Archive of Our Own

Buck wasn't sure how long he'd been standing here. It could've been minutes. Or hours. Hell, if you told him it had been a week, he wouldn't be surprised. Time hadn't had any meaning at all since the lab.

"I love you, kid. You're gonna be okay."

He took a breath, but it didn't go past his nose. His lungs felt like lead inside his chest, heavy and hard, refusing to take in any oxygen. He inhaled again, shakier, quicker, but to no avail. Every bout of air got stuck at the base of his throat, desperately trying to break through whatever barrier had built up there.

"I love you, kid. You're gonna be okay."

His boots had sunk deep into the sand, the grains seeping through his socks and chafing against his feet. The wind blew through his hair, carrying the salt of the ocean with it, which settled on his sweat-drenched skin. It almost made him shine in the light of the setting sun, who was throwing her rays at him like daggers.

"I love you, kid. You're gonna be okay."

Bobby's last words to him echoed through his brain, but Buck couldn't grasp them. His mind tried to reach out to them, to take them, to learn them. But every time its fingers wrapped around them, they dissolved into smoke, the plumes ascending toward the Heavens, only to reappear and continue mocking him.

"I love you, kid."

Then why didn't you fight?!

Why didn't you ask for help?!

Why didn't you tell anyone you were—?!

Buck shoved his thumbs into his mouth and bit down on them hard, just short of actually drawing blood. The sharp pain of his teeth digging into his skin sent a shock up to his head, at least temporarily numbing whatever Bobby was doing to him up there.

"I love you, kid."

He let himself fall back, sitting down on the sand that felt too soft, almost as if it was about to swallow him up. His head dropped down into his hands, his palms immediately pressing and rubbing at his eyes. A sob began crawling up his throat, distracting him from the burning sensation growing behind his lids that he already knew wouldn’t become tears.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to feel tears run down his face until it burned like the fires he was used to putting out. He wanted to scream until his throat shredded itself raw.

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. Instead, there was just... this.

The ocean kept moving.

Wave after wave rolled toward the shore, hissed over the sand, and retreated again without mercy. It should've been calming. Usually, it was. Even after the tsunami, that had always been true for Buck.

Now it sounded like someone was breathing directly into his ear. Every wave was a slow, measured inhale, and every recession seemed to blow against his earlobe. He could almost feel Bobby’s arms around him, after the ladder truck, after the tsunami, after the lightning strike. Could feel Bobby’s hand at the back of his head, guiding him to his shoulder to cry into. Could hear Bobby’s voice telling him that it was fine, and that everything would be okay.

He inhaled sharply.

The waves weren’t Bobby's breath.

Bobby couldn’t hug him anymore.

Bobby couldn’t comfort him anymore.

Bobby couldn’t offer his shoulder anymore.

Because Bobby was—

Buck's stomach lurched.

"No," he whispered, the word disappearing into the wind. "No!"

His voice cracked the second time. He shifted onto his knees and bent forward, his nails digging into his thighs.

"You don't get to do that!" The words escaped before he even realized he was speaking. "You don't get to tell me—" His jaw clenched. "You don't get to tell me you love me and then—" His breath caught. "—and then just leave!"

He raised his fists into the air and slammed them down onto the sand. A jolt traveled up his arms and into his shoulders. He was vaguely aware that the skin around his pinkies and the balls of his palms started burning, but none of that mattered anymore.

“Who do you think you are?!” Buck yelled up to the sky, the pink hues mocking him. “Who gave you the right?! Do you think Chimney wanted this?! What do you think he feels like right now?!”

The sky didn’t answer.

The rage in Buck’s gut only grew.

“You made Athena lose another husband!” he yelled upward. His hands dug into the sand, the grains slipping through his fingers as he tried to grip them. “Did you think about that?! Do you even care what this did to her after Emmett?!”

A particularly big wave broke at the shore, the water flowing up and pooling around his hands and knees. The coolness soaked into the fabric of Buck’s dress pants, but he was exploding too hard to notice.

