Chapter Text
Tommy 4
The waiting room has steadily filled up over the last few hours.
Eddie had rejoined him in the waiting room relatively quickly, hair and face freshly damp with his scrub uniform on and his LAFD uniform trashed and ready for the incinerators. Maddie had joined them, tearful and red faced, forty five minutes later. She’d taken one look at the both of them and had burst properly into tears, sandwiched between the two of them. It had been Tommy who’d told her about what had happened, nails biting into his palms to try and keep him grounded as Maddie asked question after question after question.
Eventually, information exhausted and with no coming news from the Emergency Room, she’d been forced into a comfortable armchair in their claimed corner, one hand desperately gripping Tommy’s and the other tightly clutching her phone like a lifeline.
Three hours after Maddie’s hurricane-esque entrance and at the end of their shift, Bobby had arrived with a still on shift and in uniform Athena in tow, with sandwiches and coffees that they’d distributed out. Hen had followed not long after, having to take Denny and Mara to school as Karen had had an early shift. After Hen, Howie had followed with a change of clothes for Maddie, Jee-Yun enjoying an impromptu play date with Anne Lee to profuse thanks from Maddie and Howie.
For a single moment, Tommy is overwhelmed; he never thought he’d get to have this, enveloped so easily into a family, showing so much love and support for each other. If anyone had ever deserved that, it was Evan, and, as Evan always insists, Tommy does too. He still hesitates to actually believe it, something or some quiet voice in the back of his head that has such a grip on Tommy that it’s an active fight to believe that he’s worth it. When he’d left the 118, apparently only three months before Evan had been inducted as probie, they’d shifted apart as was only natural. Tommy had had his own hands full with juggling a new position and certifying for extras; Sal had been recently promoted to Lieutenant and on the fast track to Captain of the 122. He and Sal had kept in touch as much as they could, but there had been complicated feelings with the rest of the 118 that Tommy hadn’t been able to really breach. He’d done so in the end, of course, apologetic and shame having burned away the last of his pride in regards to how he’d treated Hen and Howie when under Gerrard.
Eddie, who’d been sat rigid in the seat besides Tommy after Maddie had burrowed herself into Howie’s side on the other side of Tommy and staring down at his phone, sighs quietly. He claps Tommy on the shoulder, leaning in.
“I’ve gotta go,” Eddie says. “Gotta get Chris ready for school because Carla can’t stay over this morning.”
“No worries man,” Tommy says. Eddie had calmed from how he was before, but there was still a razor thin edge of panic to a lot of his movements. “Take care of yourself, tell Christopher I said hello, yeah?”
“Will do, let me know if anything changes and take care of yourself, huh?”
They fist bump, knuckle to knuckles. Tommy watches with vague eyes as Eddie makes his rounds with everyone else, the way he cups the back of Maddie’s head when she presses into his chest for a close hug. Maddie wasn’t a Buckley anymore and in a few years, hopefully Evan wouldn’t be either, but there was just something about the Buckley siblings that had their hugs feeling like you’d just dipped into a perfectly temperature bath.
Their group is now down by one - or two, something cold and panicky says in the back of Tommy’s head - and Tommy still feels so unmoored and unmade that he has to fist his hands between his knees to make sure no one can see their shaking.
He’d messaged Sal after his almost breakdown having fled the bathroom, held back by nothing but sheer force of will, but his best friend was still on a scene that was still burning even after two hours of non stop activity there. Sal was Incident Command and so couldn’t easily get away when Evan nor Tommy wasn’t exactly classed as immediate family. Sal hadn’t been able to chat for long, only letting Tommy know that he’d be there as soon as he could, but he couldn’t put a time on it, though B-shift should be coming any time soon to relieve them and then Sal could hand off IC to someone else. Sal had offered a pair of clothes and an overnight bag, and Tommy nearly weeps at the thought of getting out of his flight suit and uniform. He wonders if he could tell Sal to get some of Evan’s clothes, just so he could feel some sort of connection; get to smell Evan’s cologne, the scent of him, anything to make it seem like Evan was with him, was next to him and that they were waiting for someone else who was in surgery.
His hands still shake, fingers tangled with each other between his knees. In desperate need of something to do but entirely reluctant to move from his seat just in case someone comes out with news of Evan, Tommy takes the still wrapped sandwich that Bobbyhad shoved into his hand when he’d first arrived with a raised eyebrow. Sat opposite him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a rosary clutched in his palms, Bobby raises that same eyebrow again over his fists.
Tommy grimaces.
