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"Look who I found!" Ravi's forced cheer is evident, and Buck understands why as soon as he catches sight of the man standing next to him.
No – is the first thing that screeches through his mind in that millisecond his eyes first lay on Tommy.
Except that doesn't feel right, calling this guy Tommy.
Because that is not Tommy.
This guy's hair is all wrong, for starters; too slick and too stylised.
Buck can't remember if he's ever seen Tommy clean-shaven in a bar because he enjoys not having to upkeep it when he's not on shift (and Buck very much enjoyed that decision too).
Then there's this guy's body proportions, which, yeah, he's built, but he's definitely a lot leaner than Tommy – this not-Tommy must balance his cardio and strength training, whereas his Tommy prefers strength workouts over cardio any day of the week.
However, the biggest giveaway is the shit-eating grin (he also has fewer laugh lines around his eyes and mouth) this guy has on his face as Ravi obliviously nudges Not-Tommy into the bench across from him.
"You guys must have a lot of catching up to do." Ravi is placing the two beers in his hands in front of them.
Buck finally gets himself back in gear only to promptly choke on the last mouthful of beer he forgot he'd been taking when Ravi showed back up with this stranger.
"Ravi—" he rasps, "That's not—"
Ravi pauses, probably concerned that Buck is actually choking to death (again, because that is his luck), then Not-Tommy smoothly waves him off, "Don't worry, I got him."
Buck is clearing the last of the alcohol from his airway when his traitorous colleague gives this imposter a grateful look before beelining it to the exit. "Bye, Buck."
The man across from him takes a pull of his bottle, still clearly amused, while Buck finally gets his breathing back under control.
"You're not Tommy." What a dumb thing to say that is, but he's not sure what else to say; apart from looking like his ex, he knows nothing about this person.
The guy finally laughs, like he's been holding it in this whole time.
"Glad you know your ex a hell of a lot better than your friend does."
"He never really met Tommy a lot," he argues weakly, and he doesn't know why he's defending Ravi when he just dumped him with this possible serial killer.
The Not-Tommy/imposter/stranger/doppelganger laughs a little in amusement. "So, I'm guessing you and your ex didn't work out because of your lack of loyalty?"
Buck takes a second to consider whether he should actually keep talking to this guy; the smart thing to do would be to order an Uber and say goodbye to this guy.
Buck's never been one for smart decisions when it came to himself, and old habits die hard.
"No," he admits reluctantly.
The guy leans forward onto the table – and, no, Buck is going to get some answers for himself too.
"Who are you? And why did you just pretend to be my ex to my friend?"
The guy sits up straighter and offers his hand, "Don."
Warily, he shakes it, offering, "Buck."
The hand in his is a little rougher than he expected and more calloused than he remembers until he realises he's still comparing two completely different people.
"I know; your friend caught me up at the bar."
He pulls his hand away a split second after he already should have.
"Not going to be my friend for much longer," he mutters before taking a drink from his fresh bottle.
Don laughs again, thoroughly amused by all of this.
"Look, this isn't the first time I've been mixed up with Kinard." Now that grabs Buck back from his brooding.
"Really?"
"Yeah, it's a big city, but when we both work as first responders, it causes an issue every couple of years or so."
"Huh? You don't work for the LAFD, then?"
"PD."
"Oh, cool. Do you know Sergeant Athena Grant?" Buck figured there's probably a connection back to him that way too; anything to avoid the ex-boyfriend connection.
Don winces, "No, I don't, and I plan to keep it that way."
Buck gleefully asks, "Scared of her?"
"If you had any sense in that blond head, then you would be too." It's the first and only time he's seen anything close to serious from the other man since he followed Ravi over here.
Buck waves him off, deciding to mess with him. "'Thena's alright."
Don stares at him and seems to be actually looking at him fully for the first time since arriving at the table.
"You PD too?" There's a sceptical note to his voice which Buck kind of resents.
"Better, FD." Buck grins proudly.
Don laughs and shakes his head, "Should have known that you're a hose-jockey."
"You really want to start an insult war, because I have about a dozen donut-themed insults alone."
Don actually considers that. "Fine, only because you firefighters have more time to sit around and come up with jokes about the better first responders, though."
Buck sits up straighter in the booth because he is defending the honour of his whole department right now.
"Anyway, does it look like," Don leans back and waves a hand down his body, "I eat any sort of dessert?"
