#coda

[timmaay]

This movie made me feel something special. I've been living under a rock...

Seeing her start to sign while singing to her family in the end got me. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen and replayed it numerous times. It was nostalgic in a way for me.

Fantastic movie

FILMS WATCHED IN 2024 CODA (2021) Dir. Sian Heder

[fir-fireweed]

Ask, and ye shall receive…

Tellus (aka Coda) (he/him)

Tellus is your childhood friend, but he is no longer that sweet boy who once gazed at you so adoringly. He is bitter and angry, closed off from his fellow Resistenza members. Tellus is air-attuned, and his superior eyesight makes him an excellent marksman—the best sniper in the Resistenza.

He is 2 years older than you and quite tall, with medium-length, wavy brown hair and stormy grey eyes. The dusting of freckles are all that remain of his youthful face, now marred by a long scar he received in The Proelium. But that wound is minor compared to the loss of his song. Can you find healing together? Rekindle your friendship? Or perhaps, fan that flame into something more?

[gayhoediaz]

Eddie makes it about two houses down before he stops the car with a sigh—he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first, his body moving without his brain’s permission.

“You, uh—you forget something?” Buck calls as he gets out of the car, walking down the street to meet him, the light, barely there drizzle of rain coming down around them like a daze.

“Yeah,” Eddie confesses, walking towards him, his steps longer, steadier—more sure than any of the ones he thinks he’s ever taken in the past—eyes trained on Buck’s face.

“What? I can—I can run in and get it,” Buck says, shifting his weight as if he’s about to turn around and run back into the house.

“It’s not in there,” Eddie says—and that’s all the warning he gives Buck before he’s clutching his face in between his hands, mouth hungry as he slides it over Buck’s.

[punkitt-is-here]

THESE CITY STREETS

[drfranklangdon]

They get into the car and Buck immediately takes off his tie and tosses it to the back seat. He’s never been much of a suit guy. But it was a funeral, he had to dress up. And make Tommy dress up too. Same as him, Tommy is also not a suit guy. It’s hard to get those beefy arms into a tailored jacket.

Tommy starts the engine and turns to Buck with the most affectionate glint in his eyes. He stares at him for a few moments, just taking in his view. “What?” Buck asks, smirking. “Something on my face?”

Tommy rolls his eyes and starts driving. “You’re cute is all.”

“I am?” His cheeks flush and he ducks his head the way he always does when Tommy compliments him. “Even covered in boils?”

“Of course.” It’s their thing – ‘Of course.’ Before every shift, one texts ‘Be safe’ and the other responds ‘Of course.’ Buck wants to get it tattooed on himself. It’s way too early for permanent commitments, but he can’t shake the idea. “You’re always cute, Baby.”

“This mean you’re going to kiss me now?” He says pursing his lips, even though Tommy’s eyes are on the road.

“Don’t continue this slander, Evan.” He replies, deadpan as ever. The dry charm is so hot, damn. “I did a hell of a lot more than kiss you this morning.” True. Actually, now that Buck is thinking about it – a rim job is just one long, pleasurable kiss.

“On the face, Kinard.” Buck can deal with the itchiness and sore arm. What he can’t handle is going over twenty-four hours without feeling Tommy’s lips on his own. “Don’t you miss kissing my birthmark every other minute?”

Tommy looks over just in time to see Buck pout and shine his best ‘puppy dog’ eyes at him. He laughs and looks back at the road. “Brat.” He knows exactly how to push his boyfriend’s buttons. “I’ll make up all the missed kisses… once you’re better.”

“And not gross?” Yeah okay, so maybe he is a bit of a brat.

“Did I not call you cute five minutes ago?”

Buck crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Not cute enough to kiss apparently.”

***

They eventually get stuck in Traffic. Buck switches from his dress shoes to sneakers, not being able to handle another moment of uncomfortable torture. “Better?” How Tommy is driving with his on, Buck has no idea.

“Much.” There’s a bit of comfortable silence between them, just NPR playing too soft to make out in the background. “I-I want to thank you, babe.” Buck admits shyly, patting Tommy’s (thick) thigh. “For doing this. I know you think I’m dumb for believing in all this curse crap.” He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling a bit small. “I appreciate you going along with it anyway… driving me out to fucking Temecula of all places and indulging my – uh – my weirdness.”

Tommy’s lips flatten and he tsks, shaking his head. “First of all, baby. I don’t think you’re dumb. And you shouldn’t think that either.” He quickly looks over to Buck, making sure he’s taking his words in. And with the way he looks at him, how could Buck not? “This curse means something to you, so of course I was going to help.” Buck feels his chest tighten. This man. “Even spoke to Billy for you.”