“What did we ever do?!” he continued his tirade, every little ounce of magma that had built up inside his chest over the last two weeks. “What… what did we ever do to you?! Why… why would you just leave us all behind like that?!”

Buck folded in on himself, forehead nearly touching the wet sand as another sob climbed up his throat and got trapped there, just like every breath before it. His shoulders shook violently, but his eyes stayed dry, burning hotter with every failed attempt to cry.

"I hate you," he ground out through gritted teeth. He wanted to mean it. Bobby certainly deserved it. Yet the second the sentence left his mouth, he felt a sting in his chest. "I hate you."

…

…

…

His fingers curled tighter into the sand. "I don't..." His heart seemed to convulse behind his ribs, the pain seeping into his spine, becoming nearly unbearable. "I don't hate you."

The admission made it hurt even more.

"I just..."

He squeezed his eyes shut so hard stars burst behind his eyelids.

"I needed you."

The wind answered with another rush over the water.

"You were supposed to stay."

His voice was small now, barely even there.

"You promised."

Every time Bobby had called him "kid."

Every sarcastic comment.

Every exasperated sigh.

Every hand on the back of Buck's neck after a rough call; they'd all said the same thing.

I'm here. I’ve got you. I’m not leaving you behind.

Buck had believed it more than he'd believed almost anything else.

Because Bobby always had been there. Even when they weren’t on good terms, Bobby had looked out for him.

And now?

Now he was gone, and there was nothing Buck could have done to save him.

He hadn’t heard any footsteps coming closer. He hadn’t even realized somebody else had shown up in the middle of his meltdown. Only when the sand shifted beside him did he realize he wasn’t alone anymore. No greeting, no questions, just another body lowering itself carefully onto the beach beside him, legs crossed.

Buck didn't look.

He didn't need to.

Even after half a year apart, he could still pick Tommy Kinard blindly out of any crowd.

Taking a deep breath, Buck closed his eyes and prepared himself. He’d deserve whatever Tommy was about to tell him. He’d run away from the funeral the second Athena and the kids had left for the airport, hadn’t told anyone that he was leaving or where he was going, refused to join them in remembering Bobby together. Buck knew he was being selfish, and Tommy had every right to tell him that, especially after what he had said the morning after their hookup.

But then, despite everything, Tommy didn’t say anything. Buck glanced over to him, studying him briefly out of the corner of his eyes.

Tommy, just like Buck himself, was still wearing his dress blues. He had only taken off the hat, leaving his locks visible. They had fallen in on themselves and were somewhat glossy with what Buck assumed was sweat, but still looked unmistakably soft, just like always. Tommy’s jacket was quite wrinkled (yet another sign to Buck that he had been here far longer than he remembered), and his trousers and shoes were full of sand, but none of that managed to make Tommy any less beautiful.

“Do you wanna say anything?” Buck asked softly around the lump that had settled in his throat back when he had carried part of Bobby’s casket.

Tommy didn't answer right away. He kept watching the ocean, his eyes fixated on the horizon. They lacked their usual sparkle, Buck noticed, though he didn’t really need to guess why. Same reason why they weren’t as blue as he was used to, he was sure.

Another wave rolled in, almost reaching up to Tommy’s knees before receding. He seemingly didn’t mind the splashes that had landed on his dress pants, since he only let out a low hum before finally breaking the silence.

"I don't think there's anything to say."

Buck kept watching him for a moment. The crow’s feet at the corners of Tommy’s eyes, which had been Buck’s favorite part of his face to kiss when they had been together, seemed to run deeper now. They ran back toward his ears like little canyons across the strangely sallow skin in a way Buck decided he didn’t like.

"Yeah," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around his knees. He locked his eyes on the horizon, where the sun had now finally completely disappeared. The faint, pink traces that were still left at the edges of the darkening sky seemed completely out of place. It was too soft. Too normal. “I guess.”

