Chapter Text
At first Buck blames grief. Bobby’s dead; it makes perfect sense that he can’t hold anything down, that smelling food makes him nauseous, that he’s tired all the time. He’s sleeping, thanks to Tommy’s presence next to him, but he’s having nightmares every night.
At least he has Tommy. Buck has to be strong, has to be there for everyone—Bobby had said they’d need him—but in Tommy’s arms, at night, with the lights off, Buck breaks and breaks again. Tommy’s always there, unquestioning, with a kiss to his birthmark and a hot washcloth to soothe his eyes after the tears stop. He’s barely left his side since the lab.
He knows they have to talk. So one night, about a week after the lab, after a day during which he’s only puked once, he pulls Tommy out to sit with him on the back deck.
“I think we should talk,” he says softly, holding Tommy’s hand. They’re at Tommy’s house, as they’ve been most of the week, so Tommy (theoretically, at least) can’t run away. “Don’t you, don’t you think it’s time?”
“I suppose so,” Tommy says, looking out beyond the grass. Buck admires his profile and wonders what he’s thinking, then guesses he should just ask. Communication is key, that’s what Dr. Copeland said when he talked to her the day before.
He takes a deep breath. Lets it out. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m worried what you’re going to say,” Tommy says, looking at him. He looks sad, and Buck squeezes his hand. Tommy squeezes back, and they sit there in silence for a long moment.
“I’m going to try not to put my foot in my mouth this time,” Buck says, regrouping, “but knowing me I’ll probably buck it up, so please be patient with me?”
“I’ll do my best,” Tommy says with a tiny smile, barely visible in the dim light coming from the sliding glass doors. “But first, I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Buck says. “That thing I said that morning—there’s no excuse. I was just hurting and lashed out, and that wasn’t fair to you.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Tommy acknowledges, “but it wasn’t fair to you for me to run out the door. Again.”
“Noted,” Buck says dryly.
Tommy snorts. He always claims Buck’s impersonations of him are worse than Tommy’s fake mouth static, but he’s wrong. Then Buck thinks about the last time he heard Tommy’s fake mouth static and has to take a moment to breathe again.
“Here it is, Tommy,” Buck says, slowly and deliberately. He’s not going to mess up again. He’s going to say this right, so Tommy understands. “If there’s one thing that the lab, that Bobby’s, his death taught me, it’s that life can be very, very short, so you’ve got to spend as much time with the ones you love as you can.”
“The ones you love?” Tommy asks, not even trying to hide how that one word affects him.
“The ones I love,” Buck agrees. “And that includes you, Tommy. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time; I was just too scared and overwhelmed to tell you.”
“Are you sure it’s not just the grief talking?” Tommy asks. His eyes are wet, and Buck squeezes his hand again. “I need you to be sure, Evan.”
“I’m sure,” Buck says. “I promise, Tommy. I’m in love with you; I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please believe me, please.”
“I…I believe you,” Tommy finally says, a smile breaking across his face. “Evan, I love you so much, I am so in love with you—”
Buck cuts off whatever else he might’ve wanted to say by kissing him. For the first time since Bobby’s death, it feels like there’s something good he can hang onto.
Later, after they’ve made love (cheesy, yes, but true—and soft and tender and reverent), the grief hits again, but it’s not as intense. “Bobby…Bobby would have been happy for us,” Buck says haltingly, and Tommy pulls him closer and kisses his hair and says, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
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Buck continues to maintain his stoic façade with everyone else, only letting his true feelings out with Tommy. He’s still plagued by bouts of nausea, and even though he’s been sleeping a bit better, he’s exhausted all the time. He knows Tommy’s worried about him. But if it isn’t grief, what could it be? He’s not running a fever, has had no diarrhea, and the nausea is unpredictable, although it does seem to be triggered by strong smells. Maybe he should make an appointment with his PCP; he’s overdue for a physical.
