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"Where are we going?"
Maybe Buck should have asked that when Tommy knocked on his door a couple hours ago. But instead he just nodded when Tommy told him to pack a jacket and practically carried him into his truck.
Maybe he should have asked what this is all about when they arrived at harbor, and Tommy led him to one of the yellow non-duty helicopters.
But Buck stayed still; he trusted Tommy, after all they'd been through.
Lost in his own thoughts, like so often in the last few weeks. Tommy's voice, communicating with cackled voices through the radio, and the soft shaking of the helicopter almost lulled him back to sleep. But not quite. Sleep was not something Buck got a lot of lately. Ever since the funeral, to be exact. He tried everything: green tea before bed, meditation, running. Nothing helped.
It was in one of these sleepless nights when he texted Tommy.
A week after the funeral.
Tommy checked in with him a couple of times, and Buck always answered with "I am okay." But that night, Buck messaged him first, a simple "Hey," not sure how else to start. Not sure what he expected either.
But Tommy answered him right away with "Are you okay?" at 3 am, and Buck didn't lie this time.
What followed was an ongoing text chain between the two. Simple check-ins, questions about how shifts are going. Soon, Tommy was the only one that actually asked Buck how he was and the only one Buck trusted enough to talk about nightmares about the lab. How much he missed Bobby and how desperate he wanted to change stations. Just getting away from everything. And the guilt he felt about putting in the transfer request, even after Chimney became captain.
Tommy was his soundboard. Tommy listened and sent him links to books that helped him back in the day when he fought his own sleepless nights. Reassured him that changes can be good and told him stories about when he transferred to Harbor.
It didn't make Buck sleep, but it made it easier to be awake. The heavy weight on his shoulders seemed lighter for a minute whenever he answered the question "How are you?" truthfully with "Not good."
Because Tommy cared.
He trusted Tommy.
When he stood in front of Buck's door tonight, Buck didn't question it. He just followed, too tired to refuse, too tired to care.
So it wasn't until they were in the air the second time, after refueling, 2.5 hours in, that he asked.
"Where are we going?"
Tommy hummed in response, "We are visiting someone."
"Okay."
He trusted Tommy.
After another hour of silence, with only the roaring of the motor and the occasional radio cackle, Buck took a look at his phone.
Sunday, June 15. No new messages.
No wonder.
Tommy was the only one texting him these days. And the man was currently sitting right beside him. A calm presence that satisfied Buck's sleep-deprived brain to not ask any questions.
They landed 30 minutes later on an airfield in the middle of nowhere; the sun had already risen. Tommy called an Uber, which arrived another 15 minutes later. They drove for a while, and when they finally got to their destination, it was the first time today that Buck was actually surprised.
They stood in front of a cemetery.
"Tommy?" Buck looked at the older man, confused.
Tommy sighed; he seemed nervous all of a sudden. "Evan, on one of our first dates, you told me Bobby was the father you never had, and..."
"Where are we, Tommy?"
"Minnesota."
"Are we…"
"It's Father's Day."
A single tear rolled down Buck's cheek, his whole body dawning with understanding and something that seemed to settle within him. Without thinking too much about it, he took Tommy's hand, intertwined it with his own, and squeezed, one time, two times.
A habit they started when they were dating: one squeeze, I am here. Two squeezes, I am okay. They haven't made it to three squeezes in those 6 months, but right now that didn't matter.
Because Tommy was here, Buck was here, and they were okay.