Silence settled between them again, neither awkward nor particularly comfortable.

It just felt… numb. Like most things had the last two weeks.

"I yelled at him," Buck admitted meekly. He bit down on his lip to hold back a sob, though he didn’t bother covering his eyes this time. He wasn’t able to cry anyway. “Like. Loudly.”

"I heard."

"I called him selfish."

"I heard that too."

Buck waited for the lecture. For Tommy to tell him Bobby wouldn't have wanted this. That grief wasn't supposed to look like rage. That Athena, and Chim, and Maddie, and the station needed him.

He was being selfish. Made everything about himself, had no regard for anyone else. Tommy would be more than justified in calling him out for it. He had been on the receiving end of Buck’s antics before, after all. It’s why they broke up, in a way. Buck had wanted to move forward way too fast, without considering what Tommy’s perspective was.

He had deserved to get dumped that night.

Just like he deserved whatever Tommy was going to unload at him now.

Only… nothing came.

Tommy only sighed, scooped up a handful of damp sand, and let it run through his fingers.

"When… when my Mom died, I..."

Buck turned, his jaw tightening. Tommy rarely talked about his mother. In fact, Buck wasn't sure he'd ever heard Tommy voluntarily bring her up.

"I hated everyone who tried to make me feel better.” His voice remained level, almost detached. "They'd say things like 'Oh, she’s in a better place now' or 'Cheer up, Thomas, she wouldn't want you to be sad.'" A bitter breath escaped through his nose. "I wanted to punch every single one of them."

Buck almost smiled.

"Did you?"

"No."

"...But you thought about it."

"Oh, constantly."

For the first time since everything, something in Buck's chest loosened by the smallest fraction. Tommy continued looking ahead, but Buck was sure he could see his eyes flicking over to him for a second. Despite everything, the little glance made his stomach feel warm.

"I remember somebody told me grief comes in stages."

"Oh, goddamn it," Buck rolled his eyes. Between Maddie and Dr. Copeland, he had heard that speech way too often since the lab had happened. He was apparently jumping between anger and depression right now, sometimes he dabbled in bargaining, and somehow that would eventually lead him to acceptance. It just didn't feel like it at the moment. "Don't even start."

"Oh, I'm not, don't worry!" Tommy chuckled and brushed the last grains of sand off his palm. "Personally, I think grief is never just one thing. It's a chain."

Buck frowned, but didn't interject. This was… different than what he'd heard before. Not the first time Tommy taught him something new either.

Tommy picked up a stick from the ground. "You keep walking around the same things." He traced a ring into the sand and drew an A into it. "Anger." Another circle, this time with a G. "Guilt." Then two more, with D and L. "Denial and Love."

Buck watched as his grip on the stick tightened. The circles Tommy had drawn were all linked together into… well, a chain, just like he said. "They don't happen one after another. It's never just one." Tommy tapped the circle marked L with the end of the stick. "You don't get anger without love first." He dragged the stick along the line connecting it to G. "And once you're angry, guilt isn't usually far behind."

Buck stared at the chain. At every link Tommy had drawn. As much as he appreciated Dr. Copeland, and as much as she had helped him over the years… Tommy's metaphor made more sense to him than what she had suggested.

"You yell at them because you love them," Tommy said quietly. "Then you hate yourself for yelling at someone who's dead. Then you convince yourself maybe if you'd done one thing differently..." He tapped the circle marked D. "But denial isn't always pretending they aren't gone."

Buck swallowed. His eyes squeezed shut. He knew where this was going, and he already hated it. Mostly because he already knew Tommy was right.

"Sometimes denial is refusing to believe there wasn't anything you could've done."

"Yes, I could've!" The words came out of Buck's mouth before he could hold them back, his head snapping toward Tommy. "I could've stayed with the others before they got trapped, I could've stopped Bobby from closing the door, I could've—"

"You could've died."