“Yeah?” His eyes light up. “What did you say?”

“That’s between me and the dead man.” He places his hand on top of Buck’s on his leg. “He knows not to mess with my boy.”

His cheeks flush and he squirms a little in his seat as a burst of heat travels through him. “Yeah, Daddy – you gonna fight a ghost for me?”

“I’ll fight a thousand ghosts for you, Evan.” Something about the way he says it, in his usual stoic tone, but laced with so much admiration – makes Buck honestly believe him. Not that he’ll literally fight a ghost - although with this Billy situation, who’s to say that couldn’t happen? – but that Tommy will fight for him, for them. He will go to bat for him; time and time again showing up whether Buck needs him or not. He’s all in.

Is this what it feels like to find the one? Buck’s not sure. It didn’t feel like this with Abby or Taylor. He loved them – in different ways. But nothing close to this. Buck can’t imagine a life where Tommy isn’t beside him, indulging him in his antics and looking at him like he’s the sun, moon, and all the stars in between. It’s too early to say it, he knows it is. But, fuck, he really is in love. “Tommy –“ He says, his boyfriend quickly glancing from the road to him. “You matter so much to me.”

“You matter to me too, baby.” Tommy smiles, his eyes crinkling beautifully and so kissable. Maybe they can just pull over for a quickie? “Evan, know this. I will happily put on a suit and drive to Temecula whenever you ask. As long you keep being you.”

Sounds a hell of a lot like Tommy wants to say ‘I love you’ too. Just not now. Not while he’s covered in boils and driving. Because the second he says it, he has to know Buck will say it back and then drown him in kisses. The moment will come soon enough.

***

Buck eventually falls asleep against the window. With all the traffic, it takes them an hour longer than it should have to get back to LA. Tommy shakes him a little to wake him up, leaving a line of drool on the glass. He blinks a few times at the setting sun shining in his eyes, not recognizing the building they’re outside of. Tommy comes around the truck to open Buck’s door for him. Such a gentleman. “Where are we?”

He sighs affectionately. “A dermatologist, Evan.”

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,” he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[hotshotsxyz]

too little, too late

(8x08 coda) (buddie) (1.2k) the episode chose violence and so did i :) spoilers for 8x08, and hey, guess what? this is my 100th 911 fic! it feels right that it's an evil one <3

The real estate agent has an irritating voice. It’s pitchy and run through with vocal fry, and if Buck has to listen to her talk for another second, he might actually tear his hair out. And it’s definitely about her voice. Nothing to do with the largely helpful information she’s handing over to Eddie like candy on Halloween.

“Anyway, we can touch base again once you’ve had a chance to look over those listings. I’m sure we’ll find something for both of you to love!” the realtor says.

Buck smiles. It feels brittle and fake.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says with all the sincerity Buck can’t quite muster. He ends the call and sits back against the couch.

“That, uh—that went, um—” He’s choking on the positivity he’s trying so hard to exude. “—well,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Seems easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Easy.

That’s—

Yeah.

“You know you—you don’t have to buy straight away,” Buck says as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“I know!” Buck says, throwing his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Just—maybe you want to make sure, you know? Before it’s—it’s permanent.”

“I can’t keep missing out on his life,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck swallows. He knows. He knows! Knows it like he knows there’s going to be an Eddie-and-Chris shaped hole in his heart for the rest of his goddamn life.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck says, and it’s maybe the first honest thing that’s come out of his mouth since he sat down on Eddie’s couch.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he realizes this might be one of the last times he gets to sit on this couch, in this house, with this man.

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Have you told Bobby yet?” Buck asks. His breath catches.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Buck says in a rush of air. “That’s—” He wants to say good. He can’t say good. Eddie needs—he needs—

Eddie lifts his head from his hands and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “I thought—”

“That he’d want to come back,” Buck supplies when Eddie doesn’t finish his thought.

He nods.

“He still—he could still—” Buck starts.

“He’s not going to change his mind.” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t hate me. It’s worse than that. He doesn’t care.”

Buck’s chest feels tight. “He—he loves you, Eddie,” he says weakly.

“Maybe before, but—”

“He does,” Buck insists. “And—and if this is what you have to do to make sure that stays true I—I get it.” He does. He gets it. He’d do anything for Christopher. He’d—

It’s the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, but he’d give up Eddie for that kid. Is. Is giving up Eddie for that kid. A sob jumps up in Buck’s throat. He fights it back.

