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TOMMY KINARD in 9-1-1 | 7.09 Ashes, Ashes

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a collage of some buck variants

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At some point in the future, I just need one scene of Tommy coming to the 118 station to visit Buck and bring him lunch or something, and Buck responds by pushing Tommy against a firetruck and kissing him passionately.

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S04E13 - Suspicion | S07E09 - Ashes, Ashes

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+ bonus: bobby, please!

-> the 118 live in the hospital, don't they?

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Endless Buck: (43/?) » “There Goes The Groom - S07E06” 

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Brought on by the fact i feel like we haven't had any big music moments in a while and i Miss them

***also i don't mean the emotional music moments like 'carry you', 'photograph' etc, i already know the answer to that question lmao. i mean the ones that just Elevated the scene/call and made the whole thing satisfying in a 'this scratches my brain just right' kind of way

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911 + Incorrect Quotes 3/?

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Buck and Eddie 4x14 // Bobby and Athena 7x09 ↳ 9-1-1 - for @besosquecreanadiccion

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me, when the guy i've been seeing invites me over to look at photos of his dead wife and it turns out that i'm her carbon copy and he's only been dating me in an attempt to find emotional closure (he also has a whole ass girlfriend but i don't know that yet):

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7.09 'Ashes, Ashes' // 2.18 'This Life We Choose'

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hold on there's still time to undo this

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911onabc: Some more BTS for you because you asked. 😘

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i was an animal making my way up the hill

a 7.09 coda

He's not even sure why it slips out.

Or—there's actually a million reasons, here in the gross grey waiting room on what feels like the worst morning of his life. It's that he doesn't know which part makes him say it.

There's Christopher, half asleep in a chair clear across the room, leaning on Chimney with his face turned away.

He won't look at Eddie. Hasn't looked at Eddie since the car, where he'd murmured "I want to go stay with Pepa" and glanced up at the rearview mirror, just once.

There's Buck, bouncing his knee violently. He only stops when Eddie puts a hand on him, but Eddie barely has enough left in him for that touch, and it's hard to hold on.

There's Athena, only just awake and painfully confused, her face still smudged with the ashes of what used to be her home. There's Hen, standing statue-still, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

And then—

Eddie can't really think about it as a fact of the universe, cause and effect. It's easier to break it down into components. Sudden cardiac arrest, immediate treatment administered, prognosis a notch above dead on arrival. Smoke inhalation: swelling, difficulty breathing, dizziness, nausea, airway collapse, mechanical ventilation, nasogatric, endotracheal—

And Bobby.

Bobby's somewhere on the other side of the waiting room door, alone. They haven't let Athena out of bed yet, and Chimney had to corner one of the nurses for news with a kind of seriousness Eddie can't ever remember seeing on him.

It's past dawn, and the world has broken into a million pieces in the time it took the sun to rise again. Eddie's given up on hoping that he'll suddenly start awake in a reality he recognizes, and Buck's hitching exhales are filling the room with a grief so black it turns to tar in Eddie's lungs when he breathes in. Christopher is as far as he's ever been, and Bobby is someplace between here and gone.

Maybe that's what does it. The fact that the only living being he's ever told may take the secret to his grave.

"She asked me for a divorce," he says quietly, with his hand on Buck's runaway knee.

Buck stills.

"Before she died," Eddie says, afraid to speak Shannon's name with Chris right there, afraid after how close he came to completely losing his mind last night. "She said—"

He cuts himself off, rubs a hand over his mouth. "Well. Doesn't matter what she said. What matters is she didn't want to be married to me anymore."

"Eddie," Buck says, his voice so rough it slams into Eddie's chest like a wrecking ball. Even now he's doing it. Taking, taking. Dragging everyone down. "Jesus."

"Sorry," Eddie says, shaking his head. "I don't know why—sorry."

It doesn't matter anymore, he wants to say. Probably nothing matters, now that the daylight is creeping through the blinds and painting lines on Christopher's face, and the tatters Eddie's made of his life are plain to see. There's no fixing this with an apology or an explanation. He can't rewind time any more than he can reach into Bobby's chest and make his heart beat right again.

"Don't apologize," Buck says, the edges of it sharp even through the exhaustion. "Not to me. Please just—you need help, Eddie."

"Yeah," Eddie nods, looking up at the board where arrows point to other, less miserable areas of the hospital. He feels more like he needs a fucking lobotomy, his brain still halfway to scrambled from seeing Shannon move and talk and ask to hear everything he was never supposed to tell her, except it wasn't her at all and Eddie doesn't know how to stop the words. He popped the fucking cork and now none of it will go back in, the I love yous and I miss yous he always tells her gravestone unraveling into truths.

You didn't want me. You left me and you left me and you left me, each one of them different.

"I think," he says, surprised to hear his own voice shake, "I think sometimes I hate her a little bit."

Silence, or as close to it as they could possibly come in here. The buzz of fluorescents, distant beeping, the incessant back-and-forth of a hospital corridor just behind the door.

Buck bounces his knee. Eddie touches it, a quick squeeze around the juts and valleys of the bone underneath, and before he can take his hand back, Buck covers it with his own. Their fingers overlap just so, and Eddie feels tethered, held down to earth, if only for a moment.

"That's allowed, you know," Buck says.

Eddie looks at him for what might be the first time in hours. He hasn't cried, but his eyes are red, and his mouth is shaped into something that could pass for a smile.

"No," Eddie shakes his head. "I can't do that," he says, but what he means is, this whole time, she's been the only thing I've had.

Without Shannon, without the memory as it's been, he wouldn't have the faintest clue where to begin finding out who he is and what the fuck he's doing here.

He can't hate her, because if he does—

"Yes you can," Buck says, squeezing once before he lets go. "You can feel whatever you feel, but you can't—" he presses his lips together, swallows, takes a breath, "Bobby's in there right now, and I don't know when I'm gonna see him again, if he'll be okay when I do, and there's so many things I haven't said to him."

Eddie's eyes burn.

"So you can't keep it inside," Buck says. "You can't fucking keep it inside and die under the weight, okay?"

"Buck," Eddie says, for lack of anything better. He thinks he might want to ask Buck to stand by him through whatever comes next, when Chris hates him and Eddie hates himself more and the water closes overhead long before he remembers how to swim in it, but he's pretty sure he's used up all his allotted clemency and then some.

But then again, he's never had to ask with Buck.

"Listen," Buck says, leaning forward. Whatever he takes a breath to say never makes it out.

The door opens with a swoosh of air, and their heads snap up only to fall back down when the person shouldering their way inside is not a doctor, but Tommy.

"Hey," he says, almost too quiet to hear, like he's walking into a funeral parlor. "I got coffee, tea, and a bunch of pastries."

It's only then that Eddie notices how full his hands are - he's balancing two drink trays in each with a paper bag hanging off his wrist, smiling just right. Hen steps in to help, and they set everything down on a free side table on the far end of the room except for one cup that Tommy plucks out and carries toward them.

Eddie wishes he felt comforted by the sight of him, this evidence that the world is still turning outside, that people still take care of each other. Instead, there's a new burning in his stomach, writhing like a pit of snakes.

He can't hate Shannon, because if he does—

"Hey," Tommy says again, glancing at Eddie before his eyes fall to Buck. "Got you a latte."

Buck's face softens; the distant smile he's wearing turns just a little more real.

"Thank you," he says, all earnest with his chin tipped up, and when Tommy leans down for a half hug, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his boyfriend's shoulder.

The moment his knee stills, Eddie turns away.

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the guy who likes to fix things + the guy who needs fixing

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my favorite golden retriever evan buckley 🩷💜💙✨

insta <3