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Buck doesn’t see the text until a couple days after it’s sent, when he finally feels okay enough to look at his phone screen without puking. At first, all he can do is stare at the name under the notifications, his breath hitching. It takes a long time before he manages the coordination necessary to actually open the message.
Hey, I hope it’s okay, reaching out like this. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you today. I hope you’re doing okay. And even if I’m the last person you might want to hear from, I’m here if you need someone to talk to.
Buck reads it three times. His eyes are stinging and the words are blurry on the screen by the time he’s finally able to let the screen go dark.
Tommy isn’t the last person he’d want to hear from. Not even close. God, there are still days when Tommy is the first person Buck thinks of when he wants to tell someone about something new or interesting. There are still days when Buck reaches for his phone and pulls up Tommy’s contact and lets his thumb hover over the call button before he remembers that too much time has gone by, that they aren’t anything to each other anymore, that he shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
But Tommy reached out first. Tommy reached out on the anniversary of Bobby’s death, and that’s…
Okay, Buck isn’t entirely sure what that is, but he’s pretty sure it’s something.
He hits the call button before he can second guess himself, closes his eyes and curls up around his pillow while he waits.
It takes three rings for Tommy to answer, and he sounds out of breath when he does. “Evan?”
Buck can’t articulate all the ways he’s missed how Tommy says his name. His chest goes tight. “H-hey, Tommy,” he says.
“Hey,” Tommy breathes down the line. “How are you?”
“I’m s-sorry I missed your text.” Buck swallows. “Turns out opioid withdrawal is no joke.” He tries to tack on a laugh, but it dies a sad death halfway out.
There’s a very loud silence on the other end of the phone, and it lasts for long enough that Buck is starting to think this was a really bad idea before Tommy finally says, “What can I do to help?”
And that…that’s enough to make Buck’s whole body go loose. Because he’d expected, What happened? He’s expected, Are you okay? He’d even sort of expected, Why the hell would you call me? And Buck doesn’t know how to answer any of those questions, but this one…
This one he does. “You already did it when you picked up the phone.”
He hears the slow breath Tommy releases. Hears the scrape of a chair being pushed back, the creak as Tommy sits down. “I’ll always pick up for you, Evan. I hope you know that by now.”
Buck did know that, sort of, because Tommy answered when he’d called for another helicopter theft even though there were still so many hurt feelings on both sides, and because Tommy had answered after that, too, after the funeral, when Buck could barely tell what direction was up. But he also didn’t know it, not really, not in his heart, because his heart is really good at second guessing whether or not he’s worth anybody’s time. “I know,” he whispers anyway, because his insecurities aren’t on Tommy. “S-still good to hear, though. Thanks, Tommy.” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t…wasn’t about B-Bobby, or anything. The…” He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees stars. “The drugs. I was in a car accident last month. Broken ribs. They prescribed oxy, and I. I didn’t. I—”
“It’s okay,” Tommy says. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe for a sec. Whatever happened, you’re working through it. You got help, right? That’s why, with the withdrawal?”
Buck nods before he remembers Tommy can’t see him. Tries to follow Tommy’s directions to breathe. “Yeah. Uh, Chim. Everybody. They.” He stops, clearing his throat. “I almost stole fentanyl from the ambulance. Told Chimney he had to fire me, and he…he took me home instead. Got everybody together, and they—they’ve been r-really great. It’s…it’s better now. I’m getting better.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Tommy sounds it, too, relief coloring each of the words.
“Chim doesn’t think I’ll lose my job, but Simpson…he has to be thinking I’m more trouble than I’m worth by now.” Buck feels a tear escape from under his closed eyes, trailing from the corner until it soaks into his pillow.
“Simpson knows you care more about the job that ninety percent of the other people doing it,” Tommy says. “And that counts for a hell of a lot, in this line of work.”
Buck thinks it’s possible that Tommy is a little bit magic, because even though Chimney has told him the same thing more than once, for the first time, he actually feels a little bit reassured.
“I’m gonna, uh. I’m gonna t-take some time, either way,” Buck says, voicing it out loud for the first time. “Go back to therapy, work some stuff out. Maybe go to a few NA meetings. I mean, it wasn’t…wasn’t that long, or anything, n-not like some people deal with, but.” He thinks of what he told Athena, about understanding a part of Bobby he’d never been able to before. This isn’t something he wants to do for Bobby, really, but because those AA meetings had helped Bobby, and Buck thinks maybe something like that could help him, too. Just knowing there are other people out there going through what he’s going through.
“Other people’s trauma being bad doesn’t invalidate your own,” Tommy says, like he’s reciting something. Then he adds, dryly, “Or so Sal always tells me.”
Buck smiles, almost in spite of himself. “He’s a smart guy.”
“He sure thinks so.” Tommy huffs something that could be the cousin to a laugh. “And listen, Evan. Whatever you need to do, you know your family, the whole 118, they’ll support you.” Softer, he adds, “So will I, for whatever that’s worth.”
The little smile on his face stretches wider. Buck feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in days. “It’s worth a lot, Tommy. Thanks.” He hesitates, then finally drags his eyes open. Stares at the nightstand next to his bed. There’s still a photo stuck in the drawer that he pretends he’s forgotten about, a photo of him and Tommy during the first helicopter flight they ever took together just for fun. Both of them smiling and happy, together. He drags in another breath, says, “I know, uh. I know we said we’d talk, after…after the funeral, after…everything. And I dropped the ball there, but not because…not because I didn’t want to. Talk, I mean. And see you. I just…”
“There was a lot going on,” Tommy says. “I get it.”
“I’d like to see you now.” Buck manages to say it without a single stutter or hitched breath and feels proud of himself. “If that’s something you’d like, too.” He pauses. “Well maybe not now, now, I’m pretty gross still right now, but—”
Tommy’s small sound of amusement, still not quite a laugh, is warm in his ear. “You just tell me when, and I’ll be there. Day or night. Assuming your caretakers will let me through the front door.”
“I’ll make sure they do.” Buck closes his eyes again, his body and brain both going limp with relief. Suddenly exhausted again, even though he feels like he’s done nothing but sleep for days. “Will you…I’m pretty sure I’m gonna fall asleep again soon, but I…um…”
“Want me to stay on the phone with you till you fall asleep?” Tommy asks. His voice is the gentlest Buck thinks he’s ever heard it.
“Yes, please,” he says, feeling small but also very safe for the first time in a long time, with Tommy’s voice anchoring him to a reality where he might come out of this whole mess unscarred.
“I’m here, Evan,” Tommy promises.
And for now, that’s enough.
Buck slips into sleep. For the first time since New Mexico, with the soft murmur of Tommy’s voice in his ear, he does so easily. He’s absolutely certain that this time, no nightmares will be able to find him.
(He’s right.)