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Chimney made him sit through the Marvel movies once. It had been a huge undertaking and happened over the course of a couple of weeks. Chimney was adamant they watched them chronologically. They were fun in the way action movies often were. The best one was the one they saw on the big screen. Buck couldn't remember which one it was, but movies were always better in theatres.
The only thing that stuck from that whole experience – other than that he wanted to go to the movies more often – was Captain America. He didn't remember the words, but the sentiment was get up.
At the time, Buck had wondered why that was a big deal, or anywhere close to profound. Of course you got back up. You were not supposed to stay down, of course you got back up. It was a given.
Looking at the bright blue sky above, Buck felt the weight of it. He couldn't get back up. He wasn't pinned, no one was holding him down, but he couldn't get up. His turnouts felt glued to the asphalt.
”Buck?” Hen's face appeared above him.
”I can't feel my legs.”
Instantly, there was alarm in the slope of her brows. ”What happened?”
”I tripped.”
Hen was touching his legs through the heavy fabric. ”Can you feel this?”
”Yes.” It felt like he was losing time. Suddenly, Chimney was there. And Eddie. He blinked and Ravi appeared behind Hen's shoulder. There was nothing to focus on. The sky was so blue, not a single cloud anywhere. The colour almost rippled.
He was pulled to his feet. He was as surprised as the rest of them, when he could stand on his own. Hen was professional, but the concern underneath was obvious.
”We're getting you checked out, just to be safe.” He only caught half of what Hen was saying.
”Do I have to ride in the back?”
”Just to be safe,” she said again.
His vitals were fine, but they hooked him up to the monitor anyway. To be safe. He watched the ceiling of the ambulance, as they rode to the nearest hospital. The sounds of his vitals swam in and out of focus. He didn't know who was driving. Eddie would make sense. Hen was talking to someone, but Buck couldn't really hear it. There were no sirens.
There were pockets of silence, that shouldn't be there. The pulse oximeter made his hand feel heavy. He raised it to his chest and touched it with his other hand. The hard plastic felt more real than his skin.
The transfer was weird. They had him take off his turnouts in the ambulance bay, before presenting him with a wheelchair. His legs worked, even though he couldn't feel them. The nurse holding the chair smiled at him. Buck sat down and let them take him away.
It was busy, like it always was. The noise closed around him like a blanket. Everything was muffled and sort of out of focus. If it wasn't for the uniform, they probably would've had him wait in the chairs, instead of taking him straight back. They stuck him in a bay. The person next to him had a brand new cast on their arm.
Someone pulled the curtain shut around the bed. The noise was still there, but it was easier to see. Hen was still with him.
”How're you feeling?”
”I don't know,” he muttered. Without his turnouts, he could touch his legs. He ran his hands up and down his thighs. There was some amount of sensation, but it felt dull. Maybe delayed. ”Where're the others?”
”Waiting room.”
”They should head out.”
Hen looked at him for a beat. ”They will, if you're OK.”
”I am.”
Time skipped again. Someone came through, asking questions, but he didn't remember answering them. Hen was talking to them. There was a lanyard around their neck, with a bundle of IDs, but they weren't wearing scrubs or a coat. His eyes tracked Hen, as she came back.
”They're gonna take you upstairs.”
”What's upstairs?” he asked.
”Psych is upstairs. They think you're experiencing a mental health episode.”
He nodded. ”OK. Are you gonna head out?”
”I'm not allowed to come with you, so I will, yes.”
He didn't like the way she was looking at him. It was soft and … and something else. He patted his pockets and started pulling stuff out. ”You should take my knives. I don't wanna lose them.” He handed over his knives and a handful of other bits. ”Can I keep my phone?”
”Probably. They didn't say if you needed to be admitted, but you're not on a hold.” He watched her cram his stuff into her pockets. ”Tell them to call me, when they know more, yeah?”
”I will.”
*
”Dissociative episode?” He was sitting in a chair. He didn't remember getting out of the bed.
”Yes, Mr. Buckley. A mild one.”
By the tone of her voice, he'd asked before. ”Is it dangerous?”
”Generally speaking, no. It may very well be a one off. Although, given your history, you might have been experiencing dissociation for some time, without noticing. It's a symptom and I highly recommend you talk to someone. It's treatable, but I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for you here.”
”I can leave?”
”Yes, you can. I'd be more comfortable if someone came to take you home, but I can't stop you from walking out on your own.”
”I can make some calls.”
”Would you like me to make them for you?”
”Uh, no. I-I can manage.”
He instinctually went for the stairwell. If the building was up to code, it was usually the safest place to be. Sound travelled weirdly, but it was relatively quiet. He sat on the steps and scrolled through his contacts. The scrolling screen made him feel a bit dizzy. He could feel the cold from the stairs seep through the fabric of his pants.
If he called the station, the whole crew would come running, sirens and all.
Maddie would be upset. She was at work, so she'd be busy, too, but she would probably drop everything and come anyway.
Tommy. It would be such a shitty thing to do. Come save me again. No, he couldn't ask him that. Although, maybe Tommy would know more about this than he did. He could call Tommy, ask some questions and hang up.
”Evan?”
He didn't remember making the call or putting the phone to his ear. ”Hi, Tommy.”
”Everything OK?”
”Do you have PTSD?”