"You don't know that!" Buck jumped up, taking a few steps down to the water. For just the fraction of a second, a voice in his ears told him to just drop forward, to let the ocean claim him, to just end the ache in his chest he hadn't been able to shake off.

He was vaguely aware of Tommy getting up behind him. Buck almost laughed. Tommy wouldn't have let him die anyway. No chance he wouldn't have jumped right after him if he'd tried to drown himself.

"Evan," Tommy said, calmly, diplomatically, in a way that made Buck want to scream his throat out. "Bobby chose to save Chimney."

“That doesn’t mean I had to let him!”

Buck spun around so quickly his shoes slipped in the wet sand. Tommy’s hands twitched at his sides, ready to catch him, but Buck steadied himself before he could.

“I should’ve known,” he continued. “I should’ve known! He stayed back when we got the others out of the lab; he didn't take off his oxygen mask; there were so many signs! And I just—” His voice broke. “I didn't do anything! I didn't notice anything! I just let him! I let Bobby die!”

The moment those words—that word, specifically—rang out across the beach, something inside Buck's chest shifted. Something around his heart cracked, chipped away shard by shard, until it burst through like a river breaking a dam.

And his eyes became wet.

The first tear hit the sand so softly Buck almost didn't notice it.

Then another.

And another.

"W-what..." he whispered, his hand flying up to his face. His shaky fingers smeared the hot trails across his cheeks, leaving their tips damp. Buck blinked at them, shiny, and glossy, and mocking him with their existence.

This just couldn't be real. Not now, not after all this time. For two weeks he'd begged his body to do this. Had stood under the shower until the water ran cold, had lain awake staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to break. Had watched Athena try not to fall apart, watched May cry, watched Harry silently fold in on himself, watched Chimney stare at nothing for entire minutes, watched Hen excuse herself from conversations because she couldn't keep speaking, watched Eddie pretend he was fine when he clearly wasn't.

He hadn't cried. He hadn't been able to cry.

Now, as if someone had opened his eyes' floodgates, he couldn't stop.

The sob that ripped through him wasn't a sound so much as something tearing loose inside his ribcage. His knees buckled. He barely registered them hitting the sand before another one followed, harsher than the first, folding him nearly in half.

The tension he'd felt in his shoulders since the lab crashed down on him like a house of cards. Within seconds, he felt the weight bury him, crushing him, trying to break him.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, several sobs spilling out of him in rapid succession. The bursts began catching in his chest, the muscles around his lungs beginning to cramp up and ache in a way that almost felt comforting,

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Bobby's dead.

You didn't notice that he got infected, and that's why he's dead.

"Evan."

Buck barely heard Tommy's voice through the storm raging in his head. He noticed the large hand on his shoulder, but it felt dull, as if he was covered in cotton or foam.

Athena must hate you. Chimney must blame you. Eddie must be judging you.

Another sob tore from Buck's chest, this one accompanied by a string of apologies. "'m sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he mumbled over and over, rocking back and forth on his knees. The tears were spilling out of his eyes like geysers now, almost as if they tried to make up for lost time, something that brought at least a small amount of relief to Buck's soul.

Tommy, meanwhile, didn't tell him to stop apologizing. Instead, he lowered himself into the sand in front of him until they were almost eye level. His hand never left Buck's shoulder, the firm warmth keeping him somewhat grounded. Buck was sure it was the only thing keeping him in this reality at this point.

"Evan."

Buck couldn't look at him. Didn't deserve to look at him. Tommy was a good person, had risked his career, his life to help him and Athena get the antidote for the super virus. And how had Buck repaid him for that? By ignoring him. He hadn't reached out to Tommy at all after the lab, and had ignored him throughout the whole funeral earlier today. He had been entirely ungrateful toward Tommy, on top of having let Bobby die.

"I'm sorry," he choked again, keeping his eyes on the sand beneath their feet. "I—I should've—"

He couldn't finish his sentence before the wind was taken out of his sails. From one second to the next, he was engulfed in warmth. He froze up for a moment, his next sob turning into a soft gasp. Tommy's arms were firm and tight around him. His shoulders felt lighter, suddenly, even if the weight wasn't entirely gone.