And, okay, Buck drags a clinical, very clinical, gaze down Don's body just to assess the validity of that statement.
When he realises he's been staring too long, the asshole wiggles his eyebrows at him ridiculously before sitting back smugly.
He doesn't need to sit there with red cheeks and avoiding direct eye contact for long when Don speaks again, "What happened with Tommy-boy?"
"It's a long story that I'm sure you really don't want to hear."
"Look, my friend bailed on me, and I was just going to head home and drink alone when your friend snagged me, so it kind of feels a bit fateful that we're both here after being ditched by our friends. Also, I love a good bit of gossip."
Buck's stuck in the middle of indignant and desperate – his life isn't some form of entertainment for some guy who's got nothing else better to do, but then Buck feels like he can't talk to anybody else in his life about Tommy anymore (they've heard enough about it, usually over a loaf of tiger bread or a basket of almond-honey muffins).
Buck sighs deeply and looks down at the table, running his finger through the condensation left on the wood.
"I did what I usually do..."
There's a questioning hum from across the table.
"I asked him to move in with me after I found out I had dated his ex-fiancée, a woman, and we'd also only been dating, like, six months." Glancing over at Don, he's leant over the table with his chin resting on the top of his bottle and one eyebrow raised.
"So, he broke up with me." He tries to be casual, like it's just another fact he's rhyming off, but that he can't look at anyone when he admits it says it all, really.
"Hold on, hold on. That's it?" Buck's confused at Don's confusion.
"Eh, yeah. I mean, he was the first guy I'd ever – " loved is on the tip of his tongue, but saying it out loud, he fears, would break the last of the shaky walls he'd built around all the feelings he still has for Tommy.
"Slept with?" Don offers; he's squinting a bit at him now as if he's trying to fit these new pieces of the puzzle in with what he already knows.
"Yes, and dated, and, everything else." He admits quickly, then moves the conversation on before Don asks another question. "He seemed to think that because he was my first, then he would never be my last."
"Ah, there it is." Don seems quite satisfied now.
Buck, not so much.
"'There it is' what?" Failing to hide his annoyance at not seeing what the cop apparently does.
"Sounds like Tommy-boy got cold feet."
"Well, obviously. Hope you're not a detective," he mumbles the last part as he finishes the last of his beer.
"I'll have you know I'd make a great detective." Buck snorts, and Don snatches up his empty bottle, along with the couple others on the table, before standing up. "Stay put. We're getting another drink, and by the end of the night you're going to have forgotten all about my idiot doppelgänger."
Buck squints after him as he walks away because that kind of sounded... He does have a nice ass.
Then a voice in the back of his head (sounding a lot like Eddie) reminds him that that is not a good idea.
"Urgh." He buries his head in his arms folded on the table.
Tommy was having a quiet night in; he had thought of going out to the badge and ladder bar but he turned it down, not quite feeling like good company.
He knows if he doesn't get out of this moping phase soon, then someone at the station is going to strangle him, probably Bet since she flies with him the most.
It was a mistake; he knew it as soon as he walked out the door of Evan's place. He'd missed his opportunity to take it all back, though, and then the longer he tried to send that message (that's still sitting as a draft in their conversation thread) or tap the call button, the more it felt like Evan didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve Evan after what he said to him and what he's put him through.
Evan was better off without Tommy, and Tommy would just have to learn to live with that.
So, he works on his vintage car in the garage until it's too late to be out there, then he uses the punching bag in the basement until he's got nothing left to give. Afterwards, he stands in the shower and pretends not to be crying.
Curling up in bed with The Notebook on his laptop sounds like the only option to end tonight.
He's only two minutes into the movie when there's a knock – no, pounding – at his door.
He hurries down because no one ever knocks like that on someone's door when everything is fine. Swinging it open, Tommy is met with a sight that initially short-circuits his brain.
That doesn't last for long.
"Hey, twinsy! Long time, no mix-ups!" Rocker grins at him like this is some happy reunion, and not that every time they've interacted, it's been because of some issue their uncanny likeness has caused.
"Except you can flip that number back to zero days." He makes a wonky zero with the thumb and forefinger on his free hand while he hauls a drunk-off-his-ass Evan into the doorway of his house.
"What? And did you get him drunk on tequila?"
He's never seen Evan this drunk in person; those voice notes and the few hazy videos from Howie's bachelor party night were his only glimpse at tequila-drunk Evan. Evan had made him promise never to get him tequila-anything if they were out drinking.