The line was silent for a moment. Someone entered the stairwell above him, hurried down one flight, slamming the door after them. The sound ricocheted. Buck felt his whole body go tight.
”I have PTSD. Why do you ask?”
”Dissociation,” he forced out between clenched teeth. ”Have you– Do you know what that is?”
”I do.”
His phone case felt slick in his hand. ”How do I– How do you– What am I supposed to do?”
”Where are you?”
”First Pres. They told me I can go home, but I don't know what to do.” His throat was parched. ”You're on shift, aren't you?”
”On a call, actually.”
Great. He was still ex-boyfriend of the fucking year. ”Why'd you pick up the phone?”
”Because it was your name on the screen. Who's taking you home?”
His eyes were watering. ”I don't know. I'm here alone and I don't know who to call.” There was noise in his head. It took a moment to pinpoint it was coming from Tommy's end of the line and not the stairwell he was sitting in.
”I can be there in twenty minutes.”
”That's not why I called.”
”You're dissociating alone in a hospital. I've been there. Do you want me to come get you?”
”Please.”
*
He couldn't tell if it was getting better. He kept checking his phone for the time, but the numbers didn't stick. It could have been twenty minutes, it could have been more, it could have been less.
He'd moved from the stairwell, to a chair near what looked like a reception. His ass and thighs still felt cold. He hadn't been to this part of the hospital before. He hoped he'd given Tommy directions; he couldn't remember if he did.
When Tommy found him, he was in uniform. Buck had called him on scene, knew the likelihood of him being on shift, knew that the only way he could make it to the hospital in twenty mintues, was if he got a ride immediately, yet the sight of the uniform was what made all those things connect to each other.
”You left work for me.”
Tommy reached out, rubbing his hand firmly up and down Buck's arm. ”I did. Hi, Evan.”
”Hi.”
”Do you need to sign out or anything?”
”I don't know.”
”That's OK, I'll ask.”
He should have been paying attention, but he couldn't. His entire focus narrowed down to Tommy's hand on his arm, and the way the light caught on the metal of Tommy's name tag and shield.
”Do you have your belongings?”
Buck nodded. ”Gave Hen my stuff before she left, I only have my phone and ID.” He patted his chest pocket, feeling the shape of the plastic. There was no pen in the pocket. He must have handed that over, too.
Tommy steered him out of the hospital, hand heavy and firm on his back or his arm, depending on how much space was available. He didn't register much, until he was sitting down. The seat was warm. Tommy had sat him down on a bench outside.
”How're you feeling?”
”Weird.”
Tommy squeezed his arm again. ”Have you dissociated before?”
”The doctor said I probably have, but I don't know.”
Tommy nodded. ”Most people don't notice, until it's a problem.”
He looked at Tommy's hand. ”Why are you squeezing me?”
”Can you feel it?”
”Not really. Is that bad?”
”No, it's not bad. It's a grounding technique. Different people need different things.” He held out his arm. ”Can you feel me?”
With both hands, Buck grabbed Tommy's forearm. His skin was warm, the hair was scritchy. ”I can feel you.”
”If it helps, keep going. Do you need me to call anyone?”
Buck stroked up and down Tommy's arm. The feeling of the hair against his palms felt good. He did the same thing to his own arm, but it didn't feel like anything, so he stuck to Tommy's arm. ”Maybe Hen? I don't really know what to do. I can't work like this, can I?”
”Probably not.” Tommy got out his phone. ”Once you get a handle on it, you'll be fine, but until then.”
Buck tried to pay attention, but it was hard to focus on anything other than how weird he felt. It wasn't like being tired. He was watching his own hands touching Tommy's arm. He knew the hands were his, but it felt like they weren't. He'd been a bit panicked earlier, but he knew he could trust Tommy to handle things.
”Evan?”
”Sorry, what?”
Tommy held the phone away from his ear. ”Do you wanna swing by the station or go straight home?”
”My car's at the station.”
”We'll swing by the station first.” Buck couldn't tell if Tommy was talking to him or not.
Tommy put his hand on his knee and squeezed. ”Here's what we'll do. I'll order an Uber, we'll go to the station, get your things, tell Howie you need time off, and then I'll drive you home. Does that sound OK?”
He scritched Tommy's arm hair. ”Sounds good.”
*
Tommy must have covered it over the phone, because Hen didn't ask questions, other than how he was feeling.
”Tired. Weird. Out of it.”
”I bet,” Hen said gently, as she handed over the stuff from his pockets. ”Are you OK with,” she pointed to Tommy. Tommy made a face and she made one back.
”Yeah, I'm fine.”
”I can take you to Maddie's place, if you want?” Tommy said.
”No, I'd rather be home. She doesn't need a third baby.”
Tommy didn't say fourth, but Buck could feel him thinking it.
”You've got time?” Hen asked.
”Got a forty-eight off, starting tomorrow. I already cleared it,” Tommy said. Buck didn't bother asking when he'd made the arrangements, because he'd probably been right next to him, out of his mind and not listening.
He got an intense sense of déjà vu, when he asked Chimney for time off, even though it wasn't like the last time at all. Tommy was standing at his shoulder, still squeezing his arm intermittently. Here and there, he felt it more.
”Give me an update in a couple of days.”
”Thanks, Chim.”
”You've got it. We keeping Maddie out of the loop?”
