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It takes a moment – a long, disorienting moment – for his scattered pieces to settle, for the fragments of himself to drift back into the body lying motionless on the ground. Blinking, it’s as though the world flickers in and out of focus, like a radio tuning in between waves of static, white noise smothering the edges of his thoughts, drowning out the voices murmuring nearby.
A sharp throb pulses through his skull, a steady ache creeping behind his eyes, pushing against the fading blur of the world. Goosebumps rise on his arms, a soft breeze grazing his skin, so delicate it feels at odds to the heaviness of dread that lingers there, weighing him down.
“He was unconscious when I found him,” a voice says, soft with concern, threading through the fog in his mind.
“Sir, sir,” another person calls, their hands gentle but insistent on his arm, then his shoulder, giving him a slight shake, trying to pull him further from the depths of unconsciousness. “Can you hear me?”
He blinks again, tries to open his eyes, but the world spins with every movement. His voice is trapped in his throat, strained and slurred. “Wh’t h’pp’ned?” he manages, words tangled and unclear, his jaw protesting the effort.
A breath of relief escapes the person beside him, the man kneeling at his side. “We called for help. Looks like you were in an accident.”
Buck’s mind struggles to piece it all together, his gaze darting around, trying to right-side his reality. His headache intensifies, stabbing at his skull with every blink, the harsh red lights of an ambulance flashing into his eyes as they pull him further into the present. The urge to vomit surges, but he clenches his teeth against it.
“Give us some room,” a paramedic instructs, stepping forward in the familiar LAFD uniform. Buck’s breath stutters at the sight of Eddie and his familiar face – full of concern.
“Buck, what happened?” Eddie asks, his voice soft but urgent. He’s joined by Hen, Chim, and Bobby, the team assembling around him like clockwork.
Buck tries to sit up, but a sharp spike of pain in his ribs forces him to groan and collapse back to the sidewalk. Eddie’s hand presses gently against his chest. “Hey, hey, lay down.” A needle appears in his hand, and an IV is quickly placed in the crook of his elbow.
“I-I don’t…” Buck closes his eyes against the chaos of the world, trying to remember, to focus. “I was – what happened?”
“That’s what I asked you,” Eddie says with a gentle chuckle, but there’s no mistaking the worry in his eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here.”
The usual chatter of vitals, the backboard and c-collar, and hospital choices buzzes around him, all too familiar – both as patient and firefighter. Buck drifts in and out of awareness, between the street and the ambulance, until finally, they arrive at the ER.
“I’ll wait here for your sister,” Eddie says, still watching Buck with that same concern as they wheel him into the trauma bay. Buck nods, the haze in his mind clearing just enough to register his words.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, the doctor’s work blurring around him. He remembers leaving the station after his shift, only to learn that was late on Tuesday – 2 days ago.
He knows, somewhere in the pit of his stomach that he’s missing something, that he was supposed to be doing something, and with every blip on the heart monitor, with every drip in the IV, he’s wasting time. The harder he tries to remember, the further away the answers slip.
Waking up in a hospital room is always jarring – cold, sterile air, the vent above the bed blowing icy gusts down his neck. The bed itself feels like a slab of concrete beneath him, and the hospital gown clings to his skin, too thin to offer warmth, too tight to feel comfortable.
There’s nothing more vulnerable than waking up naked in a hospital bed. Tommy knows that all too well; it’s a feeling he’s experienced more than once.
The world spins as nausea rises in his throat, cold sweat prickling his skin. His chest aches, his arm throbs, and a headache presses against his temples like a vise. Every inch of his body seems to rebel at the slightest movement, the vertigo nearly overwhelming.
When his eyes flicker open, he glances down to find his arm in a sling, his wrist encased in a cast, his body covered in bruises and cuts. But it’s the confusion that stands out, a fog clouding the memories of how he ended up here.
“You’re awake,” a voice says from the doorway. Tommy’s gaze shifts to see a nurse standing there, her posture perfect, a smile softening her professional demeanor. “How are you feeling?”
“N’t great,” Tommy mutters, the words thick and slow as he tries to speak through the ache in his jaw. “Wh’t happened?”
“What do you remember?” she asks, stepping closer to assess his vitals, stethoscope in hand, eyes flicking between him and the monitor beside the bed.
Tommy frowns. “Leaving work…Tuesday?”
The nurse’s fingers brush against his wrist, cold as ice, sending a shiver through him. “Sorry,” she says, moving quickly to adjust her grip. “Today is Thursday. You were brought in yesterday, after a hit-and-run.”
Tommy’s stomach drops, his pulse rising at the news. “A hit-and-run? Like a car?”
The nurse nods slowly. “Yes, a car.”