"Don't worry; he knew I was not you as soon as he checked me out." Rocker winked, either not hearing him or just not caring about answering.
Shaking his head and trying to decide what part of this scene in front of him he wants to deal with first, Rocker takes the decision out of his hands by pitching forward and nearly causing the two of them to land on the floor.
Tommy instinctively grabs Evan.
Rocker isn't so lucky.
"Hey! I bring your boyfriend back to you, and this is how you repay me!"
He heaves out an angry sigh and bites back whatever he was going to say because Evan's here and Rocker is drunk.
Evan is just with it enough that Tommy is able to get him over to the couch and gently lay him down on it.
"Thanks, Tommy." His voice is soft and words slurred, then he mumbles, "Sorry about this."
Tommy brushes the damp curls from his forehead. "It's okay, Evan."
Glassy eyes find his, eyelashes fluttering. Brightening a little as he asks, "I'm not Buck anymore?"
He feels sick to his stomach at that question, though Rocker butts in again by finally getting himself back up onto his feet, with some big help from the side table and doorframe.
He reluctantly leaves Evan safely on the couch to deal with the rest of this mess.
Lowering his voice, he finally allows his emotions to surface. "What are you doing here? And what did you do to Evan?"
Rocker sways a little against the doorframe, unfazed by the anger in front of him, though he drops his cheery demeanour.
"Look, Buck – Evan, whatever – he told me everything, okay?"
"And? You think you know enough about us to come knocking at my door uninvited?"
Rocker opens his mouth, but Tommy just knows some alcohol-induced stupidity is going to come from it. "You spent a night getting drunk with Buck, but you don't know him. You definitely don't know Evan or me."
"That's where you're wrong. I know what it's like having to walk away from the person that you love; I know how you feel." The unsteadiness in his stature and the blithe tone fall away as Rocker looks straight at him. "And you do not have to keep feeling it. You don't have to leave him."
Tommy gapes at him.
"He wants you. He wants you to stay, so don't be a coward and stay." The final word is punctuated by a very strong and unkind jab to his shoulder.
A loud honk from out on the street echoes through the neighbourhood, breaking the moment between the two of them.
Rocker steps back and starts to stagger his way towards the waiting car.
"Sorry, gotta go or I'll miss my ride."
Tommy feels bad for just letting him go in the state he's in, but he's obviously sober enough to plan his ride home, so he lets him go.
Rocker gets in the passenger side; before closing the door behind himself, he calls out (in that too loud way drunks always are), "Stop being an idiot; it's not a good look for us!"
He hears some quiet arguing from inside the car, then a second later the door slams shut, and the car takes off, leaving his street peaceful once again.
His neighbours are going to hate him.
Buck wakes with the worst hangover he's had since the bachelor party, which he swore was the last time he was ever doing tequila (the two of them together never ended well for him).
Barely able to open his eyes, thankfully the shades on the window are blocking out the bright sunlight, leaving only a faint glow from the bottom and sides to help orientate himself.
He's in a bed, but not his own bed.
He was out with Ravi last night, but Ravi didn't stay.
He met a guy, who wasn't Tommy.
Don.
Buck feels queasy, and he tries to push himself up because no way did he sleep with Don. That isn't what he wanted, at all.
It doesn't feel like he had sex last night – his jeans and hoodie are gone, but he's still wearing his boxers, t-shirt, and socks.
The room, as he looks around it, has familiarity to it. It's a place he's been before.
Then his eyes land on the bedside table, where his phone is plugged in to charge, and there's a bottle of water and a blister pack of pills.
He takes a sip of the water, testing to see if he can hold it down. Buck is lucky enough not to be a puker, even with liquor involved, but he is going to feel like crap for at least the next twenty-four hours.
Checking his phone, he only sees a few messages (that can wait to be answered). After that he takes a couple of Tylenol from the blister pack and brings the bottle of water with him as he stumbles towards the door.
He needs to know where he is.
Which is answered as soon as steps out into the hallway.
Not even the pain behind his eyes from the brighter space or the dizziness of being completely upright can overcome the sense of dread and panic at being in Tommy's hallway.
It is both lucky and unlucky for him, as he feels the bile rise up from his stomach, he's able to stumble through the right door and land in front of the toilet just in time.
The world is spinning, and Buck isn't sure if he's done throwing up. He lies back on the cold tile floor, trying to figure out what happened last night. The more he tries, the worse his head feels.