Buck grimaced. ”For now, maybe? There's nothing she can do and I don't want her to worry.”
Chimney looked at Tommy. ”Want me to keep a lid on that, too?”
Buck sighed and looked to the heavens. ”Do what you want, I can't deal with whatever this is right now.”
”What?” Chimney frowned.
”The hostility. I'm gonna go home before I throw up. Thanks for the time off.” He grabbed Tommy by the hand and led them to the locker room.
Tommy took his duffel before he had the chance to do anything with it, or attempt to carry it himself. ”Are you nauseous?”
”I'm a lot of things.” He fished his car keys out of the side pocket and handed them over. ”Can we go?”
”Of course.” Tommy shouldered the bag and moved the keys to the same side, so he could hold Buck's hand. ”Let's get you home.”
Tommy put the bag in the backseat, while Buck climbed in. It felt weird sitting in his car in his uniform. It took a second to figure out why his surroundings looked weird. He hadn't sat in the passenger seat of his own car before.
The car shook, as Tommy slammed the driver's side door. Ravi waved when they pulled out and gestured to the phone in his hand, in a way that probably meant text me.
Maybe he could ask Tommy to type a message for the group chat later. If he did it himself, he wouldn't know what to say. Sorry I lost my mind today.
They'd been driving for a bit, when he managed to make himself ask, ”Should I be scared?”
”No,” Tommy said. ”Not about this. It's OK if you are, it feels horrible, especially in the beginning, but you don't need to be scared of it. You're not about to be admitted. Nothing is going to happen to you. You'll learn how to handle it and you'll be OK.”
”That sounds too easy.”
Tommy smiled softly. ”It does. It's not easy, but the sun will still rise tomorrow.”
”The sun will still rise?” he huffed.
”I've got more, if you want?”
”Sure.”
”Even your worst day will end. Doesn't matter how bad it is, the day will end. Time doesn't care, it'll go on whether you want it to or not, and sometimes a new day is all you need.”
”You really believe that?”
Tommy shrugged. ”I don't know if believe is the right word. There's no way to pause time, so it's true, even if it sounds corny.”
”You think tomorrow will be better?”
”You hit your limit today. It's not a hard line. It doesn't have to be dramatic. Once you hit you limit, you hit it, it doesn't have to be something big. I've had panic attacks in so many grocery stores. And it's never anything special. A toddler crying in the distance, when I haven't slept well. The lights flickering in a weird way. Catching my own reflection in a freezer door. It's stupid, it's annoying, it's always inconvenient. It sucks, but life goes on. Sometimes the next day is worse, but there's a day after that that might be better.”
”Sounds like suicide prevention.”
”It is.”
Buck wasn't sure he liked how easily Tommy talked about it. Tommy didn't talk like this, unless an engine was involved.
”Hey.” Tommy tapped him on the thigh. ”I'm a vet. I'm in the demographic.”
”Oh. No, I know, I just … I forgot.”
At the next red light, Tommy turned in his seat. ”Better or worse?”
Buck took a moment to check. His legs still didn't feel attached. He curled his toes in his boots. It didn't do much of anything, but that could just be the boots. ”Worse, I think. Or maybe just different.” The dashboard was shielding his legs from the sun. The temperature difference between his legs and his torso felt weird.
”What you said to Howie, what was that about?”
Buck brushed him off, ”Doesn't matter.”
He could hear Tommy squeeze the steering wheel. ”Getting upset can make the dissociation worse. You looked upset.”
”He's been criticising me lately. I don't think it's warranted,” he sniffed. ”But what do I know, I'm not a captain.”
”I've been doing this twice as long as you, and you're better than me. If Howard has a problem with you, it's not about your skills. You're one of the best firefighters I've ever met.”
Buck looked into the middle distance. ”Can you pull over?”
Tommy checked all the mirrors. ”Not really. Hold on.” He changed lanes a little too tightly, earning two horns and a rude gesture.
Buck was out of the car, before it was at a full stop. He moved too fast and ended up on his knees. Tommy came around the front, as fast as he could.
”Evan.”
Buck was breathing too fast. His fingers were tingling. ”I don't like this.” The grass under his knees was brittle and dead.
”Talk to me.”
Tommy was crouched beside him. He fumbled for Tommy's forearm and dug his fingers into the skin. ”Why does it feel like this?”
”I think you're having a panic attack, honey. You're not breathing right.” Tommy's other hand settled between his shoulderblades. He could barely feel it.
His field of vision narrowed down, like the wide open air was closing in on him. ”How do– How do I make it stop?”
Tommy took his hand. It felt weak and numb in his grip. Tommy flattened Buck's fingers against his chest and held it there. ”Breathe with me.”
Buck felt stupid and useless. He knew how to talk people through panic attacks. He knew what to say, knew how to box breathe, but he couldn't make himself do it. He hated Tommy's shirt. It was full of buttons and sharp things. He wanted it to be soft like a t-shirt or bare skin.
”Evan, come on. You've got this.”
”I don't,” he cried.
”You do, come on.”
Instead of following Tommy's breathing, he curled into Tommy's chest. Weirdly, it was easier to breathe while sobbing. Tommy's arms felt heavy around his shoulders, and real, like nothing else had all day.
”I've got you,” Tommy said into the crown of his head. ”I've got you.”