“I want to believe you,” Eddie says.

Buck knows that he doesn’t.

“Have you, um. Have you talked to Chris about this yet?” Buck asks, feeling a little bit like he’s just laid his neck across the base of a guillotine.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—I’ve got to do this, whether he wants me to or not.”

All at once Buck’s angry. Angry at Eddie, angry at his parents, at fucking Kim, at himself, and maybe even a little bit at Christopher.

“Eddie, you—you told him he could come back!” He says, a little louder than he means to. “Doesn’t he deserve to know that’s not going to be an option anymore?”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s got—he’s got friends here, and—and Carla, and—” He can’t say it. He doesn’t have the right to say it, doesn’t have the right to feel like he’s already lost a limb and now they’re taking a lung, but— “and me,” he finishes quietly.

Something like devastation flashes across Eddie’s face. “Buck, I—”

“No,” Buck says quickly, standing up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have—I’m not—”

“Buck, wait,” Eddie says, following him as he retreats toward the door.

“I, um—I forgot, I have to—I promised Maddie,” he tries to lie.

“Please don’t go,” Eddie says, and god, how many times in Buck’s life has he yearned to hear someone say that to him and mean it. How many nights has he driven home from Eddie’s wishing he’d been asked to stay.

This thing building in his chest, this thing of anger and grief and regret—it hurts. Every breath he takes is a little more constricted, a little less effective.

Eddie looks at him, and Buck sees it. That thing he’s always wanted to see. That thing he didn’t even know he wanted from Eddie until right now and it’s—

There was a small, naïvely hopeful part of Buck that really still believe that if someone loved him enough, they’d stay. Eddie loves him, looks at Buck like he’ll break his heart when he walks out the door, and it still isn’t—

Eddie loves him, and it isn’t enough to make him stay.

Buck is in love with him, he realizes, and it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s leaving. Like Abby and like Tommy, except Buck didn’t know how much hurt he hadn’t even discovered yet, because this isn’t Abby or Tommy, it’s Eddie, and Eddie—

Eddie’s supposed to be the one that stays.

Buck shakes his head and shuffles back until the doorknob is digging into his spine. “I have to,” he breathes, a grossly distorted reflection of what neither of them has quite managed to say.

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to ask again, like he’s going to beg Buck to stay, to show him all these awful pieces of his heart that he’s just found so he can remind himself that it’s not too much to leave behind.

Buck’s out the door before he can say another word.

He throws himself into the Jeep and all but fishtails it out of Eddie’s driveway. He makes it three streets away before he has to pull over.

The first sob surprises him with its softness; the second with its violence. He wraps his arms tight around his stomach and, god, he tries to breathe. But there’s not—there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to make up for the way his lungs refuse to expand in the face of this loss.

He has to—he can’t—Eddie needs him to pull it together. To—to help him. To support him, and god help him, Buck will. There’s nothing Eddie could ask of him that he wouldn’t give. Nothing Eddie could do, Buck’s realizing, to make him love him any less.

Hot tears spill down Buck’s cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and wipes them away. His vital organs are crumbling, so what?

He’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to keep Eddie warm.

[kinardsevan]

if the world was ending (would you drive to me to cry with me)

8x15 coda scene

Tommy spends an indeterminate period of time standing in front of the monitors watching Evan. His throat hurts just as badly as the knots in his stomach that have kept him rooted to the spot, torn between going inside to find the younger man and continuing to watch him. 

It hurt him in a way that he couldn’t quantify into words, to see the younger man hurt the way he currently was. It fed into this continuous loop of trying to shove down his true feelings while also feeling them bubble up at what felt like the most inopportune times. 

If there was one thing he was clear on, though, it was that his feelings toward Evan weren’t gone in the slightest, let alone something sophomoric that he could just push away. 

He wanted someone to tell him the right answer. He wanted to go inside and fold Evan into his arms, be there for him. He wanted to stuff the boiling-over feelings in his chest so far down that he could go home and try to continue on without the younger firefighter in his life the same way he’s been trying—and mostly failing—since that night he walked out of the loft months ago. 

Except, nobody is coming, because Howie is in isolation, and so is Hen. Ravi and he are on decent terms, but he doesn’t exactly expect the kid to come and tell him how to deal with his own feelings when the kid is clearly dealing with far more in the face of losing Bobby.

