Work Text:
Buck’s voice was… gone. He woke up with a scratchy throat, and by the time he dragged himself into work, his voice had completely disappeared.
Hen noticed first, of course. She’d been watching him since he’d shuffled into the station, clutching his tea and looking barely awake.
“Are you sick?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He shook his head automatically, but then thought better of it and gave a reluctant nod. Hen’s expression softened with concern.
“Buck, you look miserable. You really didn’t have to come in if you’re feeling this rough,” she said, crossing her arms. “Do you want me to go grab Cap?”
At the mention of Bobby, Buck’s eyes widened, and he held up a hand. Hen squinted at him, her face dawning with understanding, a smirk forming on her lips.
“Oh, I get it. You didn’t want to give Tommy a reason to worry, did you? If Cap knows Eddie would know and if Eddie knows Tommy knows.”
Tommy was incredibly protective, especially when it came to him. And he was sharp—no one could hide being under the weather from him for long.
Which was why, of course, when Tommy called his name when he went to give him the jacket he had forgotten at home, called him and Buck tried to respond, the only sound that came out was a weak, strangled sound, and Tommy’s eyes snapped to him in an instant.
“Evan?” Tommy’s voice softened, his brows knitting in concern. “Are you okay?”
Buck’s instinct was to brush it off, to smile and nod like he was fine, but the scratchiness in his throat was burning now, and he couldn’t keep it together. He could only nod a little and try to clear his throat as quietly as possible.
Tommy’s face shifted from mild concern to full-on worry as he stepped over, placing a firm but gentle hand on Buck’s shoulder.
“Why are you here?” he asked in a low voice, as if he already knew the answer.
Buck gave him a sheepish look, opening his mouth to explain, but he knew better. His throat felt like sandpaper, and all he could manage was a helpless shrug.
Tommy sighed, his shoulders loosening just a bit, his gaze softening even more. “Come on, Evan. I can see you’re trying to tough it out...” His hand on Buck’s shoulder tightened in reassurance. “Are you hurt?”
Embarrassed by how easily Tommy read him, Buck gave a reluctant, honest nod.
With a half-smile, Tommy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I get it. But the last thing I need is you getting worse. I’m taking you home.I think Bobby will understand it."
Buck opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly realized his voice was only a painful rasp. Tommy just chuckled softly, holding up a finger.
“No arguments. I’m driving you.”
The ride was quiet, comfortable, with Buck drifting in and out, lulled by the smooth motion of the car and the quiet assurance of Tommy’s presence next to him. When they arrived, Tommy didn’t just drop him off—he followed Buck up, making sure he was settled on the couch, even grabbing an extra blanket and draping it over him.
“Stay put,” Tommy said in a no-nonsense voice, which had just a hint of kindness under the firm tone. He moved around Buck’s apartment as if he’d been there a hundred times, gathering tea and honey from the kitchen and starting a pot of soup.
By the time Tommy sat next to him, Buck was almost asleep, barely hanging on to consciousness.
“Rest,” Tommy said quietly, placing a warm hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I got you. Just let yourself be taken care of.”
Buck blinked at him with bleary, grateful eyes, mouthing a silent thank you.
Tommy just chuckled. “Always,” he murmured, giving Buck’s shoulder one last pat.
As he drifted off, hearing the comforting sounds of Tommy in the kitchen, Buck couldn’t help but feel, even without his voice, that he had someone speaking up for him—someone strong enough to watch his back.