”I hate this.”
”I know, baby, I know, it fucking sucks, but you're OK.”
He felt like a child. ”I wanna go home.”
”We'll go in a minute. Keep breathing.”
He closed his eyes and tried to do what Tommy said.
Buck hiccupped, until he couldn't cry anymore. Tommy was muttering into his hair, but Buck couldn't hear it over the rushing in his ears. Looking over Tommy's shoulder, he recognised the gas station close to his house. The sky was still blue and empty. ”Can we go now?”
Judging by the sound, Tommy kissed the back of his head. ”Yeah, baby, we can go. Can you stand?”
With Tommy's help, he could. Tommy practically lifted him into the car. The car wasn't quiet, but when the driver's side door closed, Buck's ears rang as if it was. His body felt frozen in place.
”Evan?”
”I feel like I overreacted.”
”You reacted. Nothing over about it.”
Buck fumbled for his hand and squeezed as hard as he could. ”Take me home, before I start crying again.”
Tommy reached across his body and fastened his seatbelt for him. He only let go for long enough to get the car back on the road, before his hand was back in Buck's. The way he glanced between the road and the phone on the dash, told Buck he wasn't familiar with this neighborhood.
When his house got in view, Buck pointed it out to him. ”It's this one. The white one. Just park in the driveway.”
Tommy pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The ensuing silence felt suffocating. It should've been a relief, but it wasn't. He was steps away from his front door, from his home, but he didn't feel drawn to it. Whatever home he longed for, it wasn't this house.
Tommy stroked his arm again. Sunlight bounced off his name tag.
”You wanna go somewhere else?”
He did, but he didn't know where. ”No, this is fine.”
Tommy removed the key from the ignition and grabbed the rest of Buck's keys from the cup holder, clipping the bundle back together. Even though Buck wasn't moving, Tommy climbed out of the car, and grabbed the duffel from the backseat. He came around the side and opened the passenger door.
Buck unclipped his seatbelt and took the offered hand, letting Tommy pull him out. When his boots touched the ground, he could only feel the impact in his knees, not in his feet. His keys jingled in Tommy's hand.
Tommy steered them inside.
As the front door closed behind them, both of them automatically went for their shirts, pulling them out of their pants. They looked at each other and smiled.
”Force of habit,” Tommy offered.
Buck wasn't burdened with anything and continued pulling his work shirt free. It didn't feel natural to wear his uniform at home. ”You can take yours off, too. All your stuff is still at Harbor, right?”
Tommy hadn't been to this house before, but he managed to pick the spot on instinct. He put the duffel down in the same spot Buck did, and with practiced motions, undid the buttons, until he could pull his shirt off. The blue undershirt sat nice and snug, in all the right places.
Buck's undershirt had been soaked with sweat several times over and the sleeves were bunching uncomfortably in his armpits.
”I've got my phone and my wallet, everything else can wait,” Tommy said, like it wasn't a pain in the ass to have to retrieve his car from Harbor. Buck did his best not to think about he logistics. Tommy might not have his keys on him. If he packed his own lunch today, it was bound to go bad, before he got back to Harbor.
Tommy put his shirt on one of the hooks by the door. ”What do you need?”
”I don't–” Buck didn't know how to answer that. He looked around his house. ”I'm tired.”
Tommy took the shirt from his hands and put it on the hook, on top of his own. ”Wanna lie down?”
”Yeah,” he nodded. ”Yeah, I'd like that.”
”Where's the bedroom?”
Buck sat heavily on the side of his bed. The frame shook with the force. Tommy sat next to him. The bed hardly moved. Buck slumped against him.
”What am I supposed to do?”
”Lie down.”
”OK.” He tipped backwards. Tommy made an amused little sound. There was a shape of light on the ceiling. The sun must be reflecting off of something outside.
Time felt delayed again. He felt Tommy tug on his legs, but his boots were already off, by the time he understood what was happening. Tommy urged him to move and lie down properly, so that was what he did.
Buck pulled his legs to his chest and curled up. He was more of a sprawler, but it felt safer this way.
Tommy lied down next to him, flat on his back, ankles crossed, hands clasped on his stomach. There was a decent amount of space between them.
”They called it an episode. A dissociative episode.”
”Mm. I guess you could call it that,” Tommy hummed.
”You wouldn't?”
”Episode sounds like there's a beginning and an end. It's more fluid than that, in my experience.”
”Can you explain it to me?”
”Dissociation? It's supposed to make you feel safe. If you detach from the present, you don't have to deal with whatever is happening.”
His eyes were fixed on a cluster of freckles, on the back of Tommy's arm, half hidden in the sheets. ”This doesn't make me feel safe.”
Tommy made a considering sound. ”I think you told me about it once, how backwards this whole thing is. Survival instincts and whatnot. No matter how dire things are, your body is going to do everything it can to survive, no matter the cost. It's about surviving the moment, not the future. Doesn't matter what's on the other side, the point is to get there. Quality of life isn't something your body worries about, when you're dying.”
”What's so bad about this moment that I can't be here?”
”That's the problem with dissociation, you get good at it. If it happens a lot, it's bound to happen at the wrong time eventually.”
The doctor at the hospital had probably explained it to him, but he couldn't remember anything. ”Can you give me an example?”
”An example of what?”