And sure, Tommy was losing Bobby too, but not in the way everyone else was. Not in the way that Hen and Howie were, when they had stayed at the 118 during Bobby’s entire tenure. Not in the way that Ravi had only ever known Bobby as a captain, because he’d never faced a 118 A shift without him. Not like Evan…

Something snaps in him at that thought, and he swipes at the tears on his face, turns on his heel and walks out of the tent.

There are people still milling in and out of the facility when he makes it inside. If anyone of them has anything to say about the fact that he’s not suited up to be inside the building, they don’t say anything. He passes by swathes of people, ultimately joining a group in the elevator where only one button is pushed. He can feel the way eyes shoot in his direction but no one actually speaks and he’s glad for it. He’d be inclined to snap at the moment if anyone actually did. 

When the elevator docks on the floor, people exit, heading in different directions. He passes by all of them, moving deeper into the facility until he finally comes to one of the doors that leads to the locked area. A man in fatigues eyes him up quickly—Tommy vaguely recognizes him from before they all went inside—and then swipes a card at the reader before moving aside. 

Tommy brushes past him, walking faster and faster the closer he gets. When he finally reaches the last locked door, he meets the Colonel in charge, and the man swipes his card without saying anything before Tommy even reaches him. 

He hears Evan’s sobs as soon as the door opens, and it feels like drowning. His feet move under him in a way where it feels like they almost never touch the ground, because in one second he’s passing through the door and the next, he’s down on the floor, water soaking through he legs of his flight suit as he pulls the younger man in and holds him. 

Evan’s hands claw at the back of his suit with desperation, as if he can’t get close enough to the pilot. 

“Shh, I know,” he murmurs, holding on to the younger man just as tightly. “I know, baby.” 

The word slips out, and whatever version of him feels like he shouldn’t have said it is stomped to death by sob that Evan lets out as his fingers dig into Tommy’s trapezius muscles. The pilot closes his eyes and buries his own face in Evan’s collarbone, inhaling him and feeling so fucking selfish for the fact that he gets to, when feet away, Athena Grant still stands at the barrier between herself and the lab where Captain Bobby Nash is dying. 

He loses time again, doesn’t give any inclination to it passing, even with the watch on his wrist working perfectly fine. Evan cries, and so does he, and they just exist. 

Eventually, after an extremely long time, he feels Evan sag entirely against him, and when Tommy pulls back, he knows. 

It takes him a few seconds to configure their movements, but he gets his arms underneath Evan, shifts on a knee, and then pushes off the ground with the younger man in his arms. He heads back up the hall, passes through doors freely, and when they approach the outside, he sees people he recognizes as being from the medical examiner’s office. Somewhere inside of him, he feels the slightest bit of relief, knowing Evan isn’t awake to see them. He’s not sure the younger man could handle that realization at the moment. 

He’s surprised when he gets outside and finds Weston leaning against Tommy’s truck, keys in hand. When they’re close enough, Weston opens the passenger side of Tommy’s truck, and Tommy gets Evan settled, buckles him in, and then closes the door quietly before turning to his captain. 

“How?” He asks as Weston hands over Tommy’s keys. 

Weston shrugs. “Donato and a few of the others offered to do some shuffling around after shift. My car is across the lot.” The man looks past him toward the building. “Saw the coroner arrived.” 

Tommy nods, gulping past the knot in his throat. Weston reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder. 

“Take an extra day. Hell, Kinard, take two. We’ll figure it out. Just take care of yourself,” his captain states. He jerks his head toward the passenger door. “And him.” 

Tommy nods, turning his head away as a tear slips out and down his cheek. Weston squeezes his shoulder once more before stepping past him, patting it gently before walking away. Tommy takes enough time to take another breath before he rounds his truck and gets into the driver’s seat, starts the vehicle. 

He glances over at Evan, still passed out and still in his turnouts, reaches over and cups his cheek as he swallows down against the knot still in his throat. Evan lets out a breath, sniffling in his sleep. Tommy pulls his hand back after a few seconds and backs out of the parking spot. As he turns back around from checking out his back window for clearance, his hand falls against Evan’s palm on his thigh as naturally as it ever has, and the younger man curls his fingers in. Any part of Tommy that feels like he could pull away before sinks away.

He spends far too long trying to figure out whose house to take them to, before ultimately taking Evan back to his place. The younger man’s truck is bound to be at the 118, and he can’t be sure if he has his keys on him. It’s a longer drive, but it also gives Evan a longer time to rest. 

He pulls the truck all the way into his garage, grateful that his most recent project vehicle is finished, so he’s able to park the truck in the middle so he can get Evan out and into the house without having to wake him. 