Before he can make that call, however, he has an eye-opening conversation with Tommy. It’s still morning, after a late breakfast—Buck isn’t able to keep the eggs down, but when he comes back to the table he tackles the toast and the muffins with a gusto. Just another weird symptom to add to the list, he supposes. They eat out in the back yard on the deck again, enjoying the getting-hotter-by-the-minute LA sun, leaving the dishes for later.
“Evan, there’s a question I probably should’ve asked you a long time ago, but I’m going to ask it now.” Tommy says. He looks nervous, which makes Buck nervous.
“Sure, go, go ahead,” he says, trying not to start picking at his nails.
“Now that you’ve told me more about your parents, about what happened with Daniel, I can’t help wondering—did they ever test you for carrier status?”
It takes a second. Then Buck says, “Oh, oh my god,” feeling the blood drain from his face. He feels dizzy, so he puts his head between his knees as he says, “They never said, one way or another.” His voice is muffled but he knows Tommy hears him. “I’m, I’m pregnant, aren’t I? From that time a few weeks ago.” From their one night stand that should’ve gotten them back together but didn’t. “Oh my god, Tommy, what the actual fuck?”
“I think you might be, but let’s take things one step at a time, sweetheart,” Tommy says, his hand rubbing comforting circles on Buck’s back. “Why don’t I go out and get some pregnancy tests? It’ll be good to know, one way or the other, right?”
“Right,” Buck says faintly, rising slowly until he’s sitting up again. Jesus fucking christ, how did he miss this? His nipples have even been tender! “But I think I am, Tommy. I, I really think I am.”
“Then we’ll deal with it,” Tommy says, kissing his birthmark. “But let’s be sure first.”
“It’s yours,” Buck adds. “It’s yours, Tommy, there hasn’t been anyone else.”
“There hasn’t been anyone else for me, either, Evan.”
They sit there for a few minutes, holding hands again, before Tommy gets up and goes to his truck to head to the nearest drug store.
Sure enough, 45 minutes later they’re staring at 6 pregnancy tests from three different manufacturers with the same result: be it two lines or a digital read-out, they’re all positive. Buck is pregnant. He guesses it’s a good thing Tommy picked up some prenatal vitamins along with the tests, because it looks like he’s gonna need them.
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They go out back again to talk, even though the LA heat is definitely making itself known at this point. At first, neither of them says a thing, and the silence stretches taut between them until Tommy finally breaks it.
“I know you want kids,” he says. It’s an opening, an offer, and Buck takes it gladly.
“I, uh, I do,” he says. “But, but it’s not a dealbreaker. If you can’t see us with kids, then—”
“I can,” Tommy says with a soft laugh. “The thing is, I can. I just wasn’t planning on them so soon. I thought we’d settle in together. Live together, maybe adopt a pet. Get married.”
“I’d like that,” Buck says softly, his heart full from Tommy bringing up marriage. “But that’s not the situation we’re in. I’m pregnant now, not two years from now.”
“You think I’m going to wait that long to propose?” Tommy says with another laugh.
“Oh, so, so you think you’re the one who’s gonna ask, huh?” Buck answers, leaning over to bump Tommy’s shoulder.
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Tommy says, smiling that soft smile that only Buck ever gets to see. God, he loves this man. And he loves their baby already, even though it’s just a clump of cells at this point. “Just like we’ll have to wait and see who this baby becomes.”
“So, we’re doing this?” Buck says after a moment.
“We are,” Tommy confirms, running his thumb over Buck’s knuckles. Then he shakes his head. “Holy shit, we’re gonna be parents.”
“You’re gonna be the best d-dad,” Buck says, feeling his eyes burn with tears again. Bobby…Bobby had been the best dad. And now he wasn’t going to get to meet his grandchild.
“I don’t know about that,” Tommy says, “but I’m sure you will be.”
Tommy moves on the outdoor sofa so he’s laying back, his head resting on one of the armrests, and opens his arms. “Come here, sweetheart.” Buck relaxes against him, his head on Tommy’s chest, their legs tangled together. Buck’s crying, but it’s not the painful sobs this time, just gentle tears falling onto Tommy’s shirt.