”How this is supposed to keep me safe?”
”Sure,” Tommy said. ”Say you're a child and your parents yell at you a lot. You don't want you parents to yell at you, so you dissociate to make it feel less bad. You're a child, you can't go anywhere, you can't leave. Even if you're too young to understand the concept, your body understands that your survival depends on your parents. Dissociating means you don't feel the bad things as much, you might not even remember much of it. Makes the situation feel less bad than it is, and your brain thinks that's what you need to survive.”
He'd been at work. Nothing happened.
Tommy went on, ”But if you're stuck and things don't get better, you do it more often. Maybe you have a coach at school who yells at you. He's not yelling bad things, but the volume is what you react to, and suddenly you dissociate during that, too.”
The nausea came back.
”Want me to stop?”
”Yeah,” Buck muttered. ”I get it, I just don't–” Chimney yelled at him, earlier. They were securing the scene and Chimney asked him to double check something he'd already checked thrice. ”How do I make it stop?”
”Depends on why it happens in the first place. For me, control is a big thing. When I feel like I don't have any, it gets worse.”
Buck closed his eyes and curled up a little tighter. He should've changed out of his uniform before lying down, or at least taken off his belt. If he was dissociated anyway, maybe he he wouldn't feel it. ”Why did you answer my call?”
Tommy hesitated. Buck couldn't meet his eyes, but it didn't stop Tommy from looking at him. ”Because I care about you. Boyfriend or not, that doesn't change.”
Buck didn't think he was going to admit it so freely.
”I'm sorry I keep doing this to you.”
”Do what?” Tommy asked.
”Ask you to do things for me. I've never done anything for you.”
Tommy shifted onto his side. ”It's not about that,” he said quietly. ”I'm here because I want to be.” He reached out and dragged his thumb across Buck's cheek.
”Are you sure?”
”If you wanted someone else, you would've called someone else. Right?”
Buck rubbed his face. Tears were pouring out of his eyes and he couldn't feel a thing. ”I always think of you first.”
”I'm sorry about that.”
”It sucks,” he sniffled. Tommy's hand was on the bed, between them. There was a healing cut on the back of it.
”Do you have tissues somewhere?”
”Yeah, in the,” he flapped his hand over his shoulder.
Tommy sat up, leaned on his arm and reached across Buck's body, squishing him a little in the process, to dig through the nightstand behind him. He gave Buck a handful of tissues.
Buck dapped at his face and found a lot more snot than he was expecting. ”Look away.” Tommy smiled. He lied down and covered his eyes, while Buck blew his nose. His ears popped. Sound was still weird. It took a couple of tries to get airflow through his nose. ”What am I supposed to tell them?”
”Who?”
”Everyone.”
Tommy removed the hand from his eyes and laced his fingers on his stomach. ”You don't have to tell them anything.”
”Of course I do.”
”You don't,” Tommy said.
”I got a psych assessment.”
”You had a brief conversation with a mental health professional.”
”Tommy. I'm in bed with my ex-boyfriend and I'm not entirely sure either one of us is actually here.”
”Howard gave you the rest of the week, with a possible extension. You don't have to do anything right now.”
He was breathing fast again. ”I have to do something.”
”Look at me? Evan.” He reluctantly turned his head. ”You don't,” Tommy said.
”Are you sure?”
”I'm sure.”
”Can I touch you?”
”Of course. Anything.”
His whole body felt shaky, as he moved across the bed. He tugged Tommy's t-shirt out of his pants and wrapped his arms around his middle, where his skin was warm and alive, and he could feel him breathing. Tommy's arms closed around his shoulders.
”Can you feel it?”
He nodded into Tommy's chest. ”I think so.”
”Tell me what you can feel?”
He adjusted his hold. Tommy's heart was beating against his face. ”You're warm. Can feel your ribs. And that scar you keep telling me isn't a bullet hole. Can feel you breathe on me.”
Tommy huffed. His breath cascaded down the back of Buck's neck.
He knew Tommy was there, but there was this … this film over everything. A disconnection.
”How does it feel when it goes away?”
”I've never felt it,” Tommy said into the top of his head. ”I just … Suddenly I'm more here than I was before.”
”Did you ever feel this way with me?” he asked into the bunched fabric of Tommy's t-shirt.
”Probably, but I didn't notice.” He could hear the smile stretch across Tommy's face. ”Was too busy looking at you.”
”Are you being nice to me because I don't feel well?” He felt Tommy gently trace the shell of his ear. He closed his eyes.
Tommy's throat clicked. ”I've never wanted to hurt you, Evan. I know I have, but not because I wanted to.”
”Why did you?”
”Because I'm scared. All the time. And I didn't want you to know that.”
His voice was muffled, but he didn't want to move. ”What're you scared of?”
Tommy huffed. ”Everything – but mainly you finding out I wasn't the person you thought I was.”
”Did you lie to me?”
”No.”
Buck moved one of his hands up between Tommy's shoulderblades. His skin was clammy there. ”Do you know who I am?”
”I think I know the important parts, but I'm sure there's a lot I don't know about you.”
It took effort to keep breathing. He couldn't remember a single conversation they'd had. All the conversations and all the memories that played over and over in his head, when he couldn't sleep, were conveniently gone.
”What did I do?”
”You didn't do anything,” Tommy said softly.