Buck's first instinct was to pull away. He had avoided getting touched like the plague ever since the lab.

Athena had squeezed his arm. Hen had rested a hand between his shoulders. Maddie had hugged him in her kitchen. Eddie had stood close enough that Buck knew the offer was there without words.

Every single time, Buck had found some excuse to move. He couldn't remember deciding to do it. His body had simply refused.

But now that Tommy was holding him, Buck discovered he didn't have the strength left to run.

His forehead found Tommy's shoulder almost on its own, the sob that escaped him sounding younger than he remembered ever being. Tommy's embrace tightened, his fingers moving up to card through his hair.

Buck cried harder.

His hand grabbed the back of Tommy's jacket, wrinkling the already rumpled dress blues. He hated himself for ruining them. Hated himself even more for thinking about something so stupid while Bobby was dead.

"I'm sorry," he sniffed, instinctively nuzzling against Tommy's neck and inhaling that familiar citrus-and-sandalwood. He'd missed it. He'd missed Tommy. "I'm a mess. I'm supposed to be better than this."

Tommy hummed and slightly turned his head, burying his nose in Buck's hair. Buck felt his shoulders sag. The tears started slowing down now.

"Who says that?"

Buck’s fingers tightened in Tommy’s jacket. “Everyone,” he said, the word muffled against Tommy’s neck. “Bobby. Me. I don’t know.”

Tommy’s hand stilled briefly in his hair before continuing its slow path through the strands. “Bobby told you that you had to handle his death perfectly?”

“No.”

“He told you that you weren’t allowed to fall apart?”

Buck swallowed. “No.”

“He tell you to skip grieving and go straight to being useful?”

The question pierced straight through Buck's ribs and settled right beneath his heart.

Because no, Bobby had never said that. He’d said the opposite, in fact. After Eddie got shot. After the Daniel fiasco. After the lightning strike. Every time Buck had tried to throw himself into work until there was nothing left of him, Bobby had been the one pulling him back.

Buck’s face crumpled again.

“He’d hate this,” he whispered.

Tommy’s arms loosened just enough for him to lean back and look into Buck's eyes. Buck repressed a noise at the loss of Tommy's scent in his nose. “You yelling at him?”

Buck let out a small laugh and shook his head. “Me,” he said, pulling a wobbly, tight smile. Something sharp passed across Tommy’s face. It almost made Buck take everything back on instinct.

“No."

“You don’t know that.”

"Evan," Tommy started, his voice slightly harder, though not unkind. His eyes had gotten a determined shine, and Buck knew before his mouth opened that everything he was about to say was going to be sincere. "There's a lot I don't know, and I'll gladly admit that. But what I do know is that Bobby loved you. Nothing you could possibly do could've ever changed that."

Buck felt his mouth twitch. Tommy had said everything he wanted to hear. In his head, he even knew it was true. He knew that Bobby would never blame him for anything. If the clusterfuck that was his lawsuit proved anything, it was that. At the same time, his heart refused to acknowledge that. He'd let Bobby down by letting him die.

As much as Buck's brain kept yelling how the last words Bobby said to him were 'I love you,' his heart kept its ears closed.

“He’s not here to say it.”

Tommy’s expression softened, though the firmness in his eyes remained. “No, he isn't.”

Buck felt a little tug at his heart that hurt more than he'd anticipated. Maybe because Tommy didn’t try to cushion it. He'd always been blunt and refused to soften his words. In a way, among all the 'He's still watching over you' speeches he'd heard, it was refreshing.

Bobby was dead.

Tommy wasn’t going to lie to him about that. Buck was surprised how much he appreciated it.

Buck’s gaze fell to the space between them. Tommy’s knees were pressed against his, their uniforms smeared with wet sand where the water had reached them. “I don’t know how to do this without him,” he admitted.