Tommy reaches under his shirt to caress his belly. “Hey there, little one,” he says. “It’s your daddy. I’m here with your Pops. We both love you so much, and we can’t wait to meet you.”
“Pops?” Buck asks, his heart blown apart all over again.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Tommy says, running his fingers through Buck’s hair. “I just thought, I know you used to call him that sometimes, but if it’s too painful—”
“It’s perfect,” Buck says, the tears coming harder now. Once again, Tommy is there, holding him while he cries, helping him wash up later, and holding him again while they both get what sleep they can.
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The funeral’s the next day, and Buck’s got his game face back on. He’ll cry again for Bobby when he gets home--home, he’s starting to think of Tommy’s place as home, even if that’s premature--when he’s back in Tommy’s arms and the lights are off. For now, he has to be there for his family.
The service is beautiful, at least what Buck registers of it. He’s mostly focused on staying in control, although it’s very difficult when they ring the bell for the last time. He barely registers the weight of the casket, focusing his gaze straight ahead until it’s loaded up. This will all come back to him in flashes while Tommy holds him close, but for now, he’ll do what Bobby asked of him.
“You’re not eating much,” Maddie says to him at the reception, and it’s true. He just has no stomach for the spread laid out over the table; all he’s managed to eat were some crackers with cheese--not brie, which according to his research he’s not allowed anymore anyway. “I think you’ve lost weight—are you feeling okay?”
“Just haven’t had much of an appetite,” he says, and it’s not even a lie.
He’ll tell Maddie first, of course. But not today, and probably not this week. Six pregnancy tests aside, he’d like to have confirmation from a healthcare professional before he tells anyone. He’s heard things here and there about male carriers, and been on scene for one guy having a miscarriage and bleeding so heavily he’d passed out.
So. Best to wait. He’d talked to Tommy about it, and Tommy agreed.
At that thought, Buck turned to find Tommy in the crowd. He was over by the cake—of course he was—talking to Eddie.
“Tommy’s been around a lot,” Maddie said, catching him looking.
“Yeah,” Buck said, blushing.
“You’re back together, then?” she asks, tilting her head.
Buck nods, feeling shy but wanting to share at least some of his news with his big sister. “He, I told him I loved him and he said it back. Be, because I do, Maddie. I love him so much.” After a moment he adds, “Not Eddie. Tommy.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about that—it was…ill-considered,” Maddie says slowly.
“It was disrespectful,” Buck answers. “You need to believe me when I tell you how I feel, Maddie.” Dr. Copeland will be proud of him for that.
“Got it,” Maddie says, nodding. “And for what it’s worth, I’m really happy for you, Evan. Seems like Tommy’s really been there for you lately.”
“He has,” Buck confirms. In more ways than you know, he thinks.
“Good,” she says. “You’ve been so busy taking care of everyone else; you need someone to take care of you.”
“We take care of each other,” he says. Chalk up another one to psychological maturity; he’s two for two.
“I’m glad,” she says, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m going to go round up Chimney; we need to go pick up Jee at the Lees.”
“Give her a hug and a kiss from me,” he says. He thinks about giving her a hug, but she’d probably start crying, and he just doesn’t know if he’s up for that.
“I will,” she says, then pulls him down into a hug herself. “I’m sorry for your loss, little brother. I know how special he was to you.”
Buck stiffens, then forces himself to relax into her embrace. “He was a special man,” he says, because he’s not going to be able to keep it together if he says anything else. People are still milling around; Athena’s got to be here somewhere, and he has to check in with her and her kids again before he leaves.
She kisses his cheek and lets him go. He sees that she is, in fact, crying, and for just a second he resents her for it, for being able to weep at the drop of a hat, and in public, no less. No one is counting on her to be strong, except maybe Chimney, who needs to get his fucking act together yesterday. Maddie didn’t even know Bobby that well—just from 118 family gatherings, and, okay, maybe hospital vigils.
He takes a breath and lets it go.
There are other, more important things to be thinking about. He can feel his hand moving toward his belly and aborts with a little jerk, sticking it back in his pocket.