”Was it the marriage thing? Abby? Moving in?”
”It wasn't any of that. You didn't do anything wrong.”
”That doesn't make sense.”
”I was happy.”
Buck blinked. ”Happy.”
”Being happy scares me.” He said it with such finality and ease, he'd clearly thought about it a lot.
It was all too easy to break the hold Tommy had on him. Buck propped himself up over him. Tommy's eyes were red. ”I wouldn't have hurt you. You said I would, but I wouldn't.” A dark spot appeared on Tommy's shirt. Buck wiped at his face. He was crying again. Or maybe he didn't stop.
”I know.”
”Why'd you say it then?” he sniffled. Gravity was not helping matters.
”Because I was scared. You were happy, and all I could think about was all the horrible ways it could end.”
”You should've told me that.”
”I know.” Moisture pooled in the inner corner of his eye. ”I didn't know how.”
”I would've listened. Even if you said it wrong.”
Tommy chuckled. ”I'm sure you would've.”
”You should've given me the chance.”
”I wish I had.”
”Fuck.” Buck sat up and looked for where he'd put the tissues. His whole face felt sticky. ”You should've stayed with me,” he said and shoved tissue up his nostrils, to stop the flood of snot.
Tommy sat up, too. He put a pillow against the headboard, putting some distance between them. ”I'm a coward, Evan. I couldn't.”
”And yet you're here. Again.”
”I didn't say any of this was logical.”
”So, what, you're gonna show up when I call for the rest of your life? Don't answer that. Don't–” He sighed. ”I always do this. I always fucking do this.” He dug through the nightstand for a new tissue.
”Do what?”
”Chase people. I'm losing my fucking mind, why am I even thinking about relationships?”
”You're not losing your mind.”
”Then what the fuck is this?” he snapped.
Tommy looked at him gently. ”A reasonable reaction to what I'm sure is a lot of pressure.”
”Pressure,” he huffed. ”Sure.”
Patiently, Tommy said, ”You called me, from the hospital. Not your team, me. Hen was waiting for you to call and you still called me. If that doesn't speak volumes, I don't know what does.”
He had to bite it back. He couldn't tell Tommy he was different, because if he did, he'd have to say it out loud and it would snowball, and he'd say horrible things about his friends, and that wasn't a reality he could exist in. After everything they'd done for him, he couldn't sit here and be ungrateful.
”I called you because I thought you might know what it was like, and you said you did. I'd rather have an awkward conversation with someone who knows what it feels like, than someone who doesn't and looks at me with – with pity.”
Tommy scooted off the bed. ”I'll get you some water.”
Buck looked at the divot in the bedding Tommy's body left behind. He scrunched the tissues in his hands. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't sure he could be alone, but could he really ask Tommy to stay? What if it didn't get better? What he woke up tomorrow, feeling the exact same way?
Tommy returned and came around the side of the bed, sitting next to him. The mattress dipped under his weight, making Buck sway toward him. He took the open water bottle from Tommy's hand. He was halfway through before he realised how thirsty he was.
”Think you can eat? Or sleep?”
Buck looked at the pillows. They'd made a mess of them. ”Yeah,” he muttered. ”Yeah, maybe.”
Tommy took the bottle from his hand and put it on the nightstand.
Buck remembered to remove his belt this time. The buckle clattered against the floor. ”Lie with me?”
Tommy got in on the other side. He lied flat on his back, hands clasped. Buck couldn't tell if it was a military thing or if Tommy was secretly eighty years old. Buck still felt safer on his side, with his legs curled up infront of his stomach.
As he closed his eyes, he felt just how exhausted he was. His body was sore all over. His stomach hurt.
Sleep didn't come. He was lying there, perfectly still, doing everything he could to just focus on the sound of Tommy breathing, but he couldn't do it. He was so on edge, he heard it every time a car went by on the street.
He checked, but Tommy didn't appear to be asleep. Tommy was doing what Buck couldn't. He was lying still, at rest, breathing slow and even, without so much as a twitch in his fingers.
He jumped a little when Buck touched him. Buck snuck his hand under Tommy's, where they were clasped on his stomach. Tommy adjusted his hands, but let Buck's stay there, snug against his body.
It was a little easier to focus on Tommy's breathing, when he could feel it, too, but sleep continued to evade him. His body felt heavy and so, so tired. He rubbed his face into the sheets, his eyes were watering again.
”Do you think it's me?”
”You, what?” Tommy asked quietly.
”It has to be, right? I'm the common denominator. All my relationships go to shit because I'm in them.”
Tommy's hands curled around his; one around his wrist, one around his fingers. ”That's– No. It's not you.”
”How could it not be?”
”I didn't leave because of you.”
Saliva pooled behind his teeth. ”But you left.”
Tommy scooted down, putting them face to face. ”Evan. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done. OK? My whole life, I thought it took effort. I thought it was something you had to work hard to get, but with you – I didn't have to try. I've never met someone who was as easy to love as you are.”
”Shut up.”
Tommy huffed a little, and reached out, plucking a tear off Buck's cheek. ”It's not you. It was never you,” he said softly.
Buck sniffled. ”Was the thought of staying really that bad?”
”Nothing about you is bad, sweetheart, I promise you.”
He pressed his face to Tommy's arm and tried not to sob too hard. He was so tired of crying. ”I wanted you to stay.”