Tommy’s thumb moved slowly along the back of his neck. “You don’t have to know yet.”

“I feel like I do.” Buck scrubbed roughly at his cheeks. More tears replaced the ones he wiped away, but they came slower now. "Athena needs support. Chim needs to know we don't blame him. The station needs—”

“What do you need?”

Buck blinked, his mouth snapping shut.

The question seemed absurd. Almost offensive. He wasn't supposed to need, he was supposed to give. That's what Bobby had said, right? He was supposed to look out for everyone, keep them together, make sure they're okay. He could think about what he himself needed and ask for it once he'd helped everyone else first.

“What?”

“What do you need, Evan?”

“I don’t—” Buck looked toward the water. Another small wave broke before even making it to the shore. “That doesn’t matter.”

Tommy’s hand left the back of his neck.

The loss of contact made Buck’s stomach drop before he could stop it, but Tommy only moved his hand to Buck’s jaw, gently turning his face back.

“It matters to me.”

Buck stopped breathing.

Tommy’s expression changed the second the words left his mouth, as if he’d realized too late how they sounded. His fingers loosened, giving Buck room to pull away.

He didn’t.

For half a year, he had thought he'd never hear Tommy say something like that again. After Tommy had left him standing in the loft, he'd thought he'd never see him again. Same after their hookup, when Tommy had left Buck in the middle of Eddie's his kitchen, after Buck had chickened out from calling him. Hell, he'd been sure that if he'd ever see Tommy again, he would already have a new boyfriend, and he wouldn't care about Buck anymore.

But now… now…

Almost like in a trance, Buck slowly leaned forward, his hand moving up to cup Tommy's face. Tommy's eyes widened at the touch, his eyes darting to Buck's hand before centering back to his face. His lips slightly parted in surprise as Buck began pulling him in.

"Evan-"

Buck knew. He knew this was a bad idea while Bobby's death was still fresh. But right now, he couldn't help himself.

The kiss was soft, completely different than the last time he and Tommy had kissed. It started as little more than a small peck, just lips on lips, so light Buck wasn't even sure they were touching. It was enough to freeze Tommy for a moment, but he quickly recovered and tentatively kissed back, deepening the kiss just enough to make Buck's heart flutter.

Tommy's lips were warm despite the cool wind coming off the water. They barely moved, both of them melting into the kiss the way they always had, like they had never even broken up. Buck felt Tommy's hand remain carefully against his jaw, as though he was afraid too much pressure might make Buck shatter.

Then he pulled back, only an inch, only enough to rest his forehead against Buck's. Their breaths mingled, uneven, their faces damp with Buck's tears.

"Evan," Tommy whispered again. His face was unreadable, but Buck was sure that if Tommy was in any way offended, he'd have expressed that by now. It didn't stop him from regretting the kiss immediately. He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Back to apologizing, huh?"

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

"Hey, no." Tommy's voice was soft and quiet, but it stopped Buck in his tracks anyway. "You don't have to apologize for kissing me."

Buck finally opened his eyes. Tommy looked clearly exhausted, and Buck couldn't blame him. The last two weeks had been hell. But underneath how tired he looked, Tommy's eyes were soft. His lips were pulled into a small but kind smile. It was even slightly crinkly, like all of Buck's favorite Tommy-smiles were.

Again, Tommy was managing to make the clouds in Buck's head smaller.

"I don't know why I did that."

Tommy studied him for a long moment before reaching out a hand and brushing a strand of hair away from Buck's forehead. Buck felt his face grow warm.

"I think," Tommy said carefully, ignoring Buck's blush, "you reached for the one person you don't think you have to be invincible for."

Something in Buck's brain short-circuited.

The one person you don't think you have to be invincible for.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that Tommy was wrong, that he didn't think he'd need to be invincible for anyone, not just for him. Tommy's assessment (accusation?) almost felt like an attack against the others, even if he knew realistically that that wasn't what Tommy was saying.