“Where?” He asks, and the question feels urgent. He’s certain – he knows he’s supposed to be somewhere, but he can’t put his finger on it. “Where was I hit?”
When she tells him the cross streets, his blood runs cold. The corner by Evan’s apartment building. What had he been doing there? Was Evan okay?
…Did Evan hit him?
The thought shatters his focus. Exhaustion pulls him back into the haze, and the nurse, sensing it, encourages him to rest. The darkness claims him once more.
For the next twelve hours, Tommy drifts in and out of consciousness, surrounded by doctors, nurses, phlebotomists – names and faces he can’t keep up with. He asks for his phone, hoping for some clarity about what he was doing near Evan’s place.
The nurse promises to retrieve his belongings, and as she steps out, someone else walks past the room, a familiar face roaming the hall.
“Eddie!” Tommy calls out before he has the chance to stop himself. Why he wants to talk to his ex’s best friend is beyond him, but the impulse apparently was stronger than his thoughts.
Eddie’s head snaps around, his eyes widening at the sound, and he walks into the room with a mixture of concern and confusion.
“Tommy, oh my god,” Eddie says, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Tommy waves away the concern, his good hand flicking dismissively. “I’m fine. What are you doing here? Is…is Ev-Buck okay?”
Eddie hesitates, his eyes flashing with something between frustration and annoyance, before he sighs. “He – uh – he’s okay, he’s fine, but he was in a hit-and-run accident – the hit, um, not the runner.”
Tommy’s breath catches, his jaw hinging open as his mind struggles to keep up with the words. “Wait, w-what?” he stammers.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice tight with worry, anger slipped behind each word. “Someone hit him on a side street. Left him there, but a couple found him. He’s okay – concussion, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder.”
Tommy exhales, still reeling from the news. Worry for Evan swells inside him, but a nagging curiosity rises, too. “Where? Where did it happen?”
Eddie’s arms cross as he exhales deeply. “Right by your place. Down the block.”
It’s as though the world stops turning for the briefest of moments, when Tommy hears this. The worry that fills him is drowned out by the overwhelming need to see Evan – to talk to him, to figure out whatever he was trying to tell him. Whatever Evan was doing on the other side of the city, at his place hoping to do the same.
“I need to talk to him.”
Buck waits, staring at the ceiling for his final sign-off from x-rays, his torso is wrapped tightly, his shoulder hung in a sling, a position he’s, frankly, too familiar with.
Exhausted isn’t even close to what he feels - he feels like he’s got one foot in the grave, ready to collapse into his bed as soon as he’s given the go-ahead.
He shuts his eyes against the harsh overhead light, listening for the familiar sound of the door opening. He doesn’t have to wait long.
“Eddie, did you – do you have my phone?” Buck asks, his voice hoarse and weary.
No answer. He opens his eyes, and the sight before him stops him completely. Tommy stands in the doorway, his face as battered as Buck’s, a sling cradling his arm.
“Tommy.”
Like a breath of relief after a battle in the ring, a cold rush of water in the heat of flames, a flood of adrenaline in the face of a horrible disaster – Tommy brings Buck stillness. It collects and builds, gathering a nest of safety between the sparks of pain that have been re-opened since they last saw one another, between the bruises and fractures of his bones that litter his broken body.
“What are you doing here?” Buck asks, voice fragile with confusion. He notices Tommy’s own bruises, the weariness in his posture. “Are you okay?”
“I was at your apartment,” Tommy replies, his voice steady, but the vulnerability in it is unmistakable. “And you were at mine.”
Buck looks down, heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment, memories still hazy over why he was at Tommy’s – “You were at my apartment?” Buck blinks, still reeling from the surprise. “Why?”
Tommy’s lips curl into a rueful smile, shaking his head. “It’s the damndest thing. I don’t remember.” He looks up at Buck, his eyes glistening with a spark of hope, a shock of pain, and a glimmer of what’s been lost.
“I don’t either,” Buck admits, “I was at your apartment,” a soft smile tugs at his lips despite the pain. “And you were at mine.”
“And we both got hit by cars.”
“And we both got hit by cars.”
Tommy takes a step closer, his hand reaching out, tentative and unsure. There’s a fragility in the gesture, as if it might shatter if Buck doesn’t meet him halfway.
Buck doesn’t hesitate. He takes Tommy’s hand, their fingers intertwining, and for the first time since everything went sideways, there’s a quiet sense of peace between them.
“The universe has a funny way of driving us together,” Buck murmurs.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Tommy says, his voice breaking as he presses a kiss to Buck’s knuckles, tears finally slipping down his face.
“Me too,” Buck smiles, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes. “Should we try that again?”
Tommy’s smile is slow but sure. “I think that might be a good idea.”