He isn’t hungry, not really, despite the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything since before being called to Condor Peak Trailhead, the call he’d been finishing up before the awful words of a thirty four year old male with double GSW’s in critical condition that had so abruptly turned Tommy’s world on its head. Stress has always turned Tommy off food and Evan had despaired jokingly that the numerous baked goods Evan had stress baked during their break up had been for nothing.
Evan had made little finger foods, last time Tommy had been turned off his food, snacky little things that Tommy usually went for when he could be bothered; he’d packed Tommy little lunch bags with cheesy notes and hearts that Tommy had laughed so hard he’d snorted to his Captains utmost delight.
Now, Evan so close and yet so far away from him at the same time, even Bobby’s disapproving eyebrow isn’t enough for Tommy to want to gulp down a lukewarm hospital sandwich when panic strangles his throat and his chest is cracking in twain, heartsore and heartsick in ways he never thought he ever could be.
“Tommy.” Bobby says quietly. Besides him, Athena answers her chirping cell phone, moving away from the bulk of the group. Tommy can see how her eyes are affixed to their group however, a subtle grief hidden in the folds of her face
“Bobby.” Tommy says, deliberately obtuse. He knows what Bobby’s doing; he’s seen the man do it enough times to Evan to know what’s coming. But Bobby is a ruthless man when he needs to be, usually softened by his care for his team; but when that ruthlessness and care combine, Bobby truly is the papa bear Evan always accuses him of being.
“Buck wouldn’t want you to starve yourself,” Bobby tells him, as if Tommy doesn’t already fucking know that. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Tommy.”
It’s only the deep, deliberate breath Tommy forces himself to take that keeps the vitriolic words crowding behind his teeth back. Tommy has never done well with being coddled, not even by Evan sometimes, though he’s trying his hardest to accept it, but Bobby’s words reek of a patronising edge that the man probably doesn’t even realize is there, or maybe it’s just because Tommy is so on edge.
“I know, Bobby,” Tommy says instead. He picks listlessly at the crumpling wrapping of his sandwich. Bacon, lettuce and tomato with mayo; Tommy snorts. He thinks suddenly, longingly, fondly of Evan’s cheesesteak sandwiches he’d made for their second first date. “But right now, I don’t think I can quite stomach it.”
“Alright,” Bobby says. He peers over his clasped hands, eyes worried and bruised. “Buck’s strong, and he’s a fighter, you know that, Tommy.”
Tommy throws the sandwich on the small table in front of them, suddenly sick.
“Evan is the strongest man I’ve ever known.” Tommy says instead of the way he wants to wail and scream that this isn’t fucking fair. Evan is strong and he is a fighter, but he shouldn’t have to be. Evan shouldn’t be fighting for his fucking life in the fucking hospital because someone got fucking trigger happy.
Maybe it was unfair but Tommy wasn’t interested in fair right now, not when Evan - the love of his life, the beat of his heart - was still in surgery with no news on how he was because someone thought it would be fun to send the 118 on a hoax call that ended up with Evan being shot twice and needing to be resuscitated twice.
Tommy doesn’t care about fairness right now.
Tommy leans forward, elbows to his knees. He scrubs his hands over his face, feeling the steady growth of stubble, the way his skin feels a little too tight with lack of sleep. He digs the tips of his fingers into his eyes until he sees stars, blooming into life in the darkness. He drags his hands down, covering his mouth as his bottom lip trembles.
“Tommy -” Bobby says, and there’s a wealth of compassion in his steady voice. A slender hand touches at his shoulder though, and Bobby leans back, a hand against Athena’s hip, just below her belt.
“Lou’s calling me back in,” Athena says apologetically. “More news on the person who shot Buckaroo but he can’t tell me a lot over the phone, but I’ll let you know what I can, when I can.”
Bobby smiles up at his wife, the crinkles of his eyes cutting deeper. He looks settled in a way he’d never looked when he first started, something intrinsic having shifted in the man since Tommy had started working with him. Tommy presses his palm further against his mouth, forces his bottom lip to stop trembling, please.
Evan, please.
“Thanks for coming, Athena,” Tommy clears his throat, forcing himself to sound as normal as he possibly can. “Bobby or I will make sure you get updated when we know anything.”
“Make sure you do,” She says, but the way she rests a hand on Tommy’s shoulder takes the bite of her words. She ducks close, squeezing his shoulder. Her thumb rests briefly against the bolt of his jaw. “Buck isn’t the only one I was here for, Tommy, don’t you forget that, alright?”
He forces a grin, ducking his head when Athena makes her rounds to everyone else too.
Another one gone, and Tommy wishes that he wasn’t count them down like they were leaving indefinitely, with Evan in near pieces on a surgery table and Tommy knowing that he’d probably never be able to tell if Evan’s heart stopped and refused to start again and hating that he’d never feel it, would never know until some strange doctor or nurse came out to offer their condolences.