Except... he knew Tommy was right, in a way. He'd spent a lot of time since Bobby died pretending he was steel so Athena, Chim, and everyone didn't have to. He knew that he'd neglected himself in the process, but he had insisted to himself that it was worth it. Bobby wanted him to be there for everyone, after all, right?

"I don't..." Buck swallowed, voice scraped raw. "I don't think that's fair."

"I'm probably not." Tommy's thumb brushed once across his cheekbone, wiping away another tear, leaving a tingly feeling on Buck's skin. "But I'm right, aren't I?"

A sigh escaped Buck's lips, and he looked down at their knees in the sand again. He hated that Tommy had looked straight through him once more. In a weird way, he had hoped that he'd unlearned this uncanny ability to read him in their time apart, if only because of how pathetic he felt.

"Listen," Tommy sighed, his hand moving down to squeeze Buck's shoulder now. Buck suppressed a whine. "I don't know what that kiss means."

Neither did Buck, if he was being honest. He'd missed Tommy. Every single day. It's why the loft and later Maddie's house had turned into makeshift bakeries. He had craved Tommy so much that he had been ready to put up with more heartache for one last night with him, back when Ravi had brought him over at that bar.

At the same time, though?

Bobby's death had changed everything. The guilt, the grief, the urge to be useful for everyone else… it had taken over Buck's life. He wasn't sure when the last time he'd had a calm moment had been; every second since the lab had felt like a hurricane tearing through his body. He was mature enough to admit that a part of him very much did only want Tommy this overtly because he was desperate for relief.

"So maybe..." Tommy continued, taking a slow breath. "Maybe we don't decide anything tonight."

Buck studied Tommy's face, searching for any sign that he was lying, and that he was actually about to disappear from his life again the moment this conversation ended. But… he couldn't find any. Tommy's eyes were sincere, and soft, and kind.

They were patient. The same kind of patience Tommy had shown him when he had been covered in boils or when he'd made a fool of himself during their first date. That had always been one of Tommy's best qualities, even if Buck, as he was slowly realizing, had taken it for granted when they were dating.

"I just don't want to doom us again before we're even back together," Tommy smiled gently. "You're standing in the middle of one of the worst periods of your life. I just… If we do this, I want us to wait until you're less all over the place."

Buck swallowed hard. Tommy wasn't pushing him away. If anything, he was protecting both of them.

"I hate that you're being reasonable," Buck muttered, smiling despite himself. Tommy's smile widened, too, bringing back the crinkles Buck loved so much.

"I know. I'm the worst."

"Seriously. I'd almost prefer it if you yelled at me."

"Oh, I almost did."

"No you didn't!"

"Are you doubting me?!"

Buck let out an involuntary laugh. It burst out unexpectedly, and almost immediately dissolved into a small fit of giggles, but it had, in fact, been a laugh. His first sincere one since Bobby died. Something in his chest fluttered, almost to the point of vibrating.

"I missed that," he admitted, reaching up a now sand-covered hand to wipe away the rest of his tears. He hadn't even realized he'd stopped crying. One of these days he'd find out how and why Tommy had this kind of effect on him. "The, uh… the bantering."

The crow's feet around Tommy's eyes evened out a little as his smile softened into something fonder. "I missed making you laugh."

And just like that, Buck felt a fresh bout of tears fill his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. Because God, had he missed Tommy, too. Not just the kissing, or the cuddling, or the sex, either, but all of this.

Being able to vent, to complain, to just yell at the world, all while Tommy listened and didn't try to fix everything. (And yes, Buck was aware that he, of all people, feeling this way was hypocritical as hell.) He just listened, and allowed Buck to feel, and he never made him feel stupid for doing it.

"Okay," Buck swallowed, holding Tommy's gaze. "If… if we're doing this, you need to promise me that you'll stay this time."

Tommy's eyes widened. It was his turn to blush, and under different circumstances, Buck would enjoy the sight. As it was, he had to make sure he and Tommy were on the same page.