He gets the younger man in the house, through the kitchen into the bedroom, settles him on the bench at the end of the king-sized bed before he starts removing his turnouts. The jacket goes easiest, and then he lets Evan sag back against the mattress after he gets the suspenders down before removing his boots and pants. They smell of smoke and ash—as they always do, given their job—and he walks out into the kitchen long enough to set them on a couple of chairs before he returns to the bedroom. Evan is still stretched half across the bottom of the bed, sagging down just slightly where his body presses the mattress down while his hips and legs are tilted higher by the bench. 

He questions himself for a time, wondering if it’s right or even okay for him to remove the rest of Evan’s clothes. He knows that the younger man loathes sleeping in pants, and more often than not, he doesn’t wear a shirt to bed either. Still, he isn’t sure that it’s his place anymore. 

Evan snuffles and rubs a hand across his face before resettling, trying to shift his hips and failing. 

“‘mmy,” he mutters, barely audible, and it’s enough to make the decision for the pilot.

He crosses the space between them and unbuttons and zips Evan’s jeans. 

“I’m right here, baby,” he answers softly, reaching up to squeeze his hand before pulling the jeans off Evan’s hips, down his legs. He folds them and sets them on the dresser before moving around to the side of the bed and lifting Evan. He moves the blankets around and then slips the younger man beneath them. All the movement is enough to rouse Evan at least a little bit. Tommy sits on the edge of the bed beside him, helping him out of the t-shirt and letting it fall on the floor. When it’s gone, Evan’s hand runs down Tommy’s arm until it wraps around his forearm, holding on. Tommy glances back at him as Evan’s eyes meet his, defeated and heartbroken. 

“Bobby’s gone,” he rasps. It isn’t a question. 

Tommy gulps, strokes his thumb along the inside of Evan’s elbow. 

“Yeah, baby.” 

Evan keeps staring up at him as tears well up. Tommy remembers, only too easily, how only a year ago they had sat in the kitchen of the loft and Evan had told him how he’d feared losing the captain then, and how Bobby was the father he’d never had. 

Except, now Bobby is gone, and he’s not coming back. And the same way Tommy will never talk to his mom again, Evan will never talk to Bobby again. This was not a matching scar he wanted them to share. 

Wordlessly, Tommy reaches up and wipes away Evan’s tears with his free hand, and they exist together in space again for a time. After a few minutes, Evan reaches for the snaps on Tommy’s uniform and starts pulling them apart. He works them open all the way down to Tommy’s stomach, never asking, but both of them knowing. 

When Tommy stands, their hands slide down, fingers intertwined as he pulls his free arm out of the uniform and then turns, letting Evan take that hand as he slides his other arm out and then slips out of his shoes and kicks away the uniform before using his toes to get his socks off. 

Down to his undershirt and boxers, he lets Evan pull on his hand, and rather than cycling around the bed, he slots a leg over Evan and then leans over him to get to the other side. Evan stops him for the briefest moment as Tommy passes over top of him, their gaze meeting, but once the pilot is settled into the space beside him, Evan lets his hand go and rests it on Tommy’s leg as the pilot removes his t-shirt, tosses it down by Evan’s before laying down with him. 

Evan rearranges himself, curls up against the pilot’s chest as Tommy’s arms loop around him. 

“He said he loved me,” Evan whispers, his voice wet with phlegm. “That I’d be okay without him, and everyone was going to need me.” 

Tommy’s fingers stroke up and down his back as he listens, the other curled up in Evan’s free hand, the younger man holding on to his index and middle fingers. 

“I don’t know where he gets that. I’m not…” He huffs and sniffles, shakes his head minutely. Tommy feels wetness on his chest. “Everyone leaves. Or dies.” 

His statement twists something inside of Tommy’s chest. A callback to their breakup, something that makes him want to argue about who said what and when, but in the face of the current moment, it doesn’t feel like it means anything. And really, does it? Does arguing that Evan said he doesn’t feel anything for him—when they both still clearly do—and Tommy thinking the younger man would choose someone else eventually really matter if, in the face of death, they just want each other? 

“I have to be okay for them,” he continues. “Athena. Hen, Chim. Someone has to hold it together for all of them.” 

Tommy nods his head against his pillow as he keeps his eyes on the younger man. Whether intentional or not, Evan tightens against his side, and Tommy’s hand moves to the back of his head, his thumb stroking down against it. 

“Maybe,” he murmurs softly. “But you don’t have to for me.” 