Tommy can picture it right now.
The Emergency Room doors would swing open, with a scrub clad nurse with curling hair and a grim look on her face looking around the waiting room to find the-
“Family of Evan Buckley?”
“That’s us!” Maddie shoots up. Tommy flinches.
-and Tommy would have to pretend that his heart isn’t beating out of his chest and falling with a sad splat to the floor when the nurse offers her condolences and says
“-lost him on the table- ”
- that they did everything they could but Evan didn’t survive, Evan didn’t fucking make it -
“-managed to get him back. He’d lost a large amount of blood and was given multiple transfusions-”
- and then Tommy would have to go home to an empty house and drink himself stupid and maybe to death because what was his life without Evan in it -
“-GSW’s put a a large strain on his body, as did the hypovolemic shock-”
- and when he wasn’t able to say that he loved Evan like he’d never loved anyone else and Tommy hadn’t been able to say that because he was a coward -
“-we did everything we could but it was very much touch and go from the beginning, woke up during the surgery but-”
- he was a fucking coward that had never thought he could have this and Evan was fucking dead ; Evan was dead and gone and Tommy might as well be the same -
“ -we managed to stabilize his collarbone from where the bullet had ricocheted with a small plate; we left bullet fragments in as it wasn’t deemed a risk to Evan and we didn’t want to open him even further-”
- because he’d never know the exact time Evan’s heartbeat stopped, he’ll only ever know the time that they gave up on him, gave up on them -
“ - penetrating traumatic pneumothorax that we’ve put a chest-tube in to drain and inflate - “
A hand, slender and strong on the nape of his neck, forces his head between his knees.
“Breathe!” Maddie demands.
Tommy tries, he does; tries to force his chest to rise and fall, tries to get his lungs to work but he can’t, not when they’re going to come out and say that Evan is dead and gone and Tommy might as well be the same. Tommy hadn’t planned to get a couples plot in a graveyard, not yet anyway, but maybe he could ask Maddie to make sure they at least got buried together, holding hands for the rest of eternity because Tommy can’t do this, or maybe he can but he sure as fuck doesn’t want to do this without Evan-
“He’s alive, Tommy,” Someone bullies their way in front of him, hands gripping his wrists and pulling them away from his face. “Buck’s alive.”
He’s not. Evan’s dead and Tommy isn’t and if the world - the fucking universe - had any sense it would take Tommy and not Evan.
God, fuck, please not Evan, please.
Hands grasp his face, strong and large but still so gentle. They jerk his head up, and Tommy wheezes .
Sal smells like smoke and gasoline, caustic and foul; there’s still ash and soot smeared across his face and he’s still in his heavy turnouts with his 122 Captain helmet atop his head. He looks at Tommy as if he’s never seen him before, as if Tommy is unravelling before his very eyes and he is, Tommy is; he’s unravelling, splintering apart, and Tommy doesn’t know how to stop it and Sal looks like he doesn’t either. The only person that could do so was dead and still and fucking cold on a surgery table and soon a mortuary table-
“He hates the cold, Sal,” Tommy gasps, and his hands have wound themselves into Sal’s shirt beneath those heavy turnouts. “Evan can’t stand the cold, his leg, they’re gonna- they can’t, Sal, they can’t -”
“Look at me, man,” Sal demands. “No, look at me, Kinard!”
“Don’t let them take him, please, Sal, they can’t take him from me, they can’t -”
Those hands don’t let his face turn away, palms biting into his jaw, fingers digging into the bristles at the nape of Tommy’s neck.
“The kid’s alive, Tommy,” Sal tells him. There’s a wealth of sympathy, of compassion, in his eyes that so very nearly breaks Tommy.“Your boys survived and he ain’t leavin’ you just yet, alright? So you gotta get outta your head and see your boy.”
Tommy’s bottom lip trembles. Sal must see, because his face softens, and he hooks a hand around the back of Tommy’s head, pulling him forward into Sal’s shoulder.
“C’mon,” Sal says quietly, chin pressing against the crown of Tommy’s head. “Let's get you cleaned up and you can go and see Buck, okay?”
Like a child, Sal hoists him up, physically manhandling Tommy until he can actually get his legs working. Sal propels him through the waiting room, where he can see a teary eyed Maddie listening intently to the curly haired nurse that had opened the ER doors. She catches his eye when they pass, and Tommy nearly keels over when she takes his hand in hers, squeezing softly like she always does with Evan.
Howie doesn’t release her hand but does take a step towards Sal, speaking with him in an undertone, a worried look on his face. Both Howie and Sal give him and Maddie unreadable looks. It should irk him but it doesn’t; he doesn’t think he has any room for any emotion apart from grief and worry.
