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siratonin · 2 months ago

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this is a mess, written directly into the tumblr app lmao, but it wouldn’t leave my head so here... have it. post 8x15, cw: grief, canon mcd

It was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. That hollow hour where the city curled into itself—too late for night, too early for morning—and even the birds hadn’t begun to stir.

He sat slouched on the couch, shoulders caved in, like he could fold himself small enough to disappear. The beer in his hand—fourth? fifth?—had gone warm, but he held it anyway. The TV played something pointless, volume low, just enough to fill the room with something that wasn’t silence.

Not that it helped. The real noise was in his head.

Bobby’s voice hadn’t left him. “You’ll be okay, Buck. They’re gonna need you.” Said like it was simple. Like Buck’s world didn’t collapse on itself. He’d replayed that moment so many times it burned behind his eyes. all He could think was—how do you stay standing when the person who kept you grounded is the one who’s gone?

Maddie’s voice followed after, soft, pleading, “You don’t have to be okay right now, Buck. You just have to let yourself feel it.”

But he didn’t want to. Couldn’t. Because feeling it meant naming it. And naming it meant breaking apart.

Too much.

Everyone felt like they were slipping, like the world had tilted and no one knew how to catch their balance again. Buck didn’t either. So he didn’t try. He sat. He drank. He told himself he was fine. Numb was easier. Numb was safe.

But even that was starting to splinter at the edges.

So he stayed still. Let it all swirl inside—grief, guilt, confusion, anger—tangled so tightly he couldn’t tell one from the other. He didn’t cry. Didn’t scream—not again, not yet—He just sat there, breathing in static and beer fumes, whispering the same thing over and over in his mind,

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll try again.

Tomorrow he’d be better. He’d hold it together. He’d be who Bobby believed he could be. Tomorrow, he’d show up for everyone again.

But tonight—tonight he just needed to hold it together long enough to survive the quiet.

Too much. Too loud.

Until a knock shattered it.

Not loud—just enough to cut through the fog.

He blinked slowly toward the door. Didn’t move.

Another knock. This one didn’t ask. It forced him to get up.

“…Tommy?”

Tommy stood there, jacket zipped, windblown, eyes soft, worried.

“Hi,” he said, breathless. “Thank god… I tried calling you, Evan. A lot. You weren’t answering.”

Buck stared. Not surprised. Not upset. Just… tired. He looked at Tommy like one might look at a dream they’d almost forgotten.

All he could think was how badly he wanted to crawl inside Tommy’s ribs and stay there—where it was warm and safe and beating.

But he didn’t say that.

He didn’t say anything.

He just stepped back, left the door open, and leaned against the back of the couch.

Tommy lingered a moment before asking, careful, “Can I come in?”

Buck shrugged, eyes flicking away. Voice too thin to use.

Tommy stepped in, shut the door behind him, and slowly made his way to Buck’s side. His gaze fell to the cluster of beer bottles on the table. He didn’t comment.

Instead, he asked, “How are you doing?”

That made Buck laugh—a hollow, breathless thing. “How am I supposed to answer that?” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Tommy nodded, didn’t press, but stayed near.

Buck gave more shrugs. One for every question.

“Have you eaten anything?”

Shrug.

“Are you sleeping at all?”

Shrug.

“Did you even talk to anyone today?”

Another shrug. He didn’t even bother pretending to think about it.

Buck didn’t look at him. Just let the words hang in the thick air between them, one hand tightening around the neck of his beer like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Tommy exhaled slowly, like he was trying to hold something in—something fragile and fraying.

“I gave you time,” he said softly. “Told myself maybe you needed space. But, Evan…” He stepped closer, just a little. “It’s been days. You weren’t answering anyone. I-I had to come.”

Tommy’s next breath was sharper. Pushed to the edge of fear. “Will you answer me instead of just shrugging everything away?”

Buck’s jaw twitched. He looked up at Tommy like the question was too sharp to forgive.

“Why?” His voice cracked, low and bitter. “What do you want me to say?”

He gestured vaguely—at the room, the bottles, maybe even himself.

“Of course I’m not okay. But I’ll get over it, right? That’s what people do. They move on.” He shook his head. “What do you expect from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hand half-lifted, like he was going to reach for him. Then dropped.

“I want you to talk to me. I’m trying, Evan. I’ve been trying to reach you, and you keep running.”

Buck scoffed. Bit down the anger rising under his skin. That sting blooming behind his eyes wasn’t anger—it was something worse.

“…Ironic, huh?”

Tommy didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.

“Evan... I’m worried.”

That. That broke something.

“No…” Buck said, shaking his head, almost childlike.

Buck slid down the couch, spine curling, breath hitching—like the act of staying upright had finally become too much. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, like he could shove the feeling back in before it escaped.