Evan inhales a deep breath audibly, and when he lets it out, Tommy feels another tear fall onto his chest. They lay together quietly, the only sounds being their breathing and the occasional sniffle from Evan. Tommy doesn’t fight his own tears, but breathes in and out of his mouth, not wanting Evan to feel like he can’t have a place to let his walls down. 

And then, some time later, a breath catches in Tommy’s chest at a memory. Evan tilts his head up, his own tears still coming slowly and quietly. Tommy’s head is tilted higher on his pillow, clearly trying to keep the focus on Evan, but the younger man reaches up with Tommy’s fingers still wrapped in his hand, and he uses his thumb to pull at the pilot’s chin until Tommy looks down at him. Gaze to gaze, there’s nothing but naked vulnerability between them. 

“You’re not allowed to die,” Evan tells him. 

Tommy lets out a mirthless laugh as another tear slips out, rests on his eye socket. “Neither are you.” 

Evan stares up at him, a mix of something happening in his expression. It causes that swell in Tommy’s chest again, more than boiling at this point as he watches Evan open his mouth at the same time as more tears fall. His gaze slips to Tommy’s lips and then back up at him. 

“I…” 

“I know,” Tommy answers him, squeezing his fist around where Evan still has his fingers in a haphazard handhold. “I do too.” 

Evan’s gaze softens at him, and for the briefest moment, things hurt just a little less. Evan reaches up and pulls Tommy’s head toward him, and the pilot lifts, meets him in the middle in a kiss that they’re both too tired to let turn into anything else. When they part, Evan rests his head on Tommy’s shoulder and his hand over the pilot’s heart, feeling the thump thump thump beneath his palm. Neither of them speaks, and neither closes their eyes, all too aware of what they’ll see if they do. 

Bobby Nash was a man who had saved both of them—for Evan, on more than one occasion, and for Tommy, when he needed it most. He’d kept them both alive so that they could find each other, and even though they might only have to figure out out one minute a time, Tommy wasn’t sure of how he was going to get Evan through losing the captain, let alone himself. 

But he knew that he would. He had to. He’d promised. 

“Hey!” 

Tommy glances up, a smile crossing his face as he looks up at Bobby. 

“Hey, Bobby. Good to see you again,” he comments, extending a hand to his former captain. The other man takes it, grips firmly as he shakes Tommy’s hand. 

“Glad to see you joining in on the team get-togethers,” he answers, clapping his hand on Tommy’s shoulder again. Tommy’s gaze shifts back across the yard at where Evan is swinging Jee-Yun around, and his eyes soften as his heart swells. The younger man was supposed to be getting them new refreshments, but he’d clearly gotten distracted, and Tommy wasn’t about to complain. 

“Happy to be invited,” he responds, a little softer. Evan stops as Maddie walks up to him and says something, and the younger man laughs at her, setting Jee-Yun on the ground. She tears off in a different direction towards the other kids. 

“It’s a good thing,” Bobby states, and Tommy glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. Bobby nods at him. “I know how you can get. But you’re good for each other. And if you let him, he’ll protect your heart just as much as his own.” 

Tommy inhales a deep breath and gulps, nods minutely. 

“Well, maybe just don’t go having anything happen like that fire anytime again soon,” Tommy states when he manages to feel like he hasn’t swallowed lava again. 

“I’ll do my best,” Bobby tells him. A moment later, he glances over at Tommy. “But something tells me that even if something did happen, he’d be taken care of.” 

Tommy looks back at him again, that lava feeling welling in his chest once more. Bobby nods at him, as though he’s decided on something neither of them had voiced. Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but then Athena is calling the man’s name, and he pats Tommy on the shoulder before walking away. Shortly thereafter, Evan walks up to him with two fresh beers, passing one to Tommy before slipping an arm around his waist. 

“Everything okay,” he asks, curling into Tommy’s side. The pilot glances back in Bobby’s direction, his mind still on their exchange as the captain looks back at him, a smile still on his face. 

“Yeah,” Tommy answers, fully aware of what causes that lava feeling as it swirls around in his chest again. He turns towards Evan and nuzzles an eskimo kiss. “Yeah, everything’s great.” 

[ladamarossa]

Coda (1987)

[fir-fireweed]

omggg that CHAPTER😭😭😭 totally understand if not, but would you ever consider going back and including tellus in some of the asks you've answered for the other ro's? maybe in a separate post or under a cut if you're worried about spoilers? hope you're having a good day! :)

As a matter of fact… ::cracks knuckles:: I already wrote out his reaction to this adorable ask.