It’s stupid, anyway—the collection of cells that will hopefully become his and Tommy’s child is still buried behind his pubic bone, according to some other research he’d done. Not that he’s had much time to, yet. He can feel the need to know itching under his skin; he and Tommy need to find a health care provider that can see him soon. Maybe he can see his PCP for the first appointment—she’s a family nurse-practitioner, so surely she knows something about pregnancy, even if it’s in a carrier. He looks at his watch and sees that it’s only two in the afternoon. If they leave soon, he could call the office when they get back to Tommy’s.
But first he’s going to check on Athena, May, and Harry.
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He drove in with Tommy, so when they’ve both made the rounds, twice in Buck’s case, they get back in the truck. As soon as his seatbelt’s on, Buck’s finding the number for Holly’s practice and calling for an appointment. When the receptionist finds out he’s pregnant, she insists on making the appointment with one of the physicians instead, a Dr. McHenry. Buck’s not pleased with the choice of provider, but they can squeeze him in after the 24 he’ll be starting the next morning. He and Tommy have their calendars synced, so he knows Tommy’s off as well, and mentions the appointment “in case you want to come.”
“In case?” Tommy says incredulously. “Of course I want to come! I’ll be there at every appointment if it’s up to me!”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” Buck says. “I want you there, I do. I just didn’t want to assume.”
“Assume away,” Tommy says. “I love you, remember?”
“I love you, too.” Suddenly hungry, he adds, “Can we stop at that vegan place? The one with the dumplings?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Your nausea’s better, then?”
“For now,” Buck says. “I figure we should strike while the iron is hot.” Something occurs to him. “Hey, why aren’t you calling me ‘baby’ anymore? Not that I object to ‘sweetheart.’”
Tommy blushes. “I don’t know, I thought it might be a little weird with a literal baby on the way. But I can start again, if you want.”
“Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” Buck says. “I love it when you call me sweetheart, too.”
“Noted,” Tommy says, with a smile on his face.
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The cashier at the vegan dumpling place tells them thank you for having served, and it’s then that Buck realizes they’re still in their dress uniforms. It’s a sharp reminder of the day, and he has to breathe through it for a moment. Tommy waits for him at the door, eyes soft, but doesn’t say anything. The ride to the house is silent.
He holds it together until he’s in the bedroom, stripping methodically out of his uniform. It’s when he’s taking his tie off that he starts to cry.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tommy says, folding him into his arms. He’s undressed to his shirt and pants.
“Did, did I ever t- tell you that Bobby taught me how to tie a tie?” he blubbers into Tommy’s shoulder. The dress shirt is scratchy against his cheek.
“I didn’t know that, no,” Tommy says, his hand big and warm on the back of Buck’s neck, one finger brushing through the hair at his nape. “But I know he taught you a lot.”
Tommy pauses, then guides them to sit on the bed, their legs stretched out in front of them. He’s holding Buck’s hand tightly in both of his. “You know, Bobby was the first person I ever came out to.”
Buck looks up at that. “Really?”
Tommy nods. His eyes are red, but they’re dry. “It was just before I broke up with Abby. We were talking about me transferring to Harbor, and he could tell something was bothering me—you know how he was.”
Buck nods in recognition, another tear falling. “He always knew when someone was hurting.”
“All he did was ask me how I was, and suddenly I just blurted it out. ‘I’m gay.’ It was the first time I’d even said those words out loud, and as soon as I said them, my heart sunk, but Bobby just said, ‘Thank you for telling me, Tommy. Thank you for trusting me.’ Then he stood up, walked around the desk, and told me to stand up so he could give me a hug.”
“He gave the best hugs,” Buck says, sniffling. “Well, except for yours. Yours are in a different category altogether. Our baby is gonna be so lucky to have you as their dad.”
Tommy smiles softly. “Our baby,” he says. “I like the sound of that.”
They finish getting undressed and slide into bed in their boxers, setting their alarms and getting comfortable. As usual, Buck ends up with his head on Tommy’s chest, listening to his strong, slow heartbeat until he falls asleep.