”I know.”
”I wanted you here, with me.” Tommy didn't reply this time. They were running in cirlces anyway. Buck fumbled for Tommy's hand and pressed it to his face. He couldn't count the number of nights he'd dreamt of Tommy sleeping beside him, of reaching for him in the night, hearing him breathe, feeling the heat of his body. ”Stay with me,” he said into the palm of Tommy's hand.
”I'm not going anywhere.”
Buck closed his eyes as tightly as he could. Tommy shifted and Buck became a ragdoll in his arms. Tommy hauled him close and scooped Buck against the side of his body. ”This used to put you out like a light.”
”I think it was what we did before this that did it,” he said, but cuddled close anyway.
*
He didn't think it could get worse. He woke up what felt like ten years later, with a pounding headache. He groaned into Tommy's armpit.
Tommy jumped a little. ”What's up?” his voice sounded deliciously sleepy, but Buck wasn't in the right headspace to appreciate it.
”My head hurts.”
”Where do you keep your stuff?”
”Cabinet next to the fridge.”
Tommy gently eased out from under him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. ”Be right back.”
While he was gone, Buck breathed into the sheets. If he didn't move, maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad.
He heard the rattle of the Kirkland Signature five-hundred count bottle, before Tommy entered the bedroom.
”Did you get hurt?”
Buck held out his hand, eyes still closed. ”Please.” The bed dipped, as Tommy helped him sit up. He only opened his eyes long enough to locate the tablets and the water bottle, swallowing two. ”Can you get the acetaminophen, too?”
”Yeah, sure.”
He used to be more cautious, but after everything, his kidneys were the least of his concerns. Tommy handed him the other Kirkland Signature five-hundred count bottle. Buck swallowed two. Pain management was part of the job, but he could feel Tommy's eyes on him.
”Broke my ribs a while ago,” he muttered, eyes closed again. ”They still hurt sometimes.”
He followed the sound of the bottles being moved to the nightstand. Maybe his senses were coming back. ”Give me your arm?” He rubbed his palm along the length of Tommy's forearm. It felt real enough. When he touched his own, it felt dull.
”Better?”
”Not really,” Buck said. ”Can you?” Tommy took his arm and rubbed firmly. Forearm first, then up his bicep and shoulder. It felt warm. Maybe. ”I'm not sure I know what it's supposed to feel like.”
”It's not the best way to gauge it anyway,” Tommy said.
His head felt too heavy for his neck. He held on to Tommy, afraid he'd tip over if he didn't. Carefully, he lied back down. If he didn't move, maybe it wouldn't feel as bad. He closed his eyes tightly, while Tommy lied down beside him. The movement of the bed wasn't nice.
As the movement stopped, Tommy touched his thumb to the skin between Buck's brows. He flinched at first, not expecting it. ”Sleeping didn't help, did it?” Tommy asked quietly.
”No,” he muttered, and turned his face into the bed. Tommy rubbed his back.
Everything felt horrible. He didn't know what time it was, his body was full of dead spots, and if he thought too hard about Tommy being here to witness it, he might vomit. Food poisoning would have been more dignified.
”Do you freak out like I do?”
”When I dissociate?”
”Mm?”
”Sometimes,” Tommy said. ”You get used to it, but after … after my last tour – I was in Germany, before they shipped me back. Logically, I know what happened, but it felt like I woke up, as I was walking off the plane. One moment I was in Germany and suddenly I was home. I didn't remember anything in between. We had a console – Xbox – on base. Walking off that plane, I felt like I was in a game. Call of Duty or whatever. My hands looked like … like they were both too close and too far away. The perspective was all wrong. I threw up on the tarmac. I was shaking so hard, I could barely stay on my feet.”
”What happened?”
”It was a long flight, and I was still healing, so they put it down to dehydration and lack of sleep.” Tommy smiled a little, Buck could hear it in his voice. ”But I also didn't disclose that I was in a fucking video game, so they didn't take that into account.”
That made him feel a little better. Falling down wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. And he was pretty sure he kept his cool, before Tommy showed up. Relatively speaking.
”How do you deal with it?”
”Besides vomiting? If I can, I go outside. Everyone talks about grounding techniques, but none of those work for me. I go outside and feel the wind on my skin. Look at the sky. Watch the clouds. Makes it feel less bad.”
”There's no wind today.”
”There's always a little.”
He wasn't sure which one of them moved first, but next thing, they got out of bed, walked through the house and out on the patio. Tommy grabbed the chairs, putting them on the grass, side by side.
It felt weird walking on the grass with socks on, but Buck didn't have it in him to do anything about it. The sun was very bright.
Tommy got out his phone and checked the Windy app, as if he didn't already know everything there was to know about the weather. He checked the thing fifty times a day.
He shielded his eyes and looked around. ”There is one single cloud,” he pointed, then looked at Buck. ”But maybe you don't need clouds.”
Buck squinted at him. ”I can't see shit.”
”Forget the cloud thing, just try to take it in. Whatever you wanna take in,” Tommy said and sat down.
His head still hurt, but it was nice being outside. The chair was cool from being in the shade. There was grass under his feet. The sound of a lawnmower in the distance. Tommy.
His head sat heavy on his shoulders. Tommy said to look at the sky, but all Buck wanted to do was keep his eyes closed and let his head hang forward.