Tellus’s response to the “whole world in my hands” 😊

—

He smiles, a sad, half-smile that hurts your heart to see. “You’re sweet.”

He tries to pull his face away but you clamp tighter, forcing his eyes to yours. “It’s true.”

“But-“

“No. No buts, no lies, no secrets. You are my world. Truly.”

He shudders, sighs, then presses his lips to yours. “And you are mine.”

[gayhoediaz]

Eddie’s heart doesn’t slow down. Not with the beer and not with the thirty seconds of rest—or sixty, or a hundred and twenty. The music keeps going—rolls onto the next track; he doesn’t turn it down, and Buck doesn’t ask him to.

Buck didn’t come here to talk—Eddie knew that from the second he opened the door—so he doesn’t ask.

The warmth next to him is comforting, as always—but it’s also heavy—a different kind of warmth to the one still somewhat fluttering in his chest.

Buck will tell him what’s wrong—in two minutes, or in two hours—and Eddie will listen.

Then they’ll go from there.

Not right this second—but soon.

Soon.

[punkitt-is-here]

how i draw my he/hims vs my she/hers

[inawickedlittletown]

Why Buck Forgot - 8x13 Coda

Words: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

Buck felt horrible. 

How could he have forgotten Hen’s birthday? 

He had it in his calendar, just like he had everyone else’s birthday. When he looked at his phone on the way back from the second call to help out Archie, it was right there for him to notice. Except he hadn’t. 

Buck had never forgotten a birthday before. Even in those days when he was more a wanderer than anything, he’d always emailed his parents on their birthdays. Maddie too. Over the years at the 118, birthdays had always been given a small celebration. Cake or pie was brought in with a bunch of balloons. Someone — Chim, usually — started a round of Happy Birthday, or For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow. They didn’t always do presents, but birthdays were always acknowledged. They planned for them. 

Deep down, Buck did have some idea why he forgot. Why he’d dropped the ball on that and maybe even other things. 

Still, to hear Hen say it and realize that they had all forgotten. Even Chim. Even Bobby. Even…apparently, Karen. 

Buck felt awful. He felt guilty and like he’d let someone down. 

Well, he had. 

He had let Hen down. 

He thought about sending her an edible arrangement or baking a bunch of her favorite things and taking them over. He knew Hen liked pie, but he couldn’t remember what her favorite was and no one else seemed to have any idea. 

In the end, he settled for asking her if she needed anything done around the house. 

Hen gave him a list. Buck was glad to have it. 

He was happy to busy himself in her yard, getting the grass mowed, pulling weeds, cutting back the bushes, cleaning out the gutters, and adding mulch to the flower beds. It was tiring work, but he was happy to do it. The work also gave him plenty of time to think. 

Thinking often led in one direction. 

Tommy. 

Tommy. 

Tommy. 

Tommy’s birthday was in November. A week after their break up. Buck had had plans for it, had found the bag with Tommy’s gift in it while moving. It had been on his calendar and Buck almost called him when he saw it. Should have called him. 

There was so much on that calendar. All their planned dates added into it even though Buck wouldn’t have forgotten. Those were all gone of course, but what remained was what should have been their anniversary. It’d been a year since they met and a year since they kissed for the first time. He’d been avoiding looking at it for a reason and missed something else that was important. 

The next day, Buck returned early with a bag of Spring bulbs to plant. He was out there for about an hour before Hen appeared. 

“Come inside,” she said. “I made us lemonade.” 

He followed her in, gloves in hand, crossing to the kitchen to wash his hands. 

“My front lawn has never looked better,” Hen said.

“Oh. Good. That’s good,” Buck said. 

She poured him a glass and pushed it towards him before grabbing a glass for herself. 

“I think once you’re done with those bulbs, I can let you off the hook.” 

Hen smiled at him before she brought the glass to her lips. 

Buck drank as well.

“Are you sure? I feel horrible, Hen. I can’t believe I forgot.” 

She reached over and placed her hand on his wrist. “Really, Buck. You’ve done more than enough. It’s just a birthday. It’s silly and I think I let Archie get to me a bit. I know everyone’s had a lot going on.” 

“But—”

“No buts, Buck. This wasn’t a bad birthday. It was just a little delayed.”

Buck sighed. It didn’t get rid of all the guilt, but everyone had done their best to make up for it and Hen was clearly over it. Buck still felt like he needed to explain. 

“Next week would have been a year,” Buck said. 

