heavy machinery on your migraine meds.”

”I haven't taken anything since they dosed me at the hospital. I'm good to drive.”

”Tommy.”

”Evan.”

He pulled the phone from his ear and texted the address. ”You don't have to come.”

”I know.”

*

Tommy looked at the deadbolts on the front door, after closing it. ”Rough neighborhood?” he asked, as if he hadn't driven by blocks and blocks of front yards covered in toys and bicycles.

”You didn't have to come.” Tommy looked at him for a beat. His hair was damp. Buck could tell he was purposely keeping his eyes on his face, instead of doing a visual sweep of Buck's body. ”You shouldn't have come.” Tommy's face was bruised. A starburst of broken vessels from the centre of his face. ”You have two black eyes.”

”It's fine.”

No wonder he had a migraine. ”You should not have been driving.”

”Where's your bedroom?”

Buck felt his face heat up. ”It's, uh, it's through here.”

He stood there, lead weight in his gut, as he watched Tommy take in the hastily abandoned covers, still holding on to his body heat. He jumped when Tommy touched his back.

”Get back in.”

Buck didn't know what else to do, so he did. Tommy followed.

It was incredibly awkward lying there, side by side. Buck didn't know what to do; didn't know what he wanted. If he asked nicely, maybe Tommy would smother him and he didn't have to deal with any of this.

”Is it something specific or more of a general malaise?”

Buck blinked at him. ”Malaise?”

Tommy looked at him pointedly. ”With the way you live, it could literally be anything.”

”There was a hostage situation.”

”OK.”

”I was the hostage.”

”Jesus, Evan.” It happend fast. Tommy touched his face, then sat bolt upright. ”Fuck. Fucking–” The damage was already done, but Buck grabbed Tommy's hand from where it was hovering infront of him, pulling it away from his face and the bruising.

”Don't touch it.”

”I know that!” Tommy held still for a second, then exhaled. He pulled his hand out of Buck's grip. Buck watched him breathe through his mouth. ”If I need to vomit, where's the bathroom?”

”Across the hall. Are you gonna be sick?”

”I can't tell.” Tommy took an extra deep breath. ”Probably not. I usually have to force myself.”

”To vomit?” Buck frowned.

”Migraines. Sometimes you just need to puke and they go away.”

”That … doesn't sound right.”

”You'd have a field day on the Subreddit.”

”Are you concussed? Let me see your eyes.”

”I'm not concussed, they checked.”

”Look at me anyway.” Tommy turned his head. He was squinting, but his pupils looked about the same. For a second, he saw his own face overlayed on top of Tommy's, like a double exposure. ”Want an ice pack?”

”If you've got one, yeah.”

Buck didn't run out of there, but it was close. He shouldn't have made that phone call. He should've told Tommy no.

He dug an ice pack out of the freezer and found a hand towel. For a second, he put the naked ice pack over his eyes and held it there. The cold hurt his forehead.

Back in the bedroom, Tommy was lying down, still breathing through his mouth. He wrapped the ice pack and handed it over. Tommy groaned softly, as he pressed it to his eyes.

”Alright, explain the hostage thing.”

Buck went into the hall and made sure the bathroom door was wide open, before getting back into bed. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it.

He used the wording from the police report, explained it as clinically and detached as possible. When he was done, Tommy raised the ice pack.

”The riffle, did it break anything?” He surveyed Buck's face, as if he could still spot the damage.

”No, it was just a lot of bruising. Why?”

He pointed to his own eye. ”Got a hairline in the orbital, when it happened to me.”

”When were you – oh, right. Army.”

”Army,” Tommy confirmed.

”Anyway,” Buck cleared his throat. ”Speaking of. They gave me oxy, at the hospital.”

The ice pack didn't make it back to his eyes. Tommy's arm went slack, the bundle coming to rest on his chest. ”Why the fuck would they do that?”

”I didn't ask.”

”Fuck, Evan.”

”Been clean for a while now,” he felt the need to say.

Tommy looked devastated. ”Your leg, how do you– Oh, honey. I'm so sorry.”

Buck turned his face toward the window, so he didn't have to see it. The reassurances were fighting each other, trying to get past his lips, but he stubbornly bit them back. Lying to Tommy wasn't going to fix anything.

The sheets suddenly felt sweaty. The smell, the taste of detox sat in the back of his throat.

Tommy's fingers were freezing and stiff, as they found Buck's. Buck squeezed as hard as he could.

”They came here,” he managed to get out. ”All of them. They were here. I've never felt so fucking alone. They were wiping my face and making sure I didn't puke on the floor, or die in my sleep, and I've never felt so fucking alone.”

Tommy's arms came around him and Buck hated the way his body responded to it. Tommy gently urged him around and into his embrace. His body was shaking with it, but he refused to sob infront of him. He cried as quiet as he could, tucked up under Tommy's chin.

”They raided my fucking house. I told them I didn't have anything left and they didn't trust me.”