Then the wind came. The leaves on the trees started rustling. The sound was far off at first, but came closer as it moved through the surrounding yards. As the trees in his own yard announced the arrival, Buck tipped his head back. The breeze tugged at his hair and caressed the sides of his neck, the hair on his arms.
”Oh.” It barely lasted a minute. ”That felt good,” he murmured.
”Should be better tomorrow.”
Buck stuck his hand out, between the chairs. Tommy took his hand and squeezed gently.
He'd forgotten just how gentle Tommy was. Sometimes he was certain he was exaggerating it, so it would hurt more. That he'd lost the only person who'd ever treated him this way. But Tommy really was that gentle, even now.
Buck wiped the tears from his eyes, before Tommy had a chance to see. There was no point in imagining what Tommy would have done, had he been around for the aftermath of the hostage situation. His family had not been unkind. They had done everything they could. It wasn't their fault that they didn't do it like Tommy did. Or would have done, had he known.
Bobby would have done it differently, too. Bobby would have known what it was like.
Buck couldn't fault his family for not understanding – he was happy they didn't – but having felt it himself, what he did when Bobby came to them, all those years ago, it wasn't helpful. Buck had no idea what he was doing, and he'd made it worse in his ignorance. Now he knew what it felt like to be the addict in a room full of people who didn't.
Tommy didn't talk about it, but Buck knew he would have understood in ways the rest of them didn't.
That was the horrible thing about Tommy. He dropped everything, before Buck mustered the courage to ask. In Tommy's eyes, what he did today wasn't special. Tommy loved so viciously, Buck hardly knew what to do with it. He didn't even say it back.
”Tommy?”
”Mm?”
”Are you dating?”
”No.”
”Why not?”
”I don't date. Didn't do it before you, and I'm not gonna do it now.”
Buck opened his eyes, glancing at him. ”You dated Abby.”
”She asked.”
”You asked me.”
Tommy opened one eye, so he could squint over at him. ”I did.”
”So you do ask people on dates.”
”No, I ask you on dates.”
”You should ask me again.” The hand around his fingers twitched.
”Where do you wanna go?”
He looked up at the sky, up at the endless blue, that made him kind of dizzy. If he thought about it too hard, the crushing weight of the fact that he existed on a planet and everything up there was technically the emptiness of space, would come down on him like an anvil. And to think, Tommy thought the sky was relaxing. ”I don't know. Nowhere. Your house. Don't really care.”
”I fixed that dining chair you hate.”
”It creaks like it's possessed, OK?”
”Not anymore.”
”Fine, then take me on a date to see your chair. I'm sure it's a great place to dissociate.”
Tommy chuckled. ”Maybe it's uncomfortable enough to snap you out of it.”
”I didn't want to be rude, but your dining chairs suck.”
”I've been meaning to replace them, but they came with the house and they do the job.”
Buck looked at him. ”You bought that house in 2008.”
”Things take time!”
It took a beat, but then they were laughing at each other. Tommy didn't let go of his hand. Buck looked at their fingers, laced together.
”Thank you for doing this,” he said. ”For being here. I don't think I've thanked you enough.”
”You don't have to thank me. Not for this,” Tommy said softly.
”Thank you for the other things, too. The helicopters. Bobby.”
Tommy nodded. ”I'll accept a thank you for that.”
”Thank you.”
”You're welcome.”
Another breeze came through the trees. It lasted a little longer than the first one. He was tempted to ask if Windy was predicting the wind to pick up today, or if it just felt that way because he was paying attention.
”Did the pills work?” Tommy asked.
”Maybe. Can't really tell.” He was getting a little too used to everything hurting all the time. ”What do I do now?”
”What do you want to do?”
”I don't wanna do anything.”
”Then don't,” Tommy said. ”Just be here, with me. You don't have to do anything else.”
”What about tomorrow?”
”We'll figure that out tomorrow.”
We.
”You're staying?” Buck asked. ”Here, I mean?”
”As long as you want me to.”
”Is there an upper limit?”
”No,” Tommy said. He didn't even wrap it in a joke, didn't say, death is the ultimate limit, but other than that, no.
Buck was afraid Tommy would change his mind, so he didn't say anything.
Tommy grew restless. He played with Buck's finger joints, instead of just holding his hand.
”What do you wanna do?” Buck asked, eyes on the sky. There were clouds at the very edge of the horizon. Big, white ones.
”When you get hungry, I'll make food, and you'll accuse me of not having tastebuds,” he said, making Buck laugh, ”and I'll sleep next to you, so I'm there if you need me, and then tomorrow, we'll figure out what you wanna do.”
”You sure?”
”I am.”
If this whole thing was bound to crash and burn again, Buck wanted to know. ”And if what I want is for you to not leave, then what?”
Tommy turned in his chair and looked at the house. ”It's a nice house,” he said and turned back around, ”but mine is paid off.”
Hope was building so fast, he felt it in his throat. ”My chairs are better.”
”I'll sell mine.”
Buck looked away. At the fence, the trees, the sky. Tommy squeezed his fingers.
”What if I don't get better. What if this doesn't go away.”
Tommy hummed, as if he was about to speak, but paused when another gust of wind came through. Leaves rustled all around them. ”Then we'll figure that out, too.”