Tommy followed him, kneeling, close but not touching.

Waiting.

“No…” he whispered, barely audible. “I have to be strong. They need me.”

Tommy moved closer, voice low and warm. “Sweetheart, you are strong. That doesn’t mean you don’t get to feel things.”

Buck shook his head, sharp and frantic. “No, Tommy. No. If I…” His breath hitched again. “If I let myself—i-if I feel this, I won’t be strong. I won’t be anything.”

He looked up at Tommy then, glassy-eyed and terrified. Not of what had happened. Of what was still inside him, waiting to be felt.

Tommy's expression broke. He reached out, just to offer.

“Oh, Evan,” he said, voice catching. “You will be. I swear to you, you will be. But right now? At this moment? I don’t need you to be strong. You don’t have to hold it all alone. You can let go if you need to. I’m here. I’m right here.”

There was a long silence. One that stretched between them, breathless and trembling. Like Buck had seen some kind of opening—like he wanted to step through it.

But instead, he squeezed his eyes shut again. Tighter. As if doing so might stop everything from spilling out.

“No…”

And then, finally, like it cost him everything

“I can’t,” Buck whispered. “If I lean on you… if I let myself break… and you leave—if you leave me—I won’t be able to pull myself back together.”

Tommy’s breath hitched.

Buck’s eyes were shining now, glassy and unfocused. “You show up, and I’m so thankful—so damn grateful… but Tommy—” His voice broke around the name. “I need someone to stay.”

His voice cracked then, thin and trembling, every syllable held together by the last thread of his strength.

Tommy reached out, hand resting gently on Buck’s arm.

“I won’t leave.”

Buck looked at him, disbelief painted in every line of his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, so quietly, like he barely dared to hope.

“I promise you, Evan,” Tommy said, firm, no hesitation. “If you let me, if you allow me to stay, I promise I will never leave.”

Buck wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to. He needed it.

But he shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut like the hope itself was too much.

Tommy’s hand stayed firm.

“Evan… I never made promises before. Not to you” He swallowed. “But I’m making one now.”

And maybe it was that—the honesty. The raw, trembling truth in Tommy’s voice. The fact of it.

Maybe Buck believed him.

Because he didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

His fingers loosened around the bottle without realizing it. The beer slipped from his hand, hit the floor with a soft thud, and tipped—its contents spilling, seeping slowly into the rug.

But Buck didn’t look down.

A tear slipped down his cheek. Just one. Quiet. Unnoticed, maybe even by him.

Tommy saw it.

He moved gently, carefully—like he was stepping into a space sacred and fragile—and slid closer. Then, without a word, he reached out and pulled Buck into him.

Buck didn’t resist.

Didn’t hesitate.

The second Tommy’s arms wrapped around him, Buck collapsed.

Head pressed against Tommy’s chest, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. His breath caught—hitched—and then shuddered out of him in one long, broken exhale.

Tommy could feel Buck’s heartbeat—too fast, too loud—pressed against his chest. Like even Buck’s body wanted it out, didn’t know how to hold this much pain.

And then another breath.

And then he cried.

No sobs. No wails. Just quiet, shaking grief—like something finally cracked open and couldn’t be closed again.

Tommy held him tighter, one hand moving slowly up his back, the other cradling the nape of his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice breaking with him. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s what undid him.

Buck's fingers clenched tighter in Tommy’s shirt as the words tore out of him—small and cracked and soaked in pain.

“He told me I’ll be okay, Tommy…” His voice trembled, catching on each syllable. “I’m not. I’m not okay. I never will be.”

His body shook with the force of it, like admitting it made everything real.

Like the grief had finally found its voice—and it came out sounding like him.

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just tightened his hold, one hand steady against the back of Buck’s head, the other splayed between his shoulder blades, grounding him.

“You will be,” he murmured, barely above a breath. “Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow… but you will be, Evan. I promise you.”

Buck shook his head, a broken, desperate motion, forehead still pressed against Tommy’s chest.

“I didn’t even say goodbye. I didn’t say anything.”

“He knew, Evan,” he whispered. “I promise you—he knew.”

Tommy closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it hit him too.

But his arms never loosened.

Tommy tightened his grip slightly, one hand smoothing up Buck’s back in slow, steady strokes.

“And you still can. Whenever you’re ready... he’ll still hear you.”

But Buck was past hearing reason.

He tried again, but nothing came out except noise. Raw, aching noise. Grief in its purest, most helpless form.

His breath hitched hard, a sob catching mid-throat before it forced its way out—ugly and sharp.

“I c-can’t—” he gasped, and then the words stopped working.

And still, Tommy held him.