"Evan—"

"No, this is important," he cut Tommy off, shaking his head. "I'm fine with waiting a few weeks. Until… until Bobby doesn't hurt as much anymore. But no matter where we land, as a couple, or not, or whatever, you can't run away from me anymore. I… I don't think I could handle that again."

A wave rolled in again and broke on the shore, the water reaching to Buck and Tommy's knees again. Buck wrapped his arms around himself almost subconsciously, the cold of the water crawling up his spine. He barely noticed it, though. Because the wave had sounded… like a wave. The whispers of before had faded. Maybe not to the point where Buck could relax to the sound, but at least he didn't feel their breath on his neck anymore.

Movement in the corners of his eyes drew his attention to Tommy, who was shrugging off his jacket. Buck immediately shook his head.

"No. You'll freeze."

"I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath."

"So am I."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one that's shivering."

Buck started to protest again, but Tommy wasn't having any of it. He simply draped the jacket around Buck's shoulders anyway. The fabric was warm. Warm from Tommy. Almost on instinct, Buck pulled it tighter around himself, inhaling the smell in the process. It smelled like him. Citrus. Sandalwood. A whiff of jet fuel that somehow never completely disappeared no matter how many times Tommy washed his clothes.

With a groan, Tommy stood up now, putting his hands at his back for a moment. Buck bit back a laugh, doubly so after Tommy definitely did not say something that sounded suspiciously like 'Fuck, I'm getting old.' Tommy took another few moments, presumably to mourn his youth, before reaching out his hand. Buck took it without hesitation and allowed Tommy to pull him up.

"I won't run anymore," Tommy said, putting his hand on Buck's hip the moment he stood. Buck believed him. He wasn't sure why, because honestly, after their breakup and the morning after their hookup, he had every reason not to. But somehow, he could tell that Tommy meant it this time. "I missed you too much the last two times I did."

Buck’s fingers tightened around Tommy’s. “I missed you too,” he whispered.

Tommy’s gaze flicked over his face, and Buck watched every defense he had carefully rebuilt over the last six months falter. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. For once, Tommy Kinard seemed completely speechless.

Buck understood the feeling.

The wind tugged at Tommy’s jacket around his shoulders, pulling one side loose. Tommy reached up and fixed it without thinking, drawing the fabric together beneath Buck’s throat. His thumbs brushed Buck’s collarbone.

Neither of them moved away.

“I’m not asking you to promise we’ll never screw up,” Buck said. His voice still sounded wrecked, but at least it belonged to him again. “Because we will. I’ll get ahead of myself. You’ll decide something for both of us because you think you're doing me a favor.”

"Yeah," Tommy winced, biting his lip. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

He looked back toward the ocean. The horizon had nearly disappeared into the night now, the water and sky blending into one dark expanse. Farther down the beach, lights from houses began flickering on, warm yellow squares against the deepening blue.

“I just need you to talk to me.”

Tommy nodded slowly, reaching out to take Buck's hand again. His palm was warm, Buck noticed, despite the circumstances. They simply stood there, for a moment, hand in hand, watching the lights of Los Angeles begin to shine, the silence between them growing more comfortable by the second.

Buck shot Tommy a small look. He hadn't expected him to show up here. He hadn't expected him to be able to get him out of his funk. He hadn't expected them to take their first step toward maybe getting back to where they were. Things weren't suddenly perfect between them, and Buck didn't expect them to be, but they were moving in the right direction, and Buck was determined to make it work and to make it last this time. That was what he owed himself, and what he owed Bobby.

"Come on," Tommy murmured suddenly, tugging on Buck's hand. "You can crash in my guest room tonight."

Buck sighed in relief. He really didn't want to talk to anyone tonight anymore, but with Eddie currently sleeping on his couch, that was a no-go. Having somewhere else to sleep sounded like heaven.

"Know what?" he smiled, already lightly pulling Tommy toward the street. "I think that's one of the best ideas you've ever had."