Buck wishes the floor would just swallow him whole because he cannot face Tommy. Especially not like this.
"Hey."
As if summoned by fate, especially to spite him.
Buck just about manages to croak out a "Hey" in return. Then he flings an arm across his face because he needs a minute.
"You staying down there for a while?" There's soft hesitancy to his voice that makes Buck tense and relax all at the same time. His feelings being all over the place from this situation does nothing to help with his nausea.
"Just until I die from embarrassment. Should be soon; then you can have your bathroom back," he mumbles.
Tommy lets out a quiet snort, then he hears shuffling. "Got room down there for one more? Sounds like the place to be when you've done something horrendously embarrassing."
Buck doesn't want to move his arm off his face quite yet, but he does shift so he's not lying in the centre of the floor anymore.
Tommy lets out a displeased grunt once Buck can feel him lying down beside him, his warmth in juxtaposition with the coolness of the tiles.
"You're not supposed to be down here."
"Oh, I—"
"Because you didn't do anything embarrassing, Evan."
Buck inhales a sharp breath. It's almost painful how good it feels to hear Tommy say his name again.
"I'm the one who ran away and let all my insecurities get the better of me. Said some real stupid shit."
"Yeah, you did." Buck moves his arm back down to his side, turning his head so he can finally see the man next to him. Tommy turns his head too.
"Though I did ask you to move in with me when you own your place, so..." Buck's pretty sure he remembers Don laugh-snorting beer out of his nose when he got to that detail of the breakup story.
"Don't, Evan. What you suggested might have been a little silly, but I hurt you."
"Yeah, you really did."
"I'm so sorry."
Buck wants to hope, but he's had his hope crushed too many times to be fooled again. He won't be able to get up off this floor at all if it happens in this moment.
"Are you sorry just because you feel bad about it? Or are you sorry that you missed your chance with me?" Buck blinks extra hard now, trying to stop the tears welling up in his eyes. "Because, Tommy, I can't—"
"Both. It's both," Tommy admits, like he can't get the words out fast enough. "I didn't realise how terrible the mistake I made was until it was too late."
"It's not too late."
"Evan, you shouldn't take me back—"
"Are you going to stop me?" Buck challenges. "We both screwed things up, okay. This time we just need to take a minute and then talk things through." Buck reaches out and brushes the back of Tommy's hand with his own. "Together."
Tommy latches onto him, clinging onto his hand, "Okay, yeah."
"Yeah?" Buck squeezes the hand in his, not able to hide his excitement.
"Yes, Evan." Tommy grins back at him, eyes just as shiny as his feel.
Tommy shuffles in closer, bringing their foreheads together.
"As much as I want to kiss you right now, my mouth is so unbelievably gross."
"Oh, I know." Ignoring Buck's pout, he places a soft kiss onto his forehead before rolling up and onto his feet.
"Ooft!" Tommy groans as he stretches.
Buck is about to try and lever himself up (probably with a disastrous outcome) when Tommy bends down and holds out his hand.
"C'mon, I've still got some of your stuff in my bathroom." Tommy gives him a sideways glance as he leads them along to his room. "Might even have one of your hoodies too."
"You know I prefer yours, though." Tommy's tentative smile turns into a full grin.
Later, after a long and thorough talk, because Evan doesn't do anything by halves, they are curled up on the sofa together.
Evan is dozing in his lap, bundled up in Tommy's coziest hoodie, while an episode of Blue Planet plays quietly in the background. He drags his hand through the soft, blond hair that's wild from no styling or product after Evan's shower.
He'd been an absolute fool to ever let this go.
Which leads him back to the one person he loathes to give credit for this to.
Leaving one hand to continue absently petting Evan, he uses the other to grab his phone and scrolls his contacts.
Opening up the (very sporadic) message thread with 'Evil Doppelganger', he writes:
Hope you didn't choke on your own vomit last night.
It's about half an hour later. Tommy is lying with Evan draped over him, both of them napping off the eventful night, when he gets a reply.
You're welcome ;-*
Tommy snorts. Evan blinks up at him, curiously, so he tilts his phone for him to see the message.
Evan laughs, "I'm pretty sure I remember you being listed in his as Evil Twin."
Tommy rolls his eyes.
Evan touches his cheek to get his attention again.
Smiling, he says, "Evil or not, you're still the best and my favourite."
And how could Tommy not kiss his boyfriend for saying something as sappy as that?