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Buck can’t bake anymore.
He’s sick of it. Sick of lemon loaf waiting forever on the kitchen counter and of Baked Alaska melting in his fridge.
The sweet relief of the moment changed into bitter memories that feel like ash in his mouth now.
He can’t bake anymore. So he turned back to pasta, pancakes and omelette. Back to pans, spices and knives. He serves his meals at the firehouse, wiping his hands on his apron, nervously waiting for reactions. Because it seems to be good. But he can never be sure that it’s good enough.
Will I ever be good enough for someone to stay?
“It’s really good, Buck,” Hen assures him.
Chimney nods, his mouth full of lasagna.
Bobby helps himself to a second serving already.
Eddie licks sauce from the corner of his mouth, grins, and calls Buck a chef. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” He asks teasingly. “Were you offered a position at a 5-star restaurant?”
And Buck laughs dutifully. For them. But inside, he still feels that ache that never quite goes away. It’s better now. But it’s still there. Not good enough. Not enough. Not enough for something that lasts forever. Not ...
“That smells delicious,” a new voice adds quietly behind him.
Buck’s head perks up. His breath hitches and his heart seems to stop for a beat before restarting at a more frantic pace. No. It can’t be. He can’t be here, right? Just … like that? Now?!
He slowly turns his head. And there he is. Tommy. He’s real.
He’s standing there, wearing his turnouts, wringing his hands, blue eyes flickering back and forth. And the first thing Buck feels is rage. Because … what the hell? Here? Now? Like this?
His first instinct is to yell. But he's frozen. Can’t decide what to say. Or do. He’s frozen. And after the initial shock, he has time to take Tommy in. Really take him in.
He looks ... drained. More gaunt than Buck has ever seen him. His hair is tousled and his posture expresses exhaustion. His eyes are redrimmed and his skin is a little too pale to pass as normal. In fact, Tommy looks like he's been through hell. Buck doesn't know what to think or feel. He just stares and Tommy fidgets and everyone around them is too quiet, the moment stretching until the silence roars in Buck's ears.
“Hey Tommy,” Chimney finally says, after swallowing a mouth full of lasagna, smiling and sharing a glance with Hen. “Are you … okay?”
So they can see it too, Buck thinks. They can all see the numbness of terror in Tommy’s eyes. The too-thin line of his mouth. The ghostly paleness of his skin. They can see it. Something happened. What happened? Or ... Is it the breakup? The angry part of Buck hopes it's the breakup. Hopes Tommy had his fair share of suffering, longing, wondering, breaking ... But he somehow feels like it's something different.
Tommy clears his throat. “I … I’m sorry. My phone is broken. I didn't want to intrude. But I drove by and I thought ..."
“Sit,” Buck says. Quietly. But sternly.
Tommy blinks. “I …”
“Sit. And eat.” Buck points at the free chair at the table. And - of course, it’s Tommy’s old seat, he realises then.
Sometimes it sends a chill down his back to think about the fact that he basically took Tommy’s place at the 118 only for them to meet for the first time years later. It could have been such a romantic fact. A string of fate connecting them through the 118. But … well. Tommy dumping him cut into that string like a knife.
Tommy is still hesitating. Looks like a deer in the headlights, a second away from turning away and running. Again. Just like he ran after he decided to end their relationship.
Coward, Buck can’t help to think. Thinks the angry part of him that wants to punch walls, shatter glass and scream in Tommy’s face.
“You look like you could use some food,” Bobby says calmly.
“To regain some energy,” Hen adds, matter-of-factly.
“It’s really good lasagna. You don’t want to miss it,” Chimney chimes in. “Especially not after a long shift.”
“I think I just heard your stomach growl, man,” Eddie says, pointing his fork at Tommy.
“Okay,” Tommy says, finally, his shoulders sagging with the relief of the decision.
He sits. Buck loads a massive lasagna heap on a plate and puts it in front of Tommy. After a moment and another subtle glance between Buck and Tommy, everyone starts talking again. They do their best to be a distraction. To make it seem like this is a normal thing. As if nothing happened. And Tommy eats. He finishes his plate. Then eats some more. He makes some small talk, smiles a few times, nods and even laughs one time about something Eddie tells him.