He pulled Buck tighter, cradling the back of his head, rocking him just slightly—not enough to soothe, just enough to stay.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, over and over now, like a mantra. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Eventually, Buck went quieter. The sobs thinned to uneven breathing, but his lips kept moving—mumbling something, soft and broken, over and over.

Tommy leaned in, trying to hear. Couldn’t. His brows drew together.

“Evan?” he whispered, pulling back just a little, just enough to see his face.

Buck’s face was wet, flushed, crumpled with the kind of pain that didn’t know how to hide itself anymore. His eyes barely opened.

“Stay,” he said, voice hoarse, barely there. “Stay tonight and tomorrow, and just… stay, Tommy. Please.”

Tommy didn’t answer with words.

Buck curled in closer, folding into the space between Tommy’s legs, cheek pressed against his chest, body trembling but held.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the birthmark above Buck’s eye, tender and reverent.

Then he pulled him back into his arms.

The floor beneath them was hard. Unforgiving. And Tommy didn’t move.

He kissed Buck’s hair. Then again. And again.

Soft. Reassuring. Steady.

“I’m not going anywhere, Evan.”

#i woke up at 3 am picked up the phone and started writing with one eye open. yes you're allowed to judge #jk don't just ignore me 😞#now it's 4.30 and i'm going back to sleep bye #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 spec #<- not really #i don't even think anyone want to read this rn lol #*

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bumblingbabooshka · 4 months ago

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'Learning Curve' is an interesting episode because how Tuvok deals with the Maquis isn't just a Tuvok Thing but also reflects how Starfleet treats its (mostly teenaged) cadets. Tuvok's tactics are very militant: Don't speak unless you're spoken to. Getting in your face to intimidate you (though he doesn't yell). What was that? Speak up. Look at me when I talk to you. Run 40 laps for disobeying and if you talk back, you get 10 more. 10 more. 10 more. No stopping for water. Clean the floor with a toothbrush for 26 hours. Tuvok was an instructor for 16 years and they were obviously more recent than not because his first stint in Starfleet led to him quitting after his first mission as an ensign. Tuvok also (as shown in the episode) isn't someone who deviates from rules and regulation. "My methods are sound and time-honoured. I insist on strict adherence to rules and protocols. I never waver from that approach. I have always been successful in honing each cadet into a Starfleet officer." Maquis are walking out on him? He tells them they're being insubordinate. Dalby is being a problem? He says "dragging him in front of a disciplinary board" (Chakotay's joking suggestion) is "Perhaps the best approach." He's rigid in his commitment to upholding these rules even when they're obviously ineffective. All this to say that Tuvok's methods are (I think) harsh and militant, I don't think they're harsh because Tuvok made them that way. Even when that Bajoran man is made to remove his earring, it's because it's against Starfleet code. There's no consideration about what it means to have it removed. It's against code, so it must be removed regardless of its personal/cultural meaning. It's interesting then that the episode doesn't criticize Starfleet. It (rightfully) criticizes Tuvok's rigid adherence to Starfleet code and how it prevents him from connecting with the Maquis and earning their respect, but I think it would have been interesting to take the opportunity to perhaps think about whether or not Starfleet code SHOULD be followed, especially with how highly Janeway talks about it in the beginning. Tuvok was an academy instructor for almost two decades, so Starfleet obviously didn't see anything wrong with his method of teaching. Given Tuvok's disposition, if he'd received orders or criticism from Starfleet about how he taught, he would've changed it. Janeway's "We'll show them why we do what we do" could have been interesting if maybe we considered that Starfleet's methods AREN'T always effective or logical to follow and a character like Tuvok (Unemotional Vulcan) would've been a great character to explore this with. The scene in the mess hall where Chakotay punches Dalby for being insubordinate really isn't that different from Tuvok forcing Chell to run 40 laps because he's talking too much. They both even have a moment where the person they're intimidating responds too quietly and they tell them to speak up. They both do this in front of others to embarrass them and threaten to continue their punishments indefinitely unless they comply. HMM sure seems like these militant organizations aren't as different as one might think and that there's something interesting to be said about how that reflects on Starfleet, which champions itself as inherently more moral and ethical. The closest the episode comes to actually conceding that The Starfleet Way isn't always the uncontested best way is going 'Maybe we can bend a rule or two sometimes, to save a man's life' but what we NEED to be doing is interrogating the system. Like for one it's insane to me that there's no follow up scene about the Bajoran earring thing. I would have loved to see Chakotay and Janeway debating about it. And hey, maybe in the end we could have shown Tuvok truly changing by having him propose some new measures to improve Voyager that he got through speaking with and learning from the Maquis (which Chakotay catches and we end on him teasing the Vulcan about it).

#star trek voyager #st voyager learning curve #I love learning curve but it's another example of wasting their maquis v starfleet premise v_v #st voyager #chara analysis #<- not REALLY

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