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When he’d watched Tommy walk out the door of his loft, there had been a sort of crushing finality to it. It didn’t mean he’d deluded himself into thinking they’d never see each other again. Los Angeles might be a big city, but their job precluded Buck from such misapprehension. What he’d hoped was that by the time they bumped into each other, his life would get back on an even keel. His heart would stop longing for something he wasn’t allowed to have. Would withstand that gravitational pull. That infectious smile that took his breath away, like the day they’d first met in the harbour. That soft cadence of his voice when he called Buck Evan , turning everything Buck had believed in for thirty years on its head again and again.
Not even in his most twisted nightmares had Buck imagined that their reunion would end up that way. After picking up scraps of radio communication informing of a crashed helicopter while returning from a job. One of the 217. The report of the pilot having been delivered to the General Medical Center in critical condition.
Could’ve been anyone, Eddie would say.
Only Eddie wasn’t there to settle Buck’s rapidly spiralling thoughts. And once they got completely out of control, Buck barely recognised the choked words coming out of his mouth, appealing to Bobby to turn around and drop him off at the hospital. Or several pairs of eyes that rested on him with a mixture of sympathy and concern. An encouraging pat on the shoulder as Chimney told him something that was lost in the white noise filling his ears before Buck climbed out of the truck.
The winding corridors of the hospital felt like a pristine rabbit warren with a cacophony of voices, hurried footsteps and beeping machines. The smell of antiseptic and hopelessness weighed on him as he threaded his way. Buck should’ve grown accustomed to it by then, but he hadn’t. His heart kept picking up its pace as he searched for the right wing in the blur of white walls and signboards.
The ICU.
When he finally found it, one of the team members was slipping out of its doors, wearing surgical scrubs and an air of urgency. On autopilot, Buck shot out an arm to stop her, croaking, “Thomas Kinard?”
She gave his soiled turnout gear a once-over before nodding. “Still in surgery.”
There was something else, but her words, tossed so carelessly, disappeared into the cracks of spacetime. Never to be recovered. Never to be made right.
And Buck sensed himself falling.
The body that didn’t belong to him started backing away from her already retreating form until his shins hit the edge of the metal chairs, and he sank into one in a heap of limbs and regrets.
Not even in his most twisted nightmares had Buck imagined that their reunion might end up not taking place. In no scenario on their God-forsaken Earth. His hand stole into the inside pocket of his sweatshirt to secure the golden band he’d bought what felt like a million years ago. Before—before everything . At some point, he should’ve taken it back to the jewellery store, but he hadn’t. At some point, he should’ve stopped carrying it around like a token of either grief or hope, but he couldn’t.
Once he retrieved the ring, it caught the light of the fluorescent lamps before Buck’s palm closed around it to keep it safe. He had to keep it safe so the world would hold on for a little longer. For just another moment until— But the white noise refused to let up.
He didn’t know how much time had passed with him suspended just outside the present before the same voice spoke up, “Sir, and you are—?”
“Firefighter Evan Buckley, from the 118,” he said without looking up from his clenched fist.
There was a beat of silence, then, “The surgery went well, and he’s stable for now.”
His heart leapt, and his eyes shot up to her unmasked face, looking for either reassurance or disillusionment in its expression. Without revealing either, she said, “Normally it’s against th rules, but you can sit with your friend for a minute.”
Buck felt the breath he’d been holding rush out of him in one fell swoop.
“Thank you,” he heard himself say.
And when he opened his palm, the golden band was still there. Safe and sound. Yet, it took Buck a moment to wrap his mind around it enough to force his muscles to move and carry him through the doors and past the curious glances. To where the Tommy he knew existed only in his memories. Even with the rolled-down blinds, Tommy’s face was a swollen mess of colours in which Buck searched for the recognisable fragments. The spark that flashed in his eye just before Tommy was about to crack up. The smile that transformed not only his face but the whole world around him. None of it was there.
What was left lay swallowed up by blankets, tubes and a dissonance of beeps sustaining the fragility of his life.
Buck felt himself freeze at the sight.
“Hi, Tommy,” was the first thing falling from his lips as his gaze lighted on the hand with the attached pulse oximeter.
Unlike the rest of him, it looked unharmed and so familiar that Buck could almost summon the ghost of its touch. Wished he were allowed to. But, mindful of either the state of his appearance or his intrusion, he didn’t dare come any closer. “You probably wouldn’t even want me here, considering—erm. But I had to make sure you were okay.”
Twirling with the ring in his fingers, Buck shook his head at his own incompetence. Either in expressing himself or staying away from frenzied fires. Likely both.
“Eddie would know,” he concluded aloud, “but he’s gone to Texas for an indefinite time. So I’ve moved into his apartment to keep an eye on things.” He huffed a self-deprecating laugh at the lie no one would call him out on. “Or so I told him,” he added, taking an uncertain step closer, still far enough away to remain that blank space in both Tommy’s subconscious and his future.
“We were supposed to meet when I was over you, you know, but you had to hurt yourself. And now here I am. I could pretend, but the five pounds of flour I just bought would argue otherwise. Anyway—” he trailed off as if waiting for something.
The monitor showed a steady rhythm, and the rise and fall of Tommy’s chest betrayed no signs of acknowledgement.
Buck scratched the stubble on his cheek with his free hand, expelling a shaky sigh. “Just promise me to be okay, okay?”
Three weeks later Buck’s phone chimed with a text message that said, ‘hi Evan, I’m not over you either.’
After re-reading it several times through the haze of his brain, it was with bated breath but without a doubt in his mind that he replied, ‘what are you gonna do about it?’
The response was instant. ‘Still housebound. Coffee at my place?’
‘Be right there.’