“He’s in recovery, but they’ll be taking him up to the ICU in a moment,” She says quietly, and her voice wavers. She presses her lips together, before giving him a tremulous smile “We’ll go see him and then you can stay, okay?”
Tommy can barely croak out his thanks, shame curling into the pit of his belly that has him turning his face away and letting Sal lead him into the bathroom that only a few hours ago, Tommy had been talking Eddie down from his own panic attack.
There’s a certain sense of irony in it, that Tommy had tried so hard to be strong for everyone, had tried so hard to stave away the panic that had lingered beneath a thinly covered mask and it had just been the mere mention of Evan that had so easily broken down all his walls.
With the ease of repetition, Sal shoves him so he’s sat on a toilet lid, a heavy duffle with ARMY emblazoned upon it having been pulled from nowhere.
Heavy headed, that sense of shame still mixing with the sick curl of panic and grief that’s anchored him for the last few hours, Tommy can only watch as Sal shoulders out of the heavy turnouts, Captain’s helmet hung up on a tap like it’s a coat hook. Through burning eyes that still haven’t cried proper tears, Tommy watches Sal wash his hands in the sink, and thinks of how he wants to go back all those days ago, where he’d washed Evan’s hands with soap and had then kissed each finger until the man was giggling and wriggling, trying to get away as Tommy pretended to playfully eat them. He wants to go back even just hours ago, where he’d thought Evan was on shift, as safe as he ever could be as a firefighter; wished he’d made them both call in sick and just headed up to Vista a day early.
“I haven’t told him.” Tommy says, listlessly. His chest is cracked and emptied; his heart lies cold on a hospital bed up in the Intensive Care Unit.
He can see himself in the mirror; a pallid figure too big for how small he really feels right now, eyes red and empty. He’s an empty husk. Sal carries on washing his hands, but he keeps Tommy’s gaze through the long line of mirrors. He scrubs his hands over his face, smearing soot and ash further as the water drains black and foul.
“I know, T.” Sal says.
There’s a wealth of emotion in his voice, and for a single moment, Tommy wants to run. He wants to stride out of the hospital bathroom, into the waiting room and then just fully out of the hospital itself. He wants to run and hide beneath his duvets and wait for all of this - the pain, the terror, the grief - to blow over, to fall asleep and then wake up, knowing that all of this was just a particularly vivid fever dream.
Tommy can’t do that. Not now, not when Evan and he had promised one another, not when leaving this bathroom and this waiting room and this hospital would be Tommy leaving his heart entirely, not like before where for three months without Evan had Tommy walking around with a hole in his heart.
Evan’s in possession of it in its entirety now, all of it’s battered and broken and splintering pieces and Tommy can never get it back, not now; even if he tried, so many shards would stay with Evan and Tommy would never survive, even if he ever wanted to.
Sal turns the tap off, and the sudden stop of rushing water makes Tommy all too aware of how his breathing is ragged, wheezing in his chest as he sits on the toilet lid in a cubicle, scared and ashamed about it.
“I can’t do this without him, Sal,” Tommy croaks. “I don’t ever wanna do this without Evan again.”
Sal’s suddenly in front of him, like Tommy’s lost time, and maybe he has; just sat in this liminal space with nothing but his best friend and his grief.
“Don’t you dare, T,” Sal says. “Don’t you dare go borrowin’ trouble that you ain’t got just yet, yeah? Buck is alive and that is all you gotta concentrate on right now, so we’re gonna get you outta these clothes and into some fresh ones and then you’re gonna go see your boy and he’s gonna wake up, alright, T? He’s gonna wake up and you’re gonna tell him you’re so stupidly in fuckin’ love with him and he’s gonna snog your face off like you’re fuckin’ middle schoolers.”
Tommy can’t help the wheezing laugh that escapes, chest tightening even as he imagines it. As sudden as he starts, he can’t stop laughing, ribs aching as he tries to breathe through the forceful ache, stomach jumping as his muscles spasm. He can’t stop laughing and he doesn’t know why; only that everything burns and Tommy hasn’t cried yet even in his panic but he’s crying now, in this stupid bathroom in this stupid waiting room of this stupid hospital and Tommy doesn’t want to be here anymore, he doesn’t want Evan to be here anymore, he wants them up in Vista, loved out and fucked out and having told one another that they love each other and maybe Tommy should grab his mom’s wedding ring because this is all just so fucked -
Abruptly, Tommy’s tucked into Sal’s shoulder again, and he’s helpless to do anything but fist his hands into the back of Sal’s shirt and hold on.