But.
But Buck sees what no one else sees. He sees behind the facade of facial expressions. And what he observes makes worry nag at him with sharpening teeth. It’s the way the smile never reaches Tommy’s eyes. They remain distant. Clouded and numb. Something happened. Something bad. And of course, Tommy isn’t talking about it. But it was bad enough to have him come here. Just like that. So it has to be really bad.
Eventually, Tommy clears his throat and pushes his chair back. “Thank you for the food. It was really good. I should go home now,” he says in that horrible formal tone.
“I’m going to drive you,” Buck says. It’s a heartbeat decision. Almost surprising himself. But it’s the right thing to do. Buck can feel it. He glances at Bobby, who gives him a barely noticeable nod.
Tommy looks startled. “You … you don’t have to do that.”
Buck sets his jaw. “I want to.”
“My truck …”
“You can pick it up tomorrow,” Buck says cooly. “Not a problem.”
The others fell silent and are now watching the conversation between them, not saying anything.
Tommy swallows, his discomfort clearly growing, now that so many people are looking at him, waiting for his reaction. He’s already pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Buck knows why. Of course, he does. He knows Tommy is fidgeting with something, trying to calm his nerves. Oh. He knows this man so well, doesn’t he? But apparently not well enough. Not well enough to be with him forever, like he imagined. The rage curls around Buck’s heart again.
“Alright,” Tommy finally says, giving in.
It’s just them now. In Buck’s car. Buck’s in the driver’s seat. Tommy sits beside him. And it’s strange to be so close after being apart.
Buck clears his throat, tapping a finger on the steering wheel, but not starting the engine. Not yet. Not before he gets some information. “So. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Tommy frowns, looking ahead. “Nothing. I’m …”
The rage is a fist now. And Buck shakes his head. He’s done with this. Done with the pretending. “No,” he says sharply, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Don’t. Don’t do this bullshit again. You are clearly not fine. I’ve been watching you. I know when you’re not fine, Tommy. We’ve been together for half a year. And I’ve been paying attention to details. Because I care about you. Still do. Even though you told me I can’t spend my life with you. Apparently, that’s a decision you get to make. Alone.”
Tommy shifts in his seat. “Evan …”
“So it is Evan again, yeah?” Buck snaps. “Well, it’s just like Evan said. He still cares about you. So tell me. What happened? It has to be something bad since you came to the station just like that without being able to send a message to anyone beforehand. You didn’t want to be alone. You needed a distraction. Or someone to talk to. Me? Did you want to talk to me?”
Tommy swallows audibly. “Yes.”
“Well, then do it now,” Buck says, leaning back. “I’m here. I have time.”
“Okay,” Tommy says with a sigh. He licks his lips, and plays with the seatbelt for a moment, apparently collecting his thoughts. Buck waits. When Tommy starts to talk, his voice is shaky. And it’s just as bad as Buck thought it had been.
“It’s been a tough shift. We were called to a suicide attempt. A teenager. He was standing on that bridge, staring down. And I went to talk to him. Because … Well. Because I’ve been at such a point before. When I was younger. So I thought that maybe, I’m going to get through to him. I started talking to him. Just … small-talk really. Told him my name, and asked for his. And so on. Buying time for the others to blow up the air cushion. Eventually, I tried asking the teenager, George, what he was doing on that bridge. He started to open up. Told me … told me that his mother is dead. Cancer. And now he’s living with his father who drinks. When he gets angry, he calls George worthless and beats him. George is also getting bullied at school. He said no one gives a damn about him. He doesn’t have any friends. He doesn’t know who he is. He doesn’t know who he wants to be. He just feels … empty all the time.”
Buck is speechless. He feels phantom pain for that teenager. And for Tommy. Because he knows enough about Tommy’s family and childhood to be aware of the painful parallels.
Tommy shakes his head, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I … My heart hurt for him. just wanted to cry. But I wanted to find the words to convince him to live. I tried to tell him that I’ve been at a similar point in my life. Told him I felt empty and like I didn't know myself too. So, so many times. But that no matter how dark life seems to be, there’s always light. I told him he doesn’t - can’t - know that yet, but there will be something or someone good in his life. I told him not to give up hope.”