“A year?”

“With Tommy,” Buck clarified. 

Hen’s eyebrows went up, her eyes widened, and her mouth formed an “oh”. 

“So I’ve been avoiding looking at my calendar,” Buck said. “It’s why I missed it.” 

He wasn’t expecting for Hen to pull him into a hug, but he was glad she did and he leaned into it, wrapping his arms around her as well. 

“Ravi mentioned you guys ran into him,” she said a few minutes later when they were both sat at her dining room table. 

Buck had no idea how much Hen knew. Considering he’d spilled everything to Maddie and Maddie and Chim shared everything it wouldn't be surprising if Chim had then blabbed to Hen about it. 

“Ah, yeah, we went back to mine that night. Things didn’t go well the next morning. He said Eddie was the competition and I sorta got mad.” 

Hen’s eyebrows were shooting up again. “Wait, he said what about Eddie?” 

So, Buck explained it all. He told her about waking up alone and thinking that Tommy had left. How Tommy had made them breakfast and then asked Buck out on a date. How close Buck had been to getting Tommy back right until Tommy made it seem like he was happy that Eddie was gone. How Buck hadn’t handled that well and thrown words at him that made Tommy shut down and leave again. 

“I mean,” Hen said, “can you blame him?” 

“For leaving? No, not at all.” 

Hen nodded. “Yes, but also the Eddie thing.” 

“What? Not you too. Come on, I’m not in love with Eddie. Me being upset that he moved doesn’t mean I’ve been pining for him or something.” 

Hen shook her head and tapped the table. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that you and Eddie are pretty close and that to Tommy it might have felt like he was always competing for your time when it came to him and now that Eddie’s in Texas, you have more time for him.” 

Buck knew he and Eddie were a bit attached at the hip, but it wasn’t like Buck hadn’t made time for Tommy. It wasn’t like he and Tommy hadn’t been in constant contact. Hell, the very reason Buck had asked him to move in was that he wanted more time with Tommy. How had Tommy not understood that?

“I just…I don’t get it. I asked him to move in, Hen. Maybe it was too much too fast, but I wanted to spend more time with him. He’s the one that walked away. He’s the one that said no to that.” 

As he said it, Buck realized that outside of talking about it with Maddie, he hadn’t really discussed the break up with anyone. He could tell that Hen was shocked at the new details. 

“Back it up,” she said. “You asked him to move in?” 

“Yeah and he broke up with me.” 

“There is more to this story,” Hen said and she looked at him, head a little tilted, lips pursed. 

He told her about Abby and about how it had genuinely freaked him out. 

“Wait, did you know he dated Abby?” 

Hen shook her head. “Back then he was always pretty quiet about his dating life which makes a lot of sense if he was still figuring himself out.” 

“Right,” Buck said. “I…I get that. I mean, Josh explained it to me. How I shouldn’t judge those that came before because it was different.”

“It was,” Hen said. 

“So I moved past that and I asked him to move in and he said no.” 

Hen winced. “You scared him off,” she said. After a long pause. “Twice, apparently.” 

Buck hung his head. She wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t wrong at all. Buck should have called him both back then and right after their hook up. 

“I should call him,” Buck said. 

“Probably,” Hen said.

“You’re not going to tell me I shouldn’t?” Buck asked. 

Hen chuckled. “Buck, it’s clearly what you want or you wouldn’t be avoiding your calendar or still baking so much. And if you need me to, I can vouch for how much of a mess you and Eddie would be as a couple.”

Buck couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks, Hen. And, Happy Birthday.” 

When he got home after he went out and finished planting all the bulbs, he took a good amount of time in the shower and then found himself taking a seat on his couch and pulling out his phone. 

He hit call. 

[creaturefeaturecommando]

It’s 2025 and people still think Konig is part of 141 and will just completely forget about Gaz

Like Soap is dead, if you’re gonna replace anyone with Konig replace Soap but stop using Konig as a placeholder for Gaz

[transryanguzman]

fic: just one single glimpse of relief (with you i serve with you i fall)

8x15 coda, pre-Buddie, spoilers abound

“Someone has to tell Eddie. I have to call him. I have to - have to tell him and Chris. I have to call them.” He knows he sounds frantic, almost panicked, but he can’t calm himself down. “I have to tell them. I have to - “ He sobs into his own hands, and he just wants to collapse to the ground again.

or;

There's only one person Buck wants to talk to tonight. (Coda to 8x15 Lab Rats)

Read @ instantcaramel on ao3