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Buck is used to getting hurt on the job. He’s used to bruises, cuts, and strains.
Injuries are a known risk that comes with being a firefighter. Due to the adrenaline rush Buck often doesn’t even notice he’s hurt until he peels his uniform off later and sees himself in the mirror.
On his pale skin, bruises quickly turn violet, green, and yellow. A spectrum.
Tommy kisses each colorful spot with a loving gentleness that makes Buck feel fuzzy inside.
He returns the favor. Tommy doesn’t bruise as easily, but he has more scars than Buck. He runs a finger over them, mapping out their shapes, transfixed by the way life leaves visible traces on bodies.
Each wound tells a story.
Each wound is proof that they are alive. At the same time, they are evidence of the fragility of the human body. It doesn’t take much to kill someone. Buck knows that too well. He has felt his own transcience. Now, what he fears the most, is to see his significant other fighting for his life.
Being with a first responder isn’t only about handling shifts that often don't match. It’s also about whispering "be safe" in the mornings like a prayer. It’s waiting for bad news when the other arrives home too late. It's agonizing waiting.
It’s this moment when you pick up the phone and you just know.
“Yes.” Dry throat.
“Hello Sir, am I talking to Evan Buckley?” Professional voice. Calm. Giving nothing away.
Buck closes his eyes. A cold fist of dread curls around his heart. Presses. “Yeah. That’s me.”
Thoughts cut through his mind, bright and razor-sharp like flashes of lightning.
I’m Evan Buckley. I’m Thomas Kinard’s emergency contact. But he doesn’t want to be called that. He’s Tommy. Just Tommy. He’s the love of my life. Please. Please save him. I can’t lose him.
Please.
His fingers tighten around the phone. “How … How bad is it?”
“It was a dead branch,” Lucy says quietly, soot on her face and in her hair. One of her arms is bandaged. “It was huge and it came out of nowhere. No warning. It just … Fell. Tommy pushed me. The branch still hit me. But … Not as hard.”
She swallows.
Not as hard as Tommy. That’s what she didn’t want to say, Buck thinks.
It’s not fair.
They were done.
The fire was out.
Everything was fine.
So they took off their helmets to cool off. To pour some water over their sweaty faces.
Everything was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
All it took was a split second. And a branch.
It’s not fair.
But accidents never are.
Lucy puts her uninjured hand on Buck’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay,” she says. “You know what he always says about his thick head.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, trying to smile at her. But he’s numb. Still too shocked by the turn of events to process any of it. He just wants to see Tommy. Wants to see that he’s breathing. That he’s battered but alive.
So this is what it’s like , Buck thinks. This is what it feels like when the person you love more than anything in the world lies unconscious in a hospital bed. Wow. It hurts.
Heavy concussion.
That’s what the doctor said. She also said there are no signs of brain damage. Tommy just needs a lot of rest. He’s going to be okay.
Buck felt a rush of relief after her words, but he still can’t quite believe it. Tommy looks so fragile in the hospital bed, with his head wrapped in bandages, his eyes closed and his face smooth as he sleeps.
“Sleep as long as you need to,” Buck says into the silent room, sitting on the chair beside the bed. “I will be here when you wake up, okay?”
He reaches out and takes Tommy’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You gave me - all of us - a good scare. But you will be fine. And I will you buy so much cake after you wake up,” Buck promises. “And ice cream.”
One of Tommy’s fingers twitches.
“Your eyes are so swollen, man,” Chimney says. “Spooky.”
Tommy blinks, his eyes droopy and red. He tries to focus on them but doesn’t quite manage. He raises a hand and starts to fidget with the bandages around his head.
“Marshmellow,” he whispers.
“What?” Buck asks, stunned.
“Mellow. Head. Feels like Marsh.”
“Oh. Yeah. Uh, you’re pretty concussed,” Buck says, scratching the back of his head. Beside him, Chimney is quivering. Almost like he’s trying hard not to laugh. “A branch fell on you.”
“Hm.” Tommy frowns. “Hmmm.”
“I think he’s gonna throw up,” Chimney says calmly, grabbing an emesis bowl and pushing it into Buck’s hands.
“What? I -” Buck starts, only to stare, stunned, as Tommy turns on his side fast with a gagging noise. He starts vomiting just as Buck manages to hold the bowl to his mouth. Tommy’s body convulses and trembles. It sounds and looks painful. Buck winces in sympathy.
“I’m going to call a nurse,” Chimney says, leaving the room.
Buck pats Tommy’s back. “You will be okay,” he says quietly. “I’m going to take care of you.”
Tommy only groans weakly. And vomits again.
“Are you sure you want to go home?” Buck asks, concerned. “Maybe one more night wouldn't hurt."
“No,” Tommy says, swaying on the spot. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus on Buck. “Please. No more.”
Buck sighs. He gets it. He really does. Hospitals are no fun.
“Okay. But you’re not going to walk out of here alone. Come on, let me help you.”
He reaches for Tommy’s arm. Tommy leans against him immediately, groaning. “Sick,” he mutters, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I know,” Buck says. “I can ask for a wheelchair.”
“No,” Tommy says, brows furrowing. No!”
Stubborn. Buck sighs. Well. It’s not like Buck is much different.
They eventually make their way out of the room and the building, though they are so slow, that they raise a few concerned doubtful eyebrows from nurses and doctors.
Tommy walks like Jack Sparrow. Once he has that thought, it’s stuck in Buck’s head and he has to constantly fight the laughter that wants to bubble out of him while he steadies Tommy and they sway-walk to the car.
“Here,” Buck says happily, putting a plate with fruit, biscuits, and chocolate on the couch table. He adds a mug of steaming tea and Tommy’s medication. “That should be anything you - oh. Oh, wait!”
He puts another pillow behind Tommy’s back and also underneath his legs, then covers him with a blanket. “Good?”
Tommy looks up at him and Buck startles because there are tears in Tommy’s eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? I can get you an icepack?!”
“No,” Tommy breathes. “I’m fine. It’s just … You taking care of me like this. It makes me emotional.”
Buck smiles, his chest glowing. “Oh. Of course! I love taking care of you. But you still don’t need to let any more branches fall on your head. Please.”
“No,” Tommy chuckles, reaching up to rub at the bump on his head with a grimace. “I really don’t need a repetition of that.”
“You and me both,” Buck says, sitting beside Tommy and reaching for a piece of chocolate. “Now, open up.”
“You’re going to feed me?” Tommy’s lips twitch.
“I’m going to feed you.”
“You know what, maybe I should get injured more often after all.”
“Tommy.”
“Just kidding. Please don’t take the chocolate away.”
This injury leaves traces in their shared memories too. Buck knows something like this might happen again. And they won't see it coming. But at least, they are together right now. Still standing and still taking care of each other. And he will continue to do that as long as life allows it.