“You did good,” Buck says quietly, his hand instinctively reaching out, rubbing Tommy’s back. “That’s a beautiful message.”
Tommy sighs, closing his teary eyes. “I told him that we can talk some more when he steps down from the railing. I reached out to him. Offered him my hand. And George was about to take my hand. I know he was. And then … then he lost balance, Evan. I don’t know why. He just … He fell.”
“No,” Buck breathes, his chest tightening with horror. “Oh God.”
Tommy nods, his voice hollow when he adds. “Just like that. He was gone. And people were screaming. I … I looked. They didn't have enough time to get the air cushion ready. So I saw him down there. Saw him twisted and bleeding. And his eyes … His eyes the second before he fell. I see them still. Right in front of me. He didn’t want to die. Just … just like I didn’t want to. Not really. Because even if there was nothing, there was always hope.”
He curls into himself, hiding his face in his hands. Buck continues to rub his back, feeling it shake with the tears Tommy is crying. He barely dares to ask.
“Is George … Is he alive?”
Tommy nods, sniffling. “Barely. But yes. He’s alive. He’s in the ICU. Still fighting. They … they are pretty sure he’s going to be paralyzed though.”
Buck runs a hand over his face. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. Tommy. You do know this isn’t your fault, right?”
Tommy rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know. But I still start to replay the situation again and again. Trying to find something I could have done differently. Maybe if I’d been faster …”
“That’s not going to lead you anywhere,” Buck says quietly, remembering his own regrets. “You have to accept that you did your best and then you have to move on. It’s not going to be easy, but you know that’s the truth, right?”
“I know,” Tommy says, nodding. “I know. But … I feel like this opened a lot of wounds, you know? So many memories have been haunting me ever since … Things, feelings, I thought I buried for good. I’m a mess. It’s probably going to get even worse.”
“You should talk to someone. If you try to shove it all back down to where it comes from, you’re going to hurt yourself even more,” Buck says.
“I’m already talking to someone,” Tommy says. “I started to see my therapist again. After … You know.”
“Oh. Good for you,” Buck says, smiling weakly. “Therapy has been helping me a lot with my regrets and the things I’d like to bury. Well. It’s been helping me ever since I don’t have a therapist who wants to have sex with me. That was … so not okay. It was abuse. That was something I had to realize too.”
Tommy nods. He glances at Buck, his eyes still teary. “Evan. I wanted to tell you that I’m …”
Buck raises a hand and shakes his head, cutting Tommy off. “Not now, okay? Not … Not like this. You need rest. And something that distracts you. So … let’s just get you home and maybe we can watch a movie? I can sleep on the couch. And in the morning we talk?”
Tommy looks at him, surprised. “Are you sure you want to do that? You have every right to not want to spend time with me, after … after what I did.”
Buck sighs. “I know that, Tommy. I’m an adult. And perfectly capable of making my own choices. So if you are okay with me staying, I can do that.”
“Yes,” Tommy says after a moment of hesitance. “I’m okay with that.”
Buck nods. And starts the engine.
Buck has had a lot of time to think about what he would say. He shaped and shifted the words around in his head while he was baking. While he’s been trying to sleep. He’s had a lot of time to practise this speech. And yet. When it’s time, the words still come out differently.
“I’ve been angry. I’m still angry. Because you didn’t even give me a chance. You just made this decision, that you can’t be my first and my last. And then you left while I was still trying to process what was happening. That’s unfair. And I’m angry. But … When I said I still care about you, I meant that. I’ve been waiting. Waiting for a sign. For a word. And I wanted to talk to you. God. I wanted to talk to you so bad.
But every time I felt the urge to text or call you, I just started baking. Everyone told me I shouldn’t call. Because you are the one who walked out. Because I already told you what I wanted and you ran from that. And a part of me regrets that I didn’t call or text, but in general, I think that I’m not the one to blame.
Yes, maybe I shouldn’t have talked about moving in so soon. Yes, maybe it was stupid to ask you to move into the loft when you have a house, maybe … I don’t know, Tommy. I told you everything about my intentions. And you decided to leave me. So … Why? Why did you do that?”
Buck stops, feeling almost exhausted after so many words loaded with heavy emotions.
Tommy looks at him for a moment, eyes still a bit puffy from crying. They are sitting at the table in the living room, opposite each other. Tommy folds his hands and clears his throat.
“I’m sorry for leaving you like that. I really am. When I went home, I told myself it was the right thing to do. I told myself that you would be alright because you do have so many people around you who love you. And I told myself that I would be alright because I’m used to good things ending.
Because the fact is, Evan, that this relationship with you … It made me so happy. It was everything I dared to dream of. And that … that scared me. Eventually. I’ve been over it with my therapist. It’s complex and it will take some time to process all of it, but the fact is that I have piled up a lot of trauma and never really dug through it.
I grew up in a household in which it was normal to act like you are fine, no matter what. Real men don’t talk about feelings. Real men don’t cry. And real men don’t need anyone. Those are the lessons my father tried to talk - sometimes beat - into me.
That household was the first situation I ran from. And then I ran from one place to the other. Always searching for something I couldn’t quite find. But I did learn that all good things come to an end. And that I’m a very difficult human being. Difficult to love. With all that trauma and PTSD. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t know where I am. Sometimes I feel like I can’t get rid of the masks I built for myself to hide underneath so someone will love a version of me they like.
I don’t want that for you, Evan. You deserve something, someone, better. Not someone like me who is already carrying around a load of baggage and is struggling to open himself to new experiences. My intention wasn’t to make you feel like you can’t make decisions or that you can’t know what you want. But … I can see why my actions would have created such an impression. I’m sorry. I care about you too. I care about you so, so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to stay and trust you.”
Buck blinks tears out of his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is that you broke up with me because … because you were too happy?!”
Tommy smiles weakly. “I guess. My old stupid heart is tired of breaking. And the heartbreak that would hit me after living with you … I don’t know if I could have survived that.”
“Okay. So first of all, you aren't that much older than me. You make it sound like you're a dinosaur compared to me. And secondly, you don’t know - can't know - if there would have been a heartbreak! Don’t you see that you’re doing what you told George not to do? You continue to live in a self-fulfilling prophecy. I … I read all about that. You take your own chance of happiness away just because you are scared of things that have a very small chance of happening!” Buck says, shaking his head in disbelief. “If your heart is tired of breaking, why not take this chance of being happy? I told you. Why be apart if we can be together? I meant every word I said. I made my choice, Tommy. You are the one who decided to tell yourself that this choice is … some kind of trap! It hurts, you know? Why can’t you give me a chance? Why can’t you trust me? I opened up and told you about my feelings. What else could I do to convince you that my intentions are real and that I'm sure about what I want?"
Tommy swallows. He seems to think for a moment. Then, he reaches out, covering one of Buck’s hands with his. “Evan. Would you come to therapy with me? ”
Buck raises a brow in surprise, but he nods. “Of course. Of course, I would. If it helps … Wait. Shouldn’t we decide where we stand before we make plans for the future? I mean … What are we now, Tommy? Are we exes? Are we going to try to be friends? Or will we give this another chance?”
“Would you?” Tommy asks quietly. “Even after … after all of this. Would you?”
Buck doesn’t even need to think. He’s been thinking enough. “Yes. Of course, I would, Tommy. God, life is not a fairytale. I'm well aware of that. There are issues. There is baggage. I come with my fair share of it. But I think love means that you work through that stuff together. There's a reason why they say "in good times and bad, for better or worse", right? I did tell you that I want to spend my life with you, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Tommy nods, smiling weakly. “And I'm an idiot. I’m sorry. I … I have an appointment today. If you still want to after thinking about it later, I can ask him when you could join us. And, uh, I would like to pay George a visit.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Buck asks. “It’s going to be tough to see him like this.”
Tommy looks like he wants to say “you don’t have to” again. But instead, he says, “I’d love that, Evan.”
And that already feels like a step forward, out of self-